ALL SORTS OF TREASON.
I have done a little injustice to Tom Hutchins--the warm-hearted lad who
had been so in love with little Rose Mason, and was sure to be in love
with every boy or girl who awoke his admiration, or needed his help. It
was he who had proposed to draw Paul home on his sled, on his first
lonely school day, and since that time a warm friendship had sprung up
between the two lads. The first liking had been cemented by an exchange
of doughnuts, wonder cakes, and red-cheeked apples. Then Tom had
undertaken to teach Paul English in conversational lessons, and picked
up a few scraps of French from the boy, fairly believing himself to be
speaking a foreign language when he twisted his hard, New England tongue
into imitations of Paul's pretty broken English, in which the boy could
now make himself understood.
In the midst of his eager work on the dam, Tom saw Paul standing alone
on the bank and called to him. But Paul shook his head, with a sad
smile, and shrunk further away from the water. Then Tom gave one great
heave at the log which was to complete the dam, shook the mud from his
hands, and went dripping up the bank, with his face all aglow, and
smiling as if he had just come out of a spring shower, and was inviting
his friend down to watch the wild flowers start up in his track.
"Are you cold, Paul?" he asked, dancing about till the water splashed
over the tops of his boots.
"A little," Paul said, shivering. "Only a little."
"Why, it's a'most like summer," returned Tom. "Splendid."
"Is it?" Paul asked, shivering worse than ever, as he thought what a
forlorn idea of summer people must have in that frigid land.
"Why, how you do shiver," cried Tom. "Let's take a run up the hill and
back, or you'll freeze solid."
"But you want to play," Paul said; "go with the boys, they are calling
for you."
"Let 'em," replied Tom, philosophically, consoled at once by the idea
that his playmates needed his assistance, and too full of generous
kindness for any thought of leaving Paul to his loneliness. "Come
along--let's see who'll get to the top first."
At the conclusion of their race Paul had got a color in his cheeks, and
felt somewhat less like an icicle than before.
Then Tom paused, and looked Paul in the face quite seriously.
"Come down here among the hemlocks; I want to talk to you where the boys
can't hear. We might do it in French, you know--you and I--but mebby
we'd better have it out according to the spelling-book."
Paul smiled, and followed his friend to the bank of the river, where
they sat down under the sheltering hemlock boughs. Tom shivered a
little, but he shook the weakness off, and broke forth at once into the
subject that was on his mind.
Tom's head was full of Katharine Allen and her troubles, a subject upon
which he and Paul had held many earnest conversations, interspersed by
mysterious hints about Rose Mason and Tom's unhappy state of mind
regarding her absence in some unknown country.
"Paul, how is Katharine Allen this morning?" he said, abruptly.
Paul shook his head sadly by way of answer.
"Not any better?" asked Tom. "Wal, I'm sorry for her, anyhow. Little
Rose liked her, and she was always good to Rose. It scares me to death
to think what they're going to do to her."
"Who?" asked Paul.
"Why the law, of course," replied Tom, shocked at his friend's
ignorance. "You know they're going to take her to prison as soon as
she's well enough to be carried there."
"Yes, I know. They are wicked men, too wicked," exclaimed Paul; "why
can't they leave her alone?"
"You mustn't say any thing agin the squire," returned Tom, with his New
England respect for the law and its ministers. "I'm sorry for her, but
you see she kinder killed the baby, poor little critter--I guess she was
crazy, though, I do, but marm won't hear on it."
"Why don't her husband come and help her," Paul suggested.
"She haint got any--oh, dear no, that's the worst on it, marm says."
"Oh, she must have."
"Oh, must she!" retorted Tom, exulting in his knowledge of this world's
wickedness, gained from conversations he had overheard concerning the
poor girl, yet perplexed, and quite unable to settle the matter to his
own satisfaction. Still he had no intention of allowing Paul to suppose
that his wisdom was more than half assumed.
"I'm glad Miss Rose ain't here, anyhow," he observed; "she'd break her
heart about all this. I know she would."
