Henry," said Mrs. Joshua, laying her hand, which would tremble in spite
of herself, on Lammy's shoulder. Lammy, by the way, had grown broader
and stronger and lost much of his timidity of manner during the two
months past. Whether it was the sense of responsibility that working
with the college men had given him, or his determination to have Bird
come back, his mother could not decide, while his father chuckled
whenever the matter was referred to, saying, "'Tain't neither; it was
squarin' up at 'Ram Slocum that made a man of him;" and though Lauretta
always said, "Sho, pa! ain't you ashamed of aidin' and abettin' a
fight?" her smiling expression belied her words.
Mrs. Jason stepped forward and drew--the canopy cradle! A roar of
laughter greeted her venture, in which she joined grimly, for her
youngest offspring was a six-foot youth of seventeen, while Mrs. Henry
sighed and felt secretly injured, though she said nothing.
Next came her turn, and she drew a worked motto in a gilt frame,
which read, "The Lord Will Provide," whereat she smiled feebly and
whimpered, "I've tried to think so, but I do wish Henry Lane would help
Him out better." Mrs. Joshua drew the best china, Mrs. Henry the tall
clock, which she straightway declared to be a foot higher than any of
her rooms,--she finally traded it with Mrs. Jason for the cradle and
rocking-chair,--until at the end of two hours the last number left the
basket and three tired and confused women wandered about trying to
collect their property.
The great wardrobe had fallen to Mrs. Jason's share, but upon close
inspection it proved to be merely stained cherry and not mahogany at
all, and its owner remarked that she wished some one would take it off
her hands, as it was too big to go in her door, and more than it was
worth to truck it home, much less get it in to Northboro, where it would
be possible to sell it. Her husband, however, ventured to say it would
make a good harness closet for the barn and keep the rats from gnawing
the leather; and so with much stretching of muscles and groans of "now
heave together" it was loaded with the other articles upon the wagon.
There was quite a lively interchange of articles between the women
before the rooms were finally cleared, but in the end, owing to Mrs.
Joshua's good sense, they all declared themselves well satisfied. Mrs.
Jason had secured a good sewing-machine, and Mrs. Henry a parlour organ
for which her melancholy spirit pined; while Mrs. Joshua, who had a
machine and inwardly detested parlour organs, saying that when needful
she could do her own groaning, was made happy by the best parlour set,
her own chairs and lounge having been fatally collapsed by her family of
men folks of assorted ages.
One thing they all regretted, which was that Aunt Jimmy had ordered all
articles of every kind not mentioned in her list should be either burned
or buried, according to their kind, and there were many things dear to
their feminine hearts in the mass of rubbish that had been accumulating
in garret and cellar, barn and loft, these many years as well as much
that was salable as junk. It was of no use to object; for Joshua was
determined to carry out the will in both spirit and letter, and though
it had amused the eccentric old lady to collect and hoard the stuff, she
was equally determined that it should never be exposed to the gaze of
the curious. Joshua knew that though she thought him slow and without
ambition, she trusted him, and he was not going to disappoint her.
* * * * *
As the loaded wagons filed out of the yard, a lean figure might have
been seen peering through the branches of a small maple tree in the
wood lot just above. It was Abiram Slocum, who, goaded by his wife, was
trying to see which cart contained the wardrobe; for she had come back
from Northboro the day before all eagerness to get possession of it, for
the owner of the "curious shop" had said if the wardrobe was of the size
and quality she described, he would pay her fifty dollars for it. Now
if the owner would let it go for fifteen or even twenty-five dollars,
the profit would give her new paper and a carpet for her best room; for
rich as Slocum was reputed to be, he was close-fisted with his wife, and
she was obliged to pick up her own pin money like her poorer neighbours,
with the exception that she had not succeeded in the egg business, owing
to her tendency, whenever possible, to give eleven to the dozen, and
sell limed eggs at a high price to ignorant people who desired them for
setting.
Abiram presently spied the wardrobe on Jason Lane's load. He was sorry
for this, for Mrs. Jason was one of the few people who had ever got
the better of him in trade, and a horse trade at that, so he feared she
would never sell the furniture, or if she did, would extort full value.
Nevertheless, he slipped hastily from the tree, cut across lots toward
the road they must take on their way home, and fifteen minutes later
met them when they stopped to rest the horse, as if he was merely
sauntering toward the pasture for his cows, and was soon engaged in
general conversation upon farm topics that gradually led up toward the
furniture.
