THE ATTIC
The Corliss family were sadly in need of funds. There were the butcher
and the baker and the candlestick-maker politely presenting their bills
to the family recently arrived in Crowfield, suggesting in print and
in writing and by word of mouth that “bills are payable monthly.” Now
it was the end of the month, and there was no money to pay these same
bills; for the expense of moving and settling in a new place had been
heavy, and their small income had already disappeared.
“How much money is it that we need for immediate bills, Mother?” asked
Dr. Corliss wearily. It always tired him to talk about money.
“Just about a hundred dollars would bridge us over nicely,” said his
wife, with an anxious pucker in her forehead. “But I don’t see any sign
of our getting that hundred dollars for a month to come. And then it
will be needed for fresh bills.”
“Why, of course, you must take my hundred dollars that I found in Aunt
Nan’s book,” said Mary cheerfully, though it cost her a pang to think
of using up her wonder-gift so soon in this way. “I’ll just take it out
of the bank next Saturday morning.”
“I hate to touch that money of yours, Mary, even if we put it back for
you when we can,” sighed her mother. “I hoped we could save that for
your nest-egg toward a college fund. Let me think it over a bit longer.
Perhaps something will happen to help us. Or I may think of some way to
earn the money.”
They left discussion of the matter for that time. But they all took the
troublesome problem away with them into their daily tasks.
“It is a shame for Mary to have to give up her hundred dollars,”
thought John. “I wish I could help earn some money so that she needn’t
do it. If I was in the city I could sell papers or something. But what
can I do here when I have to go to school every day? School takes up
such a lot of time!”
John sighed as he swung his books over his shoulder and started off for
school. All day he thought about that needed money; and it was in his
mind when he turned in at the gate that night.
“I wish I was clever and could think up something,” said John to
Caliban, who was sitting on the top step looking at him when John came
in. “I wonder you don’t help us, Caliban. Come, now, can’t you think of
something, old witch-cat?”
Caliban did not seem to mind being spoken to in this impolite way. But
he did look at John in a fashion that the boy thought very knowing, and
he did unmistakably wink one eye.
“Miaou!” said Caliban, and he turned his back on John, and began to
walk upstairs.
John was going upstairs too; so he followed Caliban, who, however,
hopped three steps at a time, while John could only take two with his
short legs. When they reached the top of the flight, Caliban looked
about to see if John was still following him. John had not meant to do
so, but when he saw Caliban turn and look, with that queer expression
in his green eyes, John had an idea.
“Maybe he wants me to follow him,” said he to himself. He tossed his
books on to a chair and tiptoed after the big black cat. Caliban ambled
unconcernedly along the hall and suddenly darted up the attic stairs.
“Hello!” said John, with a whistle under his breath. “What is Caliban
up to now? I thought he never went far from Mary’s library. But, I
declare, he is coaxing me to follow him up into the attic! You bet I’ll
follow you, old boy!”
John had never paid much attention to the attic. He had looked into it,
of course. But it was so dark and dusty and cobwebby that it was not
much fun poking about up there. Since their first visit the family had
not been there except to store away some of Aunt Nan’s superfluous old
furniture and ornaments.
If the house had seemed like a museum to the family when they first
entered it, this attic looked like a junk-shop. Every corner was
filled with furniture, boxes, bundles, strange garments hanging from
hooks, bales bursting with mysterious contents. Away back in the dusty
corners, where it was so dark that John’s eye could not distinguish,
bulked other dim shapes.
Caliban walked across the floor in a furtive fashion, then suddenly
made a dive into a distant dark corner, where John immediately heard a
scurrying and scratching.
“He’s after a mouse!” thought John excitedly. And he, too, dived into
the darkness after the cat, who had disappeared. But Caliban had
scuttled into some hole too small for John to enter. John could hear
him still scratching and sniffing. And an occasional squeak betrayed
the misfortune of some long-tailed dweller in the garret that Caliban
had taken by surprise.
