MISS LARRABEE'S LETTER.
If I did not get up as early as usual the next morning, none of my
tyrants were stirring in season to abuse me for lying abed so late; for
they, like myself, had not retired until after midnight. The first thing
that came to my mind in the morning was the scene I had witnessed in the
post-office. The secret seemed to burn in my soul, and I wanted some
means of getting rid of it. I actually pitied Ham, and would gladly have
availed myself of any method of saving him from the crime--of saving him
from himself, rather than from the penalty of the offence, for even then
the crime seemed to me to be worse than the punishment, and more to be
dreaded.
It was nearly breakfast time when Ham made his appearance, and I
imagined that he had found some difficulty in going to sleep with the
burden of his crime resting upon his conscience. Squire Fishley did not
appear till the family were just ready to sit down at the table. He
looked sleepy, stupid, and ashamed of himself, and Mrs. Fishley thought
he must have taken cold. According to his custom, the senator said grace
at the table, by invitation of his brother, who, however, never returned
thanks himself.
I could not help keeping one eye fixed on the distinguished man, for so
unusual an event as saying grace in that house did not fail to make an
impression upon me. I noticed that he cast frequent glances at me, and
very uneasy ones at that. Doubtless he felt that I could unfold a tale
which was not exactly consistent with his religious pretensions. But, in
spite of all I knew, I did not regard him as a hypocrite. I did not know
enough about him to enable me to reach so severe a judgment. The shame
and penitence he had manifested assured me he was not in the habit of
getting intoxicated; and I was willing to believe that he had been led
away by the force of circumstances a single time, and that the error
would cure itself by its own reaction.
"It's rather chilly this morning," said Captain Fishley. "Buck, you may
make a little fire in the stove."
"It has cleared off pleasant, and it will be warmer by and by, when the
sun gets up," added Mrs. Fishley, who always had something to say, on
every possible topic that could be introduced, whether she knew anything
about it or not.
I went to the store. In the open stove were the tindered remains of the
letter Ham had burned. The sheet of paper had been entirely consumed;
but the envelope, which he had destroyed afterwards, was only half
burned. The right hand lower corner had apparently been wet, so that it
resisted the action of the fire, and appeared to rise in judgment
against the mail robber. The piece contained part of the last name of
the superscription, with a portion of the town, county, and state, of
the address. Without any definite purpose in doing so, I put the remains
of the envelope in my pocket.
While I was making the fire, Miss Larrabee entered the store, and went
up to the counter appropriated to the post-office. Ham whistled Yankee
Doodle, which was patriotic enough, but out of place even in the shop,
and sauntered leisurely over to wait upon her. I was astonished to see
how cool he was; but I think the whistle had a deceptive effect.
"Has that letter come yet?" asked Miss Larrabee; and her anxiety was
visible in the tones of her voice.
"What letter do you mean, Miss Larrabee?" asked Ham, suspending his
whistle, and looking as blank as though he had never heard of it.
"Why, the letter I came for last night," replied the ancient maiden.
"For yourself?"
"Yes; the letter from Ethan's folks."
"I haven't heard anything about it before."
"Well, you was a standin' here last night when I axed your father for
it," added Miss Larrabee, who thought the matter was of consequence
enough to have everybody take an interest in it.
"I didn't mind what you said. So many letters come here, that I can't
keep the run of them."
"I've axed your father for't goin' on three times; and he said it would
come in last night's mail. It must have come afore this time."
"If it must, I suppose it has," replied Ham, taking a pile of letters
from the pigeon-hole marked L.
Having lighted the kindlings in the stove, I stood up to observe the
conduct of Ham. He resumed his whistle, and examined the letters. Of
course he did not find the one he was looking for.
"None for Larrabee," said he, suspending the patriotic air long enough
to utter the words.
"Goodness gracious! There must be!" exclaimed the unhappy spinster.
"Have you looked 'em all over?"
"I have."
But Ham took down the L's again, and went through the pile once more.
"None for Larrabee," he repeated, and then, for variety's sake, whistled
the first strain of Hail, Columbia.
"But, Mr. Fishley, there must be a letter for me. Ethan writ me there
was one comin'; and he said it would be here by to-day, for sartain,"
protested Miss Larrabee. "Mebbe it's got into some other hole."
"Well, to please you, I'll look them all over; but I don't remember
seeing any letter for you."
"I tell ye it must have come afore now," persisted the venerable maiden.
Ham whistled his favorite air as he went through all the letters in the
pigeon-holes, from A to Z. He did not find it, and Miss Larrabee was in
despair. She had made all her preparations to visit "Jim's folks," and
had intended to start that day.
"It's a shame!" exclaimed she. "I know Ethan sent the letter. He
wouldn't play no sech trick on me. Them mail folks ought to look out for
things better'n that."