"Heavy load you've got there," he remarked; "ain't that there closet big
for your haouse?"
Jason was about to say that it was, and that they were going to put it
in the barn, when he felt his wife looking daggers, and refrained.
"'Tis big, but we can use it," she answered dryly, starting up the
horse.
"How about selling it and buying somethin' handier?"
"I ain't anxious. Get along, Whiteface," she said, touching the horse
with the whip.
"I'll give yer fifteen dollars for it, here and now, if you'll leave it
to my house," Abiram shouted as the wagon began to move away.
"'Twouldn't pay me to turn back."
"Twenty dollars then."
"Nope, I'm in a hurry, and there's a pile of good seasoned wood in the
thing."
"She knows its value, sure enough," he said to himself, as the wagon
began to climb the hill.
"Give yer twenty-five, and yer can leave it here by the road."
"I reckon you might unpack, pa," the gaunt woman said, a smile hovering
about her mouth, adding to Abiram, "Hand up the money, and down she
goes."
In five seconds two ten-dollar bills and a five, after a searching
scrutiny, found their way into Mrs. Jason's pocket, and the clumsy piece
of furniture leaned tipsily against the pasture fence exposed to the
full glare of the sun.
Just as Jason Lane had remounted the seat and the wagon had begun to
move again, a shout made them look round. There stood Abiram in the
middle of the road, stamping and choking with rage so that he could
barely speak.
"Stop! hey, stop!" he yelled; "it ain't mahogany; it's only stained
wood. Hey, give me my money back or I'll hev ye arrested."
"Who said it was mahogany?" called Mrs. Jason, stopping the horse and
fairly beaming with the pleasure of the contention.
Abiram hesitated a moment, felt himself caught, stammered, and said,
"Mis' Slocum did."
"Well, go ahead and arrest Mrs. Slocum, then," chimed in Jason, his
speech for once meeting his wife's approval.
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy, what 'll she say, 'n' what 'll I do with it?" he
moaned to himself, completely caught in the trap set by his own greed.
"I dunno," shouted Mrs. Jason as she moved away, "'nless you put wheels
on it to make a wagon and hitch that sorrel mare I sold you to it."
* * * * *
The day of the sale drew near. All that remained to be done was the
destroying of the rubbish, and this was no small task.
One entire day a bonfire had raged in the back lot, and what would not
burn was the next day taken in the ox-cart thrice filled by Joshua
himself and dumped carefully in the great bog-hole.
This quaking bog was one of the wonders of the neighbourhood and its
common dumping ground, even though it could only be reached by fording
the river above the mill-pond. To the eye it was merely an oozy-looking
swamp tract, such as are plentiful near the back-water of rivers, but
this particular bit was an ogre that swallowed up everything that was
cast in it, only a few hours being necessary to engulf, without leaving
a sign, an unlucky cow that had once strayed into it. So that now it was
securely fenced about except at one spot, used for dumping, which was
protected with logs secured to driven piles.
Mrs. Lane watched the loading of the wagon very ruefully, for she now
fully realized that all her hopes concerning the fruit farm had come to
as complete an end as the load of broken china and rusty tinware. When
she saw the old pewter tea-pot, the dents supplemented by a crack, go by
on top of a basket of broken flower pots, she begged her husband to let
her keep it, saying:--
"Even if it's worth nothin' now, even for drawin' tea, Aunt Jimmy must
hev meant somethin' kind when she left it to me, and I'd like it to mind
me of the idea, only she got fogged up some way and didn't plan right;
fer if she set store by anything, it was by that pot on account of its
bein' buried half of the Revolution with great-grandmother Cuddy's best
teaspoons and twenty gold guineas all safe inside."
"Lauretta Ann," said Joshua, pausing to rest the heavy basket on the
tail-board of the cart, "'tain't often I put my foot down, but now
they've set, heel and toe, sock and leather, both of 'em. I'm goin' to
do my work legal, but you've been treated shabby, and I ain't a-goin'
to hev that tea-pot set up on a shelf for a moniment to that same. If
you're too Christian to resent, I'm goin' to do it for yer, which she,
bein' my aunt, the quarrel is for me to take upon me, so there!"
