THE BUST
For some weeks life went on quietly for the Corliss family, made more
interesting by the coming of Caliban, who resembled his late mistress
in some unexpected qualities. But the family had got used to being
surprised by Aunt Nan’s jokes, so that they were no longer jokes at
all. And nothing further of a mysterious nature happened in Mary’s
library, so that everybody had about forgotten the excitement of the
watch, the bookmark, and the unexplained key.
The more Mary read her Shakespeare, the better she liked the plays,
which, as she said, were “just full of familiar quotations!” Caliban
approved heartily of Mary’s reading. He liked nothing better than
to curl up in her lap while she sat in the big easy-chair, with her
book resting on its broad arm; and his rumbling purr made a pleasant
accompaniment whenever she read aloud. For Mary liked to read aloud to
herself and to him. It made her understand the story so much better.
Probably Caliban was used to assisting Aunt Nan in this same way. He
was truly a cat of fine education. Mary wondered if he knew all the
books in the library. “He looks wise enough to,” she thought.
“I think Caliban likes some plays better than others,” she confided
to her mother. “He didn’t seem to care so much for ‘Midsummer Night’s
Dream,’ But then, I had almost finished it before he came. He was crazy
over ‘Julius Cæsar,’--you ought to have heard him purr at Marc Antony’s
great speech! And now that I have begun ‘The Tempest,’ he gets so
excited, Mother!”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Corliss; “that’s where he comes in, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Mary. “Oh, Mumsie, I was so surprised when I found
Caliban’s name in the list of characters! I just shouted it right out;
and you ought to have seen Caliban arch his neck and rub his head
against me, and purr like a little furnace. I’m sure he knew it was
_his_ play. And isn’t it a lovely play, Mother? I like it best of all.”
“So do I,” said her mother.
One day Mary coaxed Katy Summers home with her after school. “The time
has come for you to keep your promise, Katy,” said Mary. “You’ve got
to listen to Shakespeare now.”
“All right,” said Katy resignedly. “I suppose I must, sooner or later.”
“I am going to read you some of ‘The Tempest,’” said Mary. “I want you
to like it as well as I do.”
“You know I never cared for poetry,” said Katy doubtfully.
“But you will care for _this_,” said Mary positively, “especially if
you hear it read. That’s the way everybody ought to know poetry, I
think. Why, even Caliban likes to hear me read poetry. See, here he
comes to listen.”
Sure enough, at the sound of Mary’s voice Caliban had come running into
the library with a little purr. He looked very handsome and fluffy
these days. Waving his tail majestically, he jumped up into Mary’s lap
and sat on her knee blinking his green eyes at Katy as if to say, “Now
you are going to hear something fine!”
“I believe John is right,” said Katy. “He does look like a witch-cat.
He’s too knowing by half! I suppose I shall have to like the reading,
if he says so.” Katy was just a bit jealous of Mary’s new friend.
“Of course Caliban knows what is best!” chuckled Mary. “Now, listen,
Katy.” And she began to read the beautiful lines. Presently she caught
up with her own bookmark, and went on with scenes which she had not
read before. Mary read very nicely, and Katy listened patiently, while
Caliban purred more and more loudly, “knitting” with busy paws on
Mary’s knees.
After a while Katy saw Mary’s eyes grow wide, and she paused in the
reading, ceasing to stroke Caliban’s glossy fur. Caliban looked up at
her and stopped purring, as if to say, “What is it, little Mistress?”
“What is the matter? Go on, Mary,” cried Katy. “I like it!”
“It’s a Song,” said Mary, in a queer voice, “and words of it are
underlined, Katy, in the same way that the other place I told you of
was underlined.”
Katy nodded eagerly. She had heard about the clue to the finding of the
key. “What does it say?” she asked.
And Mary read the lines of the Song:--
“Full fathom five thy father lies;
_Of his bones are coral made_;
_Those are pearls, that were his eyes_;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into _something rich and strange_.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell;
Hark! now I hear them--Ding-dong, bell!”
“It’s lovely!” cried Katy. “And which lines are underscored, Mary?”
“‘_Of his bones are coral made_,’ and ‘_Those are pearls that were
his eyes_,’ and ‘_something rich and strange_.’ Oh, Katy, what do you
suppose Aunt Nan meant this time?” said Mary with eager eyes.
[Illustration: “OH, KATY, WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE AUNT NAN MEANT THIS
TIME?”]
At this point Caliban arched his back and yawned prodigiously, then
jumped down on the floor and sat at Mary’s feet, switching his tail.
“Hurry and look at the notes at the end of the book, Mary!” cried Katy,
almost as much excited as her friend. “I did not know that poetry could
be so interesting.”
Mary turned hastily to the back of the book. In the margin beside the
printed notes were penned several words; references to other plays
which evidently Aunt Nan wanted Mary to look up. “Bother!” said Mary in
disappointment; “it’s only more quotations. I don’t want to stop for
_them_.”
“You had better, Mary,” suggested Katy. “Perhaps if you do they will
give you still another clue. See how queer Caliban looks!”
The cat was looking up in Mary’s face expectantly; and when she stooped
to pat him, he opened his mouth and gave a strange, soundless “Miaou!”
“It looked as if he said ‘Yes!’ didn’t it, Katy?” said Mary. “Well,
then, I suppose I had better do it. The first reference is to ‘As You
Like It,’ Act II, Scene i.”
Mary went to the Shakespeare shelf, found the volume quickly, and
looked up the proper place. “Yes!” she exclaimed, “there is a line
underscored here, too,--‘_Wears yet a precious jewel in his head_.’
What a queer saying, Katy! What do you suppose it means? And this is
the next quotation, in the ‘Sonnets’--Number CXXXV, Line 1. Here it is!
‘_Whoever has her wish, you have your Will._’ Now, what connection can
there be between those two things, Katy?”
“I don’t know!” said Katy, disappointed. “Is that all, are you sure? It
doesn’t seem to mean anything, does it?”
“Wait a minute!” added Mary. “Here in the Sonnet-margin she has
written, ‘_Will S.--Yours. Look!_’”
“Look where?” wondered Katy. “What _Will S._ have you, Mary?”
At the word “_Look!_” Mary had glanced up at the portrait of Aunt Nan,
and it seemed to her as if the eyes in the picture were cast down on
something below them. Mary’s own eyes followed the look, and fell on
the bust of Shakespeare in the middle of the mantelshelf. “Does she
mean--perhaps she does--that bust of Will Shakespeare?” said Mary.
“It is mine now, of course. ‘_Whoever has her wish_’--‘_Wears yet a
precious jewel in his head_’--‘_Something rich and strange_.’”
“Oh, Mary! It all fits together!” cried Katy, clapping her hands. “Do
have a look at that bust, dear! If it is your Will.”
“That’s just what I will do!” cried Mary, running to the mantelpiece,
with Katy close behind her, and Caliban following them both.
The bust was a plaster one about six inches high, and it stood on a
black marble block like a little pedestal. Mary had dusted it many
times and she knew it was not fastened to the pedestal and that it was
hollow. But was it also empty?
While the girls were looking at the bust, Caliban suddenly made two
leaps, one to a chair, then to the mantelshelf which he reached
without a slip. Then he took up his pose beside the bust of
Shakespeare, and sat blinking wisely at them.
“Do look at Caliban!” cried Katy. “He certainly looks as if he knew
secrets!”
“Perhaps he does,” said Mary. “Maybe there is a secret about this bust.
I am going to see. If you please, Master Will S.”
She took down the bust and shook it gently. Nothing rattled inside.
Nothing fell out. She poked with her finger as far as she could reach.
There seemed to be nothing in the interior.
“Try again, Mary,” begged Katy, producing something from her pocket.
“Here’s my folding button-hook.” Cautiously Mary thrust the hook up
into the place where the brains of William S. would have been, were
they not distributed about the library instead in the form of books.
Yes! There was something up in the head; something that was yielding to
the touch of the steel; something that came out at last in her hand. It
was a piece of soft chamois-skin, folded and tied with green silk cord
like that on which hung the mysterious key.
“Oh, Mary!” cried Katy, holding her breath. “What is it?”
“Sh!” said Mary, with shining eyes. Cautiously she undid the little
packet; and there inside was another packet, wrapped in silver foil,
very tiny, very hard. Mary squeezed it gently, but the feeling gave no
clue as to the contents.
While Katy watched her with bulging eyes, Mary peeled off the silver
paper, a bit at a time. First of all was revealed a pink bead; more
pink beads; a whole necklace, strung on a pink thread, of the most
beautiful coral.
“Miaou!” cried Caliban suddenly.
“Oh-h!” cried Katy. “I never saw anything so sweet!”
“‘_Of his bones are coral made_,’” quoted Mary. “Oh, clever Aunt Nan!--
What else?” for the next quotation was running in her head, and she
was very eager. With trembling fingers she unwrapped the rest of the
package, and brought to light a tiny pasteboard box of not more than an
inch in any dimension.
“I know what it is!” whispered Katy.
But she gasped when she saw what really came out--yes, a ring, on a
white velvet bed. But such a ring! It had two big pearls in it, side by
side, as big as the end of Mary’s little finger.
“Oh!” cried Mary with delight. “What a beautiful ring! I do love
pearls.--‘_Those are pearls which were his eyes_,’ Katy, do you see?
And this is the ‘_something rich and strange_.’ What fun it is to find
a treasure all by the aid of lovely quotations!”
“I think it is wonderful!” said Katy. “It is so poetic.”
“Come; let’s show these to Father and Mother,” said Mary, giving
Caliban a big hug. And off the two girls ran to exhibit the treasures.
Mrs. Corliss was delighted with her daughter’s find. “I am glad you
have the pretty necklace to wear with your best dresses,” she said. “It
is very nice and suitable for a schoolgirl. But the pearl ring--I think
we must put that away until you are older. It is too valuable and too
conspicuous. I don’t like to see little girls wearing jewelry.”
“I can wear it when I go to college--if I go; may I not, Mother?” asked
Mary wistfully.
“Oh, yes, _if_ you go to college, Dearie,” sighed her mother. “At any
rate, you can wear it when you are eighteen.”
Dr. Corliss examined the ring carefully. “Yes, I am sure I have seen
Aunt Nan wear it,” he said. “It must be one of the set of famous
pearls that she was once proud of. Doubtless she sold the rest long ago
and gave the money to her hospital. I am glad Mary has this; but Mother
is right. School-girls should not wear jewelry. Put it away until you
are grown-up, my daughter.”
So Mary fastened the pretty necklace about her round throat, and shut
the pearl ring away in her bureau drawer, with a sigh.
But Katy Summers said:--
“I wouldn’t mind, Mary, even if you can’t wear it yet. Just to think
that you have it, and that you got it in such a mysterious way! Why, it
is like a story-book!”
“Doesn’t it make you want to hear some more Shakespeare?” demanded
Mary, laughing.
“Indeed it does!” agreed Katy. “I’ll come and listen whenever you will
let me. Who knows what may happen? Yes, I’ll wager that Caliban knows.”
“The same thing never happens twice,” sighed Mary.
John was disgusted when he came home from a meeting of the Big Four to
find that he had missed this most exciting discovery; although, after
all, when it came to the jewelry, John thought the result rather
small. “My goodness, Mary!” he exclaimed, “I’ll bet there are lots more
things hidden in that old library of yours. Don’t you go and do all the
hunting when I’m not here.”
“I don’t,” said Mary. “I didn’t mean to hunt. I don’t ever mean to
hunt. But if things come--all right.”
“I wish you’d let me have the fun of hunting in the library all I want,
just once,” said John wistfully.
Mary hesitated. She did not want anybody to rummage among her books.
But she hated to be “stingy,” and she felt as if she were really having
more than her share of fun out of Aunt Nan’s legacy, in spite of John’s
two thousand dollars. So she said generously, without letting John see
how great an effort it was: “All right, Johnny. To-morrow is Saturday,
and I’ll give you free leave to hunt all you want to in my library. I
won’t even come to bother you.”
“Bully for you!” crowed John. “Finding’s having?”
But that was more than Mary bargained for.
“Oh, no, John!” she cried. “I don’t think Aunt Nan would like that. Do
you?”
“Oh, bother! I suppose not,” grumbled John. “She was a queer one!”
The next Saturday morning John spent in hunting that library from floor
to ceiling. Caliban, sitting on a corner of the mantelpiece, watched
him gravely during the whole operation, but offered no suggestions.
John poked behind the books, in every corner, under every rug. He even
ripped open a bit of the cover on the old sofa. But nothing interesting
could he find.
“I say, Caliban, can’t you help me?” he said once, to the watching cat.
But Caliban only blinked, and gave his tail a little switch.
“I’ll give it up!” growled John at last, disgustedly, when Mary came to
call him to dinner. “I guess you’ve got about all you are ever going to
get out of Aunt Nan’s legacy. If Caliban knows anything more about it
he won’t tell _me_. Anyway, I’ve got my two thousand, and that’s best
of all.”
“All right, John,” retorted Mary good-naturedly. “I’ve got my two
thousand books, anyway, and Caliban. So I am not complaining.”
She did not tell John that she still hoped to solve the mystery of the
key on the green silk cord; not to solve it by hunting or by hurrying,
but in Aunt Nan’s own way, whatever that might be.
And Caliban, looking up at her, switched his tail and gave a wise,
solemn wink.