John got down on his hands and knees the better to investigate that
corner. But still he could not spy the cat and his prey. He only bumped
his nose against the low beams, and got his mouth full of cobwebs. But
in that dark hiding-place he came upon an unexpected thing. This was
something that at first he took to be a bicycle. But he soon found by
feeling of it that there was but one wheel, and that it was made of
wood. At one end was a curious bunch of what felt like long hair; it
made John shudder. But presently he remembered.
“It must be a spinning-wheel,” said John to himself. “I remember seeing
one in the picture of Priscilla and John Alden.” Just then he bumped
his head on something hard. “What is this great long-handled pan?” he
said. “I’ve seen those in the curiosity shops, too. Hello! Here’s a
cradle, the kind that rocks. I’ve seen those in pictures. And here’s
a pair of andirons. My! this is a regular old curiosity shop. These
things must be worth a lot of money.”
Then a sudden wonderful idea popped into John’s head. “Why can’t we
sell them, if they are worth a lot of money? Why, of course we can
sell them, and save Mary’s hundred dollars! Maybe that is just what old
Caliban knew, when he coaxed me to follow him up here. Say, you old
rascal, where are you? Here, ’Ban! ’Ban! Come on out and let me see
what you think about it!”
But Caliban had disappeared with his mouse, or whatever it was, which
had ceased to squeak. And there was nothing but darkness and silence in
the old attic beside the little boy and that strange litter of ancient
things.
John looked around and shivered. “I guess I’ll be going,” he said. “I
won’t stop to examine anything more. They all belong to Mother. I’ll
let her do the looking-up. I’ll run down and tell her what I’ve found.”
And hurrying as fast as he could out of the dark corner, where the
cobwebs and the dust were trying to keep intruders away from the old
things to which they clung, John made for the attic stairs. Two or
three times he thought he heard strange noises behind him, and he
couldn’t go fast enough. Probably it was Caliban still scratching in
some dark subway under the rafters. But John had no wish to stop and
investigate. He came clattering down the stairs, and burst into his
mother’s room.
“Mother!” he cried, “I’ve found something!”
“Goodness, John!” she said. “What a dirty face you have, and your
eyebrows are all cobwebby. Where in the world have you been, and what
have you found?”
“I’ve found things up in the attic!” exclaimed John triumphantly.
“Caliban showed me the way. It was all his doings. I think he did it on
purpose--to help Mary.”
“To help Mary! What in the world do you mean?” cried Mrs. Corliss.
“Have you found a treasure, John, or some more mysterious secrets?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” confessed John, somewhat crestfallen. “Unless
we make it a secret. I’d like that. But I think it’s a nice surprise,
Mumsie, and I _think_ it will save some of Mary’s hundred dollars.
Mother,--all the furniture belongs to you, doesn’t it?”
“Why, yes, Johnny,” she answered, wondering. “Why do you ask?”
“Because,” said John importantly, “I have been snooping around the
attic, Mumsie, and I think there are a lot of things you can sell.”
“What kind of things do you mean, John?” she asked, looking interested.
“Why, you know, Mother,” said John, “there’s a lot of old truck in the
corners up there that looks just like the stuff we used to see in the
curiosity shops in the city. I didn’t look very far, Mumsie, ’cause it
was so--well, so dirty in there. But there’s wheels and andirons and
things that I bet are worth lots of money!”
“Are there, John?” said Mrs. Corliss. “How clever of you to think of
it! I never dreamed of looking in Aunt Nan’s attic to find the way out
of our difficulty. Perhaps this is the solution!”
“It’s Caliban’s idea,” said John, wishing to be fair and not to claim
too much credit, but feeling well pleased with himself, just the same.
“Let’s go up right away and see what we can find; shall we, John?” said
his mother. “I can’t wait!”
“All right,” agreed John. “But you’d better take a candle, Mumsie. It’s
terribly dark and spooky up there. And noises sound louder in the dark.”