Joshua had never before made such a long speech in all their married
life, and his wife, fairly awed by his earnestness, said no more, but
turning away, took the private pathway homeward that led through the
meadow and garden, closing the gap in the wall with brush as she went,
for soon now she would have no longer any right to come and go.
That afternoon as Lammy came home from school he saw in the distance his
father and the ox-team taking the last load along the highway, and as
he realized how soon the auction would take place, his heart sank and
his feet dragged heavily along. Turning to take a short cut through the
lane, he came face to face with an old coloured man with snow-white,
woolly hair, who was scratching up the leaves with his cane, in search
of chestnuts.
His name was Nebuchadnezzar Lucky, or Old Lucky, as he was called for
short, and he was the husband of Dinah, who was general factotum of the
village, and supported her man, who was double her age, by cooking,
nursing, or housecleaning, as the season or circumstances demanded,
absolutely taking pride in the fact, as if it was his right and his due.
For was not Old Lucky a superior being who made charms, brewed herb
medicines, and told fortunes, in addition to having turns of "seeing
things," which caused him to be regarded with awe by children and the
credulous of all ages, even in this prim New England town where witches
were once burned?
"Howdy, Massa Lammy? 'Pears like the squir'ls and chippin monkeys has
got all the chestnuts this season, and dey ain't left one for old Uncle
Lucky to bile soft so's him can eat 'em. You ain't got a handful laid
up you could spare 'thout missin', I reckon now?" And the old man gave
a persuasive, yet terrifying leer with eyes that were so badly crossed
that they fairly seemed tangled.
An idea struck Lammy, as the tales of Lucky's power came back to
him, for even the practical folk who scoffed, allowed that there was
something queer in it. He would consult the old man as to what he could
do to get the fruit farm and Bird back at the same time. But stop! Where
was the money to come from? For it was well known among his customers
that Lucky could not "see things" until he had rubbed his eyelids with a
piece of silver. Lammy's money was all in the bank. Ah! he had it! John
O'More's silver dollar that was hidden away in Bird's paint-box!
Away he flew like a scurrying rabbit, leaving Old Lucky muttering in
amazement, and in a half-hour returned, carrying a salt-bag full of
chestnuts in one hand and the coin wrapped in paper in the other.
The old man, by this time having grown tired of his useless hunt for
nuts, had gone home, and Lammy followed him to his cabin that was
perched on the edge of the bank overhanging the mill stream. Lucky was
sitting in an arm-chair by the window when Lammy entered and stammered
out his wish and request for advice, at the same time offering his bag
of nuts and the coin which he first polished on his trousers.
If Lucky was surprised at the size of the offering, his usual fee being
a quarter, while he never refused a dime, he did not show it, but felt
the money carefully, passed it across his dim eyes, munched a nut or
two, and falling back in his chair, covered his head with a red and
yellow handkerchief and began to mutter, beckoning Lammy to come near
and listen, which he did, scarcely daring to breathe. The mutterings
went on for several minutes, and then took the form of words.
"Take--a--shotgun," said the voice in a tone meant to be hollow, but
which stopped at being cracked, "load him wif bullets you make umsself,
go up on de churchyard hill and shoot der shadder of a Christmas tree on
a--black,--dark night,--an' den,--an' den--"
"Then what?" besought Lammy, in an agony of suspense.
"Den you'll hear sumpfin'!" shouted Lucky, suddenly pulling the
handkerchief from his face and fixing Lammy with a cross-eyed stare that
was paralyzing.
"But recommember," Lucky added, shaking his forefinger ominously, "make
dem bullets out o' sumpfin' yo' find, not bought nor lead uns, but
sumpfin' white like silver, or dis year charm hit won't work."
"But _where_ shall I find it?" gasped Lammy, so much in earnest that he
did not realize the absurdity of what the old man said.
This question seemed to take the magician out of his depth, and annoyed
him not a little. After casting his eyes helplessly about, they chanced
to rest on the stream below the window, when he quickly closed them
and whispered, "Yo' must look in water--not in a pond, but in running
water!" after which he refused to say another word.
When Lammy reached home, his mother was setting the supper on the table,
while his father and brothers were going over the same old arguments
as to the possibility or impossibility of buying the fruit farm. Lammy
smiled to himself as he lifted Twinkle to his shoulder and then put
the dog on a chair beside him, his usual place at meal-times, where he
waited, one ear up and one down, until it was time to be fed.
