On a certain mild March evening, A. D. 1864, the Ducklow kitchen had a
general air of waiting for somebody. Mrs. Ducklow sat knitting by the
light of a kerosene lamp, but paused ever and anon, neglecting her
stocking, and knitting her brows instead, with an aspect of anxious
listening. The old gray cat, coiled up on a cushion at her side, purring
in her sleep, purred and slept as if she knew perfectly well who was
coming soon to occupy that chair, and meant to make the most of it. The
old-fashioned clock, perched upon the high mantel-piece of the
low-studded room, ticked away lonesomely, as clocks only tick when
somebody is waited for who does not come. Even the tea-kettle on the
stove seemed to be in the secret, for it simmered and sang after the
manner of a wise old tea-kettle fully conscious of the importance of its
mission. The side-table, which was simply a leaf on hinges fixed in the
wall, and looked like an apron when it was down, giving to that side of
the kitchen a curious resemblance to Mrs. Ducklow, and rested on one arm
when it was up, in which position it reminded you more of Mr. Ducklow
leaning his chin on his hand,--the side-table was set with a single
plate, knife and fork, and cup and saucer, indicating that the person
waited for was expected to partake of refreshments. Behind the
stairway-door was a small boy kicking off a very small pair of trousers
with a degree of reluctance which showed that he also wished to sit up
and wait for somebody.
"Say, ma, _need_ I go to bed now!" he exclaimed rather than inquired,
starting to pull on the trousers again after he had got one leg free.
"He'll want me to hold the lantern for him to take care of the hoss."
"No, no, Taddy," for that was the boy's name, (short for Thaddeus,)
"you'll only be in the way, if you set up. Besides, I want to mend your
pants."
"You're always wantin' to mend my pants!" complained the youngster, who
seemed to think that it was by no means to do him a favor, but rather to
afford herself a gloating pleasure, that Mrs. Ducklow, who had a mania
for patching, required the garment to be delivered up to her. "I wish
there was n't such a thing as pants in the world!"
"Don't talk that way, after all the trouble and expense we've been to to
clothe ye!" said the good woman, reprovingly. "Where would you be now,
if 't wasn't for me and yer Pa Ducklow?"
"I shouldn't be goin' to bed when I don't want to!" he muttered, just
loud enough to be heard.
"You ungrateful child!" said Mrs. Ducklow, not without reason, for Taddy
knew very well--at least he was reminded of the fact often enough--that
he owed to them his home and all its comforts. "Wouldn't be going to bed
when you don't want to! You wouldn't be going to bed when you want to,
more likely; for ten to one you wouldn't have a bed to go to. Think of
the sitewation you was in when we adopted ye, and then talk that way!"
As this was an unanswerable argument, Taddy contented himself with
thrusting a hand into his trousers and recklessly increasing the area of
the forthcoming patch. "If she likes to mend so well, let her!" thought
he.
"Taddy, are you tearing them pants?" cried Mrs. Ducklow sharply, hearing
a sound alarmingly suggestive of cracking threads.
"I was pullin' 'em off," said Taddy. "I never see such mean cloth! can't
touch it, but it has to tear.--Say, ma, do ye think he'll bring me home
a drum?"
"You'll know in the morning."
"I want to know to-night. He said mabby he would. Say, _can't_ I set
up?"
"I'll let ye know whether you can set up, after you've been told so many
times!"
So saying, Mrs. Ducklow rose from her chair, laid down her
knitting-work, and started for the stairway-door with great energy and a
rattan. But Taddy, who perceived retribution approaching, did not see
fit to wait for it. He darted up the stairs and crept into his bunk with
the lightness and agility of a squirrel.
"I'm a-bed! Say, ma, I'm a-bed!" he cried, eager to save the excellent
lady the trouble of ascending the stairs. "I'm 'most asleep a'ready!"
"It 's a good thing for you you be!" said Mrs. Ducklow, gathering up the
garment he had left behind the door. "Why, Taddy, how you did tear it!
I've a good notion to give ye a smart trouncing now!"
Taddy began to snore, and Mrs. Ducklow concluded that she would not wake
him.
"It _is_ mean cloth, as he says!" she exclaimed, examining it by the
kerosene lamp. "For my part, I consider it a great misfortin that shoddy
was ever invented. Ye can't buy any sort of a ready-made garment for
boys now-days but it comes to pieces at the least wear or strain, like
so much brown paper."