"If it didn't come, it didn't," added Ham, consolingly.
"But I know it did come. Ethan must have put it in the post-office.
'Tain't like him to say he'd do a thing, and then not do it. I almost
know he sent the letter."
At this point Captain Fishley and his brother entered the store, and
Miss Larrabee appealed to him. The postmaster looked the letters over
very carefully; but, as there was none for the lady, he couldn't find
any. He was very sorry, but he displayed more philosophy than the
spinster, and "bore up" well under the trial.
"What on airth am I to do!" ejaculated Miss Larrabee. "Here I've got all
ready to go and see Jim's folks; but I can't go because I hain't got no
money. When I set about doin' a thing, I want to do it."
"People sometimes make mistakes in directing their letters, and then
they have to go to the dead-letter office," suggested Captain Fishley.
"Ethan didn't make no mistake. 'Tain't like him to make mistakes. Do you
think Ethan don't know where I live?"
"I don't know anything about it, only that the letter isn't here."
"Dear suz! What shall I do? When a body's made up her mind to go, it's
desp'ate aggravatin' not to go."
At this trying juncture, Squire Fishley interposed, and, after some
inquiries in regard to the responsibility of the parties, suggested that
his brother should lend the lady money enough to enable her to make her
journey.
"I'd be much obleeged to you, Captain Fishley, if you'd do it," said
Miss Larrabee, delighted with the suggestion. "I shan't be gone more'n
a month, and when I come back I'll hand it to you. That letter must come
to-day or to-morrow, and if you have a mind to, you can open it, and
take the money out. It will save me the interest."
"But suppose the letter has gone to the dead-letter office?" added the
postmaster.
"Sakes alive! I've got money enough to pay it, if the letter is lost.
Why, Ethan's got more'n 'leven hundred dollars that belongs to me."
"All right, Miss Larrabee," replied Captain Fishley, as he took out the
money, and wrote a note for the amount.
The worthy maiden of many summers put on her spectacles, signed the
note, and counted the money. She was happy again, for the journey was
not to be deferred. I think Ham was as glad to have her go as she was to
go. I could not help watching him very closely after his father and the
squire left the store, to observe how he carried himself in his course
of deception and crime. I had never known him to whistle so much before,
and I regarded it as the stimulus he used in keeping up his
self-possession.
"What are you staring at me for, Buck Bradford?" demanded he, as I stood
gazing across the counter at him.
"A cat may look at the king," I replied, stung by the harsh words, after
I had cherished so many kind feelings towards him, though I forgot that
I had not expressed them, since the affray on the road.
"Do I owe you anything?"
"No, you don't owe me anything."
"Yes, I do. I owe you something on last night's account, and I'm going
to pay it too," he added, shaking his head at me in a threatening
manner.
I did not like his style, and not wishing to make a disturbance in the
store, I said nothing. I walked up to the stove, where I found that my
fire was not doing very well, for my interest in the letter had caused
me to neglect it. I put on some more kindlings, and then knelt down on
the hearth to blow up the fire with my breath. Captain Fishley and the
squire had left the store, and Ham and I were alone. I heard my youngest
tyrant come from behind the counter; but I did not think anything of
it. While I was kneeling on the hearth, and blowing up the failing
embers with all my might, Ham came up behind me, with a cowhide in his
hand, taken from a lot for sale, and before I suspected any treachery on
his part, or had time to defend myself, he struck me three heavy blows,
each of which left a mark that remained for more than a week.
I sprang to my feet; but the wretch had leaped over the counter, and
fortified himself behind it. He looked as ugly as sin itself; but I
could see that he was not without a presentiment of the consequences of
his rash act. I do not profess to be an angel in the quality of my
temper, and I was as mad as a boy of fifteen could be. I made a spring
at him, and was going over the counter in a flying leap, when he gave me
a tremendous cut across the shoulder.
"Hold on there, Buck Bradford!" called he, as he pushed me back with his
left hand. "We are square now."
"No, we are not," I replied, taking a cowhide from a bundle of them on a
barrel. "We have a new account to settle now."
"We are just even for what you gave me last night," said he.
"Not yet," I added, leaping over the counter in another place; and,
rushing upon him, I brought my weapon to bear upon his shoulders.
"What are you about, you villain?" demanded Captain Fishley, returning
to the store at this moment.
He seized me by the collar, and being a powerful man, he wrested the
cowhide from my grasp, and before I could make any successful
demonstration, he laid the weapon about my legs, till they were in no
better condition than I had left Ham's the evening before.
"I'll teach you to strike my son!" said he, breathless with excitement.
"He struck me," I flouted.
"No matter if he did; you deserved it. Now go to the barn, and harness
the horse."
I saw the squire coming into the store. I was overpowered; and, with my
legs stinging with pain, I went to the barn.