No one noticed how red the boy's cheeks were and how his eyes shone, as
he hurried from supper to learn his lessons, that he might have time in
the morning to begin his search for metal for the magic bullets before
going to school. He thought if he had the material, all else would be
easy, for there was an old bullet-mould in the workroom in the barn,
where mending was done, also an iron pot that had been used for melting
solder.
He did not tell his mother of his plan, not that he meant in any way to
deceive her; but if she knew nothing, the surprise at the result would
be all the greater.
For the next two or three days Lammy went up and down the river banks
from the Mill Farm to the upper fork, apparently as aimlessly as in the
time that he was dubbed "Look-out Johnny," and the neighbours nodded,
and said, "The brace he got fightin' didn't last,--he's trampin' again,"
while his mother took it to heart and thought it was because he was
grieving for Bird, as they had heard nothing definite or satisfactory
from her for more than a month, and then only a few words on a card
inquiring for Twinkle.
When Saturday came, Lammy started off in the morning early, asking
his mother for a lunch to carry with him, which was nothing unusual.
This day, instead of heading downstream, he started above the mill and
followed the river up toward the woods. All the forenoon he looked here
and there, and after eating his luncheon came out of the woods near
where the highway branched and crossed the ford on the way to the bog
dumping ground.
He stood there a few minutes, idly watching the dead leaves swirl
along, and an occasional fish dart by, when his eyes became fixed upon
an object lying close under a big stone in mid-stream; it glistened
as the sun shone upon it, and then turned dull again. Whatever it was,
it fascinated him strangely, and jumping from stone to stone, he soon
reached it. "Only an old tin pan," he muttered in disgust; "that won't
make bullets."
As luck would have it, the stone upon which he stood turned, making
him jump splash into the water, kicking the pan as he went. When he
recovered himself, he looked about for footing, and there where the pan
had been, to his amazement, lying almost at his feet, was the pewter
tea-pot!
"However did that get here?" he exclaimed; but the answer was so simple
that he guessed it at once. The tea-pot, in company with the pan, had
been jolted from the ox-cart in crossing the ford on its way to the
dump, and so escaped being swallowed.
"Hurrah!" cried Lammy, picking up the treasure and making his way to
land, where he danced about in glee. "This 'll melt into bullets first
rate, and it's kind of white like silver if it's cleaned. When it's
melted, pop can't call it 'an eyesore' or a 'moniment,' so it's no harm
for me to take it home."
He could not tell why, but he took off his coat and wrapped it
carefully around the tea-pot, and then slipped from the highway into
the woods again.
When he reached home, it was still early afternoon. His father was
cutting wood in the upper lot, and his mother had gone to Northboro with
eggs for her Saturday customers, so Lammy had the place to himself.
First he buried the tea-pot deep in the feed bin, and taking the key
of the house from its hiding-place under the door-mat, stole up to his
room for dry shoes and socks, as it was a cold day and his sopping feet
were already making him shiver and feel tight in the throat. Somehow
the possession of the tea-pot gave him an uneasy feeling. Did it really
belong to him? He hung about the house for a time, then walked straight
out the gate and down to the Squire's office in the town house. This
same "Squire" was a man of education as well as a lawyer, and Lammy's
knock was answered by a cheery "Come in!" which he did, saying, all
in one breath and quite reckless of grammar, "Please, sir, if I find
anything that's been took to the dump, but fell off and not been
swallowed, would it be mine to make bullets of?"
The Squire looked up from under his bushy eyebrows and smiled at
the lad encouragingly. "Certainly it would be yours, my boy; what is
intentionally thrown away is fair plunder for any one." And with a hasty
"Thank you, sir," Lammy was off again with an easy conscience, to find
an old axe, break up the tea-pot, and melt it if possible before his
parents' return. Ah, but Lucky's charm was surely working.
"Strange child that," said the Squire, looking after him; "he'll either
turn out a fool or a genius. There is no middle path for such as he. I
must keep my eye on him."
XI
THE PEWTER TEA-POT
When Lammy reached home he hurried into the barn, carefully closing both
door and windows. In looking about for an old axe whose edge would not
be hurt by chopping metal, he stumbled over a rusty anvil that was half
buried in litter. This he managed to drag into the light; then digging
the tea-pot from the feed bin, he began his work.