She was shaping the necessary patch, when the sound of wheels coming
into the yard told her that the person so long waited for had arrived.
"That you?" said she, opening the kitchen-door and looking out into the
darkness.
"Yes," replied a man's voice.
"Ye want the lantern?"
"No: jest set the lamp in the winder, and I guess I can git along.
Whoa!" And the man jumped to the ground.
"Had good luck?" the woman inquired in a low voice.
"I'll tell ye when I come in," was the evasive answer.
"Has he bought me a drum?" bawled Taddy from the chamber-stairs.
"Do you want me to come up there and 'tend to ye?" demanded Mrs.
Ducklow.
The boy was not particularly ambitious of enjoying that honor.
"You be still and go to sleep, then, or you'll git _drummed_!"
And she latched the stairway-door, greatly to the dismay of Master
Taddy, who felt that some vast and momentous secret was being kept from
him. Overhearing whispered conferences between his adopted parents in
the morning, noticing also the cautious glances they cast at him, and
the persistency with which they repeatedly sent him away out of sight on
slight and absurd pretences, he had gathered a fact and drawn an
inference, namely, that a great purchase was to be made by Mr. Ducklow
that day in town, and that, on his return, he (Taddy) was to be
surprised by the presentation of what he had long coveted and teased
for,--a new drum.
To lie quietly in bed under such circumstances was an act that required
more self-control than Master Taddy possessed. Accordingly he stole down
stairs and listened, feeling sure, that, if the drum should come in,
Mrs. Ducklow, and perhaps Mr. Ducklow himself, would be unable to resist
the temptation of thumping it softly to try its sound.
Mrs. Ducklow was busy taking her husband's supper out of the oven, where
it had been keeping warm for him, pouring hot water into the teapot, and
giving the last touches to the table. Then came the familiar grating
noise of a boot on the scraper. Mrs. Ducklow stepped quickly to open the
door for Mr. Ducklow. Taddy, well aware that he was committing an
indiscretion, but inspired by the wild hope of seeing a new drum come
into the kitchen, ventured to unlatch the stairway-door, open it a
crack, and peep.
Mr. Ducklow entered, bringing a number of parcels containing purchases
from the stores, but no drum visible to Taddy.
"Did you buy?" whispered Mrs. Ducklow, relieving him of his load.
Mr. Ducklow pointed mysteriously at the stairway-door, lifting his
eyebrows interrogatively.
"Taddy?" said Mrs. Ducklow. "Oh, he's abed,--though I never in my life
had such a time to git him off out of the way; for he'd somehow got
possessed with the idee that you was to buy something, and he wanted to
set up and see what it was."
"Strange how children will ketch things sometimes, best ye can do to
prevent!" said Mr. Ducklow.
"But did ye buy?"
"You better jest take them matches and put 'em out o' the way, fust
thing, 'fore ye forgit it. Matches are dangerous to have layin' around,
and I never feel safe till _they_'re safe."
And Mr. Ducklow hung up his hat, and laid his overcoat across a chair in
the next room, with a carefulness and deliberation exhausting to the
patience of good Mrs. Ducklow, and no less trying to that of Master
Taddy, who was waiting to hear the important question answered.
"Come!" said she, after hastily disposing of the matches, "what's the
use of keeping me in suspense? _Did_ ye buy?"
"Where did ye put 'em?" asked Mr. Ducklow, taking down the bootjack.
"In the little tin pail, where we always keep 'em, of course! Where
should I put 'em?"
"You needn't be cross! I asked, 'cause I didn't hear ye put the cover
on. I don't believe ye _did_ put the cover on, either; and I sha'n't be
easy till ye do."
Mrs. Ducklow returned to the pantry; and her husband, pausing a moment,
leaning over a chair, heard the cover go on the tin pail with a click
and a clatter which betrayed, that, if ever there was an angry and
impatient cover, that was.
"Anybody been here to-day?" Mr. Ducklow inquired, pressing the heel of
his right boot in the jack, and steadying the toe under a round of the
chair.
"No!" replied Mrs. Ducklow.
"Ye been anywhere?"
"Yes!"
"Where?" mildly inquired Mr. Ducklow.
"No matter!" said Mrs. Ducklow, with decided ill-temper.
Mr. Ducklow drