AROUND THE FIRE-PLACE.
Father Byrne, who had noticed Owen's fondness for reading and wished to
encourage him in this respect, brought him the few books he could
obtain. Among the number was a selection of English poets, the first
book of poems which Owen had ever seen.
He had not possessed the treasure many days before Martin Cooper came
over to see it. When the latter arrived, Owen was busy with the chores.
"Don't wait for me, Mart," said he. "You'll find the book on the mantel.
I'll be through in a short time. I've some news, too, about the cave."
"Just as you say. I'm anxious to try that wonderful book."
Martin seated himself before the spacious fire-place, which served the
double purpose of heating and lighting the room, and began his work of
inspection. The book was opened at random, and a passage of Shakespeare
read,--a difficult one, not a line of which was understood. What could a
farmer-boy who had read scarcely a dozen books expect to gather from the
pages of Shakespeare? Martin closed the book, examined the cover, gazed
into the fire-place, watched the shadows, and whistled three times.
After this performance had been concluded, the book was again opened,
but at a different place.
"Il Pen-se-ro-so"--he was forced to spell every syllable of the strange
title, and as for the poem with its many mythological allusions, it was
worse than a Chinese puzzle. Again Martin shuffled his feet, again he
stared at the shadows. He then opened the book for the third time, with
a firm resolve that if he did not understand the next lines he would
never in the future enter the domains of poetry. Did his eyes deceive
him? He leaned forward to get a better light. Was there really a poem on
Kentucky? Impossible! He was dreaming! No, there it was, and to make
sure that he was not deceived, he pronounced every letter,
"K-e-n-t-u-c-k-y," and then read the line, "Kentucky's wild and tangled
wood." Book in hand he rushed from the room into the yard, calling at
the top of his voice: "Owen! Owen! here's a poem about Kentucky."
When the two boys returned to the room, they found that the poem was
entitled "Marmion," the line, "Kentucky's wild and tangled wood," being
simply an allusion to their State.
"Halloo!" exclaimed Owen, examining the title page, "it's written by a
fellow named Scott."
"From Scott county," suggested Martin.
"May be. He seems to know all about the country."
"Yes! He says it's wild."
"I wonder whether he ever saw 'Green Briar'? It's the most tangled part
of the State I know of. I went 'coon hunting one night, and got so
tangled up among the bushes and briars that when I came home I had only
half a coat."
"Let us see what the book says about Scott!"
"He lives in England," said Owen, turning to a brief account of the
author's life.
"Did he ever come to this country?" inquired Martin.
"No! At least there is nothing here about it."
The boys were disappointed, for they had at first concluded that the
poem was about Kentucky, and afterwards that the writer himself was a
Kentuckian. Scott, however, had mentioned their native State; so without
a long process of reasoning they placed him first among the poets.
"Look at this," said Owen, pointing to the title of the first book of
"The Lady of the Lake."
"What is it?"
"What is it! Why it is about a chase--a deer hunt."
The boys had at last found something which they could understand and
appreciate. Many of the beauties of the poem were lost to them, still
they understood enough to enjoy it. Martin declared that he could see
the stag as it "sniffed the tainted gale," sprung to its feet, shook the
dew-drops from its flanks, and bounded off toward the mountains. What
would the poet have thought could he have heard the remarks of his two
young admirers beyond the ocean? They wondered if the hounds could run
faster than Bounce; they wondered why the huntsman did not shoot the
deer, little knowing that it was long before the invention of the
flint-lock or rifle; they wondered and wondered about many things which
their simple and untrained minds could not grasp or understand.
"Why, I almost forgot that news about the cave," said Owen when the two
boys were tired of the poem.
"Let me hear it. You don't know how often I think about that place."
"The other night when I was reading 'Robinson Crusoe'----"
"Tell me about the cave. I've had enough about books for one night,"
interrupted Martin.
"That's just what I'm trying to do."
"Pardon me. I thought you were going to speak of the old man and his
island."
"No. While I had the book in my hand I happened to see some writing and
drawing on one of the last pages. There was a line marked _Beech Fork_;
above this was the word _hill_; then a few scratches over which were
written in two places, _big rocks_. Beginning with these two rocks was a
single way or entrance which branched off into a number of passages."
"Were the passages marked?"
"Nothing was written over them; but it seemed to me that the lines
represented them."
"Probably they did," said Martin. "Get the book and let us look at
them."
"That's the bad luck of it, Mart. The page was burned."
"Who burned it?"
"Well, it was my fault. You see the page was loose; I let the book drop,
and the draft from the chimney sucked the leaf into the fire."
"What else was written on that leaf?"
"The word _light_ was put down in three different places."
"Did the man show us the night we were there three places where the
light entered?"
"No, only two; but of course we didn't see everything."
"I do believe it was a drawing of the cave," said Martin. "But the next
question is, who drew it. If we only knew that, we could find out the
names of the fellows in the place."
"Nearly every person in the State has read that book," replied Owen. "I
don't see what good it would do to get the names."
The boys were silent for some time.
The drawing which Owen had seen was the work of Jerry. When the trapper
discovered the cave he went to the Tinker's house and offered to show it
to him under certain conditions. Some of these conditions were written
on the back of the page which had been burned. If Owen could have
examined that page for five minutes he would have known the secret of
the cave; for, while the few words scribbled there were unintelligible
to others, they were sufficiently plain to any one who had visited the
spot.
"I have something else to tell you about the cave," said Owen who was
the first to speak. "You know old Bowen came up here the day after the
shooting-match to inquire about Charlie; then he wanted to know where we
slept the night we went to the cave."
"How does he know anything about the place?"
"That's just what I don't see; but from the way he asked the question I
began to think he knew something about it. Father and mother talk about
him every night. Father can't understand how it is that old Bowen's
corn-crib has burned the last three years--and burned, mind you, just at
the beginning of winter, when he had it full of corn."
"And what has that to do with the cave?" asked Martin.
"Nothing, as far as I can see. But father thinks that old Bowen is a
rascal; that something will turn up one of these days and surprise
everyone."
"If he does find out about the cave," said Martin, "he will charge that
fellow who wants to buy it twice as much as it is worth."
"He will not find out from us. That man treated us kindly. We promised
not to tell, and we must keep our promise."
"Just what I think about it, Owen! But I wish the fellow would hurry on
and buy it. You see, we'll spend a whole day going through it."
"Do you think he will take us in as partners, because we've kept the
secret so well?" asked Owen.
"I didn't think of that. We can be the guides to show the people
around."
"But we must make him let us in as partners."
"Yes, we'll be guides and partners at the same time."
"I wonder whether he will make much money on it."
"And I wonder whether he will be able to buy it soon."
The boys continued for some time to build castles in the air, and to
speak of their interest in the cave as if it were already a reality.
Their conversation was interrupted by Bounce, who ran out from the porch
to the yard-gate barking furiously. They went to the door, but saw no
one. It was a poor runaway slave who had caused the disturbance. He had
been whipped most cruelly by his master, old Bowen, and threatened with
death; and knowing that this was but the beginning of his sufferings,
had resolved to attempt an escape. He was now concealed near the
yard-gate, in the branches of a small tree. Later in the night he
contrived to attract Mose's notice, who, pitying him in his distress,
carried him to one of the hay-lofts.