First he wrenched off the cover and battered it into small pieces, which
he put into the solder pot. Chop, chop! the handle gave way next, then
the queer sprawling legs. He made several blows at the thick, clumsy,
curved spout without hitting it, for his hands trembled with excitement
combined with the chill of his wet feet.
Finally he landed a square blow a little above where the spout joined
the body, but instead of cutting the metal quite through, the blade
wedged, so he dropped the axe and seizing the tea-pot, proceeded to
wrench off the spout.
"It's got tea leaves stuck in it," he said to himself, as he pulled and
twisted at it. "Nope, brown paper," as a small roll of paper, the size,
thickness, and length of a cigarette fell to the floor. To this he paid
no attention, but continued to chop at the tea-pot until it was all in
bits, tightly packed in the solder pot, and covered with an old plate.
As he went to push back the anvil he stepped on the little bit of
rolled-up paper and idly picking it up, turned it between his fingers,
but with his mind wholly filled with the making of the magic bullets. It
was too late to melt the pewter now; he would have to wait until Monday
afternoon. How could he ever eat two more breakfasts, dinners, and
suppers with the precious stuff in his possession?
As his hands worked, the stout oiled paper between his fingers unrolled
by their warmth, as a leaf unfolds in the heat, and showed something
green inside.
Lammy looked, and his heart almost stopped beating, while the sun, moon,
and stars seemed to be floating past, trailing cloud petticoats and
dancing, for the green stuff was money,--clean, crisp banknotes rolled
as hard as a pencil!
Lammy sank down all in a heap on a pile of straw, his eyes closed
and his fist clutching the little bundle like a vice. It was several
minutes before he could steady himself sufficiently to part the tightly
twisted roll and count his treasure, which was so compact that he had
to use great care. Fortunately the oil paper had kept the money dry in
spite of the bath in the river, in addition to a bit of cork that had
been rammed tightly into the spout, but which Lammy had not noticed as
it dropped out at the first chop.
At last a bill peeled from the roll. Lammy smoothed it out, and rubbed
his eyes. Could it be? He had never seen a bank bill for a larger sum
than twenty dollars before, but five hundred was printed on this. Then
he fell to work in earnest, and after many stops to moisten his fingers,
twelve of the green, damp-smelling bits of paper lay spread upon the
barn floor, while Lammy was saying over to himself, "Twelve times five
are sixty--sixty hundred dollars--ten into sixty six times--six thousand
dollars! Oh, mother--Bird--the fruit farm!" he fairly shouted. This then
was what Aunt Jimmy's will had meant, after all.
Gathering the bills into his grimy handkerchief, blackened by polishing
the tea-pot, he buttoned them inside his shirt and rushed into the house
at the moment his mother was getting out of the chaise and bringing in
the week's supply of groceries, for which she had traded her eggs.
His father having come home from the wood lot, took the horse to the
barn, fed and bedded him immediately,--for old Graylocks never went fast
enough to become heated,--and then came to the kitchen sink to make his
toilet for supper.
Lammy sat waiting his time by the stove with his feet in the oven door,
trying to suppress the shivers that ran through him. Would his mother
ever put the things away and stop bustling? They could not have supper
until late that night, for the shop where his brothers worked was
running over time, and they would not be home before seven.
Mrs. Lane put the potatoes on to fry, arranged the steak in the broiler
(she was the only woman in Laurelville who did not fry her meat), and
then sat down to rest, keeping one eye upon the clock. Presently she
caught sight of Lammy's face, and promptly jumped up again to grab one
of his hands and ask anxiously: "Be you feelin' sick, Lammy Lane? Your
hands is frogs and your cheeks hot coals. I do hope and pray it ain't
goin' to be a fever spell o' any kind."
"Spell be blowed!" said Joshua, who was now seated by the lamp, enjoying
his weekly paper. "He's been a-traipsin' round all day among them soggy
marshes that fairly belches chills in fall o' the year, on a snack o'
cold food. What he needs is a lining o' hot vittles; likewise do I."
But Lammy had left the stove and stood by the table, his hands clasped
tightly, and such a strange expression on his face that both his parents
were startled.
"I ain't sick--that is, not much," he began, "though I'm awfully hungry,
but I've got something to tell out first."
Then he began slowly, and told about his visit to Old Lucky and his
search for bullet material.