Paul thought the girl's heart must be colder than the weather if it
would not have that effect, and nodded his approbation of Tom's
sentiment.
"Katharine is getting stronger; they talk of carrying her off in a day
or two," continued Tom. "I heard our folks say so this morning."
Paul's great eyes dimmed with tears, then a quick passion turned them
into fire.
"I could kill them," he said. "Yes, I could."
"'Twouldn't be no use," remarked Tom, sapiently; "'cause they'd only
take you off too. I wish we could do something, though--I wish we
could."
"Can't we?" questioned Paul, his face kindling with eagerness. "Oh,
don't you think we could?"
"You're such a little bit of a chap," Tom replied, eyeing his companion,
with a natural exultation at his own superiority in point of inches and
weight.
"I'm little," Paul said, "but I am very brave--oh, you don't know! And
Jube--Jube is strong like a lion, he could do any thing."
"I wonder if she couldn't run away," Tom burst out, quite overcome by
his own inspiration. "I don't suppose she could run, you know, but she
might get away."
"And we could help," Paul said, his quick intelligence seizing at once
upon the suggestion; "I am sure we could."
"Why, my marm would kill me!" exclaimed Tom. "Wouldn't I ketch it, oh,
my!"
"You would beg and pray," said Paul; "she could not refuse--she would be
willing."
"Wal, I guess we wouldn't ask her--'tain't disobeyin' when you hain't
been told not to do a thing, and nobody can tell you what to do when
they never heerd of it."
Tom got dreadfully bewildered in his labyrinth of negatives and Paul was
unable to make much of his speech, but he was certain that it harmonized
with his own ideas, even if he did fail to comprehend its entire
signification.
"We could help her," he kept repeating; "I am sure we could."
"I do wonder what the squire would say?" said Tom, giggling at the very
idea, although somewhat frightened at its audacity. "Wouldn't there be a
rumpus--oh, my golly!"
He laughed outright, and Paul joined him from sympathy with that merry
face; but he became thoughtful again in a moment.
"You are certain they would take her away from home and lock her up in
that dark, lonesome place you call a prison?" he inquired.
"Sure as a gun. Par says so, and he knows the squires and lawyers about
here all to pieces; but that aint the worst of it, not by a jug full."
The good-hearted little fellow's voice began to choke in his throat, and
he burst into a laugh to keep from sobbing outright.
"What can be worse than that?" inquired Paul, startled by his friend's
demonstration.
"They'll kill her!"
Paul turned deadly pale. The horror in Tom's words had struck him dumb.
"They'll hang her up on a gallows made of two high posts, with a
cross-bar on the top," continued Tom, shuddering at his own words, "and
a halter fastened to the cross-bar, which they will tie round her pretty
white neck, that Rose used to hug so much."
"Don't, oh, don't!" whispered Paul, putting up his hands; "it makes me
tremble all over."
"And so it does me," cried Tom, dashing the tears from his blue eyes.
"But you ought to know it just as it is, the burning brand and all."
"The burning brand--what is that?" asked Paul, faintly.
"The hot iron that they stamp M--that's for murderer, you know--on her
hand!"
"Oh, me!" sighed Paul. "That petite white hand!"
"Sometimes the courts do that, and let 'em live in Simsbury all the rest
of their lives. Sometimes they hang 'em right up. I don't know which
they'll do to her."
"But they will do some of these awful things?" questioned Paul,
breathing as if he was chilled through with the cold.
"Of course, they've got to do it. The law won't let 'em back out if they
wanted to."
"Oh, dear, it makes me feel so wicked," cried Paul, brave thoughts
kindling through the pallor of his face. "I want to cry and strike
somebody at the same time."
"Strike! I want to maul some of 'em! Oh, if them courts was only little
boys, and I the law, wouldn't they come down on their marrow bones and
beg her pardon for thinking of such a thing. Besides, do you see, Paul,
I don't believe she killed the baby. Anyway, them little creatures, with
long flannel petticoats a hanging over their feet, are always doing
things to torment grown folks, catching the rash, and measles, and
chickenpox, to say nothing of a habit they get into of hiccuping right
in a feller's face when he's told to tend 'em. Babies! They're the only
thing I ever raly had agin marm--she always would be keeping one on
hand, just for us to rock, and tend, and hush up. Par never would make a
fuss about it, as a man aught ter with such goings on in the house."
"Perhaps he rather liked them!" suggested Paul.
"Liked 'em. Well, maybe he did, there's no saying; besides, they're well
enough in their place, and that, according to my notion, is sound asleep
in the cradle. Anyhow, what's the use of making sich a time about it
when one of 'em stops crying for good and all, and what on airth could
anybody think that ere young gal wanted with one of 'em a tagging after
her?"
"I don't know," replied Paul, tenderly; "but from the way she looks at
the empty cradle sometimes, it seems to me as if she wanted it there
very much."
"Of course she does. It's a way of the wimmen folks have. I don't know
about marm, for our cradle never is empty; but some wimmen make such
fools of themselves, it's enough to set a feller agin the whole pack and
boodle on 'em."
"You don't mean all the beautiful ladies," said Paul, thinking sadly of
his own sweet mother.
"There's marm--she's a purty good kind of a woman after all, and Miss
Mason, harnsome as a pictur. Then, little Rose--oh, my! don't you wish
you could see her, with her white aprons ruffled all around, and her
long curls, just like a wax doll. But then the generality of 'em--well,
I don't want to say nothin'."
"That was a very nice little lady that gave me one apple with the brown
coat."
"She? yes, she'll do; but we're going off the handle, you and I. What's
the good of talking about the best on 'em if Katharine Allen has got to
be hung! As I was a saying--when you would go on about wimmen folks in
gineral, as if I cared any thing about them--as I was a saying, she
never hurt that baby no more than I did. It went off and buried itself
up in the snow--stealing Katy's shawl to wrap itself up in, then took
cold and went into a conniption fit just out of spite. Them little
sojers are up to all sorts of tricks; don't I know 'em!"
"I am sure it died of its own accord," said Paul.
"Of course; anybody but a squire would a found that out long ago."
"And she would be much glad to have the little baby back again."
"Wall, I don't know about that," said Tom, shaking his head doubtfully;
"Katharine Allen's got some sense, I reckon; squalling must come
unnatral in that ar house--now I leave it to you."
"But they will hang her dead."
"No doubt about it."
"Or burn her poor petite hand."
"Both on 'em, for all what I know, without you and I stand up to the
rack like men, and tell the laws, and squires, and constables to go to
old scratch."
"What is old scratch?"
"Well, I don't just know; but he's a feller that's always about times
like this."
"But hadn't we better let the laws, and the squires, and all the rest
alone, and try very much to help her?" suggested Paul.
"In course we had; I only threw them in sort of promiscuous. Now I'll
tell you what my idee is: Katharine is getting stronger every day, you
know."
"Yes," said Paul; "she sat up in a chair this morning, and eat very
little _dejeuner_--breakfast, I mean--and the man--that great big man
that sits on the hearth always--said she was getting much strong, and
the window is too near the ground--not safe."
"Did he say that?" inquired Tom, breathlessly.
"Yes; the man said that. Then madame--that is the old mother--she look
frightened very much, and said, no take the poor sick child away too
soon. Then the man said up-stairs was best--high from ground, very
sure."
"That's bad," muttered Tom. "Ladders are scarce and heavy to lift."
"So," continued Paul, "they move my bed into another room, and take up
many things for her, because the man thinks it sure."
"Well," cried Tom, coming out in force, "'what can't be cured must be
endured,' as par says. There may be a ladder about Mrs. Allen's
premises. To-morrow morning, when I come after you, we'll just take a
survey there. About that cuffy friend of yourn, I want to have some talk
with him. When there's ladders to be used, I'm afraid you and I couldn't
come quite up to the scratch."
"But Jube, Jube he come right up to old scratch for us--very strong
Jube--very brave, like lion."
"You're sartin that cuffy would do it; that he wouldn't slump through?"
"What, Jube? oh, yes, he do any thing I say; very good Jube, never
slump."
"Well, then, we're a hull team, you and I and the nigger. Yes, and a
hoss to let. If we don't get Katy Allen out of that end window, I don't
know what's what; but, then, what are we to do with her when that's
done?"
Paul shook his head in sudden despondency.
"Oh, dear, where can we go?"
Tom folded his arms and drooped his head. Here was a difficulty which he
hadn't thought of before.
All at once Paul brightened up.
"We will take her to New York. If David Rice is there he'll be very
good, and so glad Jube and we did it for his sister."
"Yes," cried Tom, "That's a genuine idee. I'll hook par's yaller wagon
and drive down to the sloop atween two days, they'll never think of
searching aboard a sloop. But oh, golly, golly, here's a fix. It takes
money to travel in that ere genteel way, and I haint got more'n a
ninepence on earth."
"Money?" cried Paul, eagerly. "What you call gold with the king's head
on it?"
"I don't know about gold, never saw none of that ere money. What I mean
is silver with a spread-eagle on one side and a woman's head on
t'other."
"I am sure that gold is money," said Paul, recovering from his first
look of disappointment, "for Jube gave it to the people as we came
along, and they gave him back silver like that you speak of, more pieces
than the gold, oh very much."
"And how much have you got?"
Paul put his delicate hands together.
"So much full, three, four, five times."
Tom emitted a low whistle. "Oh, golly, that's up to chalk, and you're
sartin the tavern keepers and captains gave you silver money for it?"
"Sure I saw."
"And Jube will shell out--no mistake about that, ha?"
"Jube what?"
"'ll hand over," persisted Tom, counting imaginary gold into his palm.
"What, give the money?"
"Yes; chink!"
"Oh, yes--sure."
"Then we're sot up in business. Three stout fellers, saddles lying about
loose in some barn or other, yaller wagon standing ready, harness
chucked under the seat, horses whinnering to be druv, and that ere poor
gal ready to jump out of the window when we say the word. Now, Paul,
this is just what you must do. Get the nigger--I mean our friend
Jube--for when a darkey has his double hands full of chink to do as he
pleases with, he's got a right to be treated like folks, for that makes
him an individual; get him ready to toe the mark when we give the word.
Jest tell her that Tom--she knows me--is on hand, and working for her
like sixty, and just the minute she's well enough to cut, we'll have her
out of that winder. Then you sleep with one eye open, and tell me every
word that officer says."
"Yes," said Paul, "I'll do every thing; but hadn't we better say
something to madam?"
"Do you mean Mrs. Allen?" answered Tom, dropping his chin into the
hollow of one hand, in a thoughtful way. "No; I should rather say not.
She's got strict notions about things, and might put the wrong spoke
into our wheel. Now, if I was going to tell anybody, it would be the
doctor; he's clear grit, he is, and wouldn't stop us if we run through
his own home lot with that ere gal. Ketch him telling."
By this time the boys were chilled through with standing in the wet and
cold. Tom's teeth chattered in his head as he uttered this encomium on
the doctor, who was the most popular person among the juveniles in all
the neighborhood, and Paul shivered in his garments like a tropical bird
brought into the midst of a foreign winter. Besides, the boys had
conquered the brook, which was storming its way to the river over a pile
of stones and rubbish, which he triumphantly pronounced the finest dam
that had ever been built on this side of creation; and Tom, though a
philosopher, philanthropist, and hero, loved fun above all. So away he
started, shouting hurrah, and made a rush clear through the turbulent
waters of the brook, just to let the boys know that he hadn't been
shirking; but amid all the noise and fun, he resolved to be faithful to
his young confederate, and only hold council with the true-hearted
negro.
As Paul went toiling up the hill that day, he saw Jube coming toward
him--a circumstance that often happened on his way from school. How his
beautiful face kindled up at the sight of his friend. His pace
quickened, and the trouble went out from his eyes as he held out the
little, cold hand, in its wet mitten, for Jube to lead him home, as
usual.
Jube drew off the mitten, and took the chilled hand in his broad palm,
caressing it as if it had been a bird.