Back to the garret they went, Mrs. Corliss as eager as John. And into
those dark corners which had been undisturbed for many, many years they
shed the light of their blinking, inquisitive candle. Mrs. Corliss was
more thorough than John had cared to be. She untied strings, and lifted
lids of trunks, and unwrapped coverings. Out of chests and bundles and
crates they dragged things that had been waiting through generations of
Aunt Nan’s ancestors for some one to make them useful; things that had
been discarded or pushed back still farther in order to make room for
her whims and “jokes.”
[Illustration: THINGS THAT HAD BEEN WAITING THROUGH GENERATIONS OF AUNT
NAN’S ANCESTORS FOR SOME ONE TO MAKE THEM USEFUL]
Besides the old spinning-wheel, andirons, and warming-pan, they found
parts of a four-post bedstead, a tall clock, and many quaint chairs.
They unearthed a hair trunk, foot-warmers, mirrors, crockery, and lamps
with prisms dangling; shawls and bonnets and carpet-bags. All of these
things were old and most of them were ugly. But Mrs. Corliss knew that
they would look beautiful to many persons, just because they were old;
which seemed to John a strange reason.
When they had brought all this old stuff together in the middle of the
attic floor, Mrs. Corliss looked about and smiled through a face-veil
of dusty cobwebs.
“Well, John!” she said, “I believe my part of the legacy is not to be
laughed at, either. We don’t want to keep these old things, for they
have no history for us and they are not beautiful in themselves--the
only two excuses I see for cherishing useless old things. Luckily
there are plenty of people who think differently. I’ll go up to town
to-morrow with a list of what you and I have found, and see what I can
get for them at some reliable antique shop. Let’s keep it a secret, and
surprise your father and Mary, if we have good luck with the venture.
Shall we?”
“Let’s!” cried John, clapping his hands.
Just then out of the darkness crept Caliban, licking his chops, and
looking very sly.
“Now, don’t you go and tell Mary, Caliban!” charged John. “For this
is our secret. You let me into it yourself, and you’ve got to be our
partner now. Don’t you dare even to _purr_ about it!”
Caliban did not promise; but he trotted downstairs before them very
discreetly. And all that evening no one would have guessed by the
manner of those three conspirators what a tremendous secret they were
concealing in their hearts. John did not dare to look at his mother’s
face, however, he was so bursting with importance.
The next day Mrs. Corliss went to town on an errand which she explained
rather vaguely to the rest of the family. She returned with a queer
little old man with round shoulders and a white beard, who spoke
English strangely and whose hands were not very clean. Mrs. Corliss
took him straight up to the attic, which was the only part of the house
he seemed anxious to visit. They stayed up there some time, and there
was a great noise of pushing and rolling of furniture. When they came
down, the little old man was looking very much pleased and rubbing his
dirty hands together. And he went away still rubbing.
Mrs. Corliss came to the supper-table with something which she
fluttered triumphantly before the eyes of her bewildered family.
“Hurrah!” she cried. “I’ve got it!”
“What is it, Mother?” said Mary.
“How much is it, Mumsie?” begged John at the same minute.
“It is a check for a hundred dollars!” cried Mrs. Corliss. “It’s to pay
the horrid bills. Hurrah!”
“Where in the world did you get it?” asked Dr. Corliss. “Is it another
of Mary’s bookmarks?”
“Not a bit of it!” sang Mrs. Corliss. “Mary’s bookmark is all her own,
safe in bank. I got this out of the attic--out of my furniture. Now,
perhaps you will think something of my despised legacy. I sold only
a few of the old things that are of so much less use to us than the
space they occupy. There are plenty of them left, and the dealer is
crazy to get them, too. We need be in no hurry to part with them. Aunt
Nan’s attic is a perfect storehouse of treasures in that man’s eyes. It
was Johnny who found it out.”
“Me and Caliban,” said John loyally; “don’t forget him.” And he told
the others the whole story of his following the cat.
“You blessed old Caliban!” cried Mary, catching up the great bundle of
fur and hugging him tightly. “You shall have an extra saucer of milk
for your supper, so you shall!”
Caliban did not explain to her about the nest of fat mice which he had
discovered in the attic. That was his share of the “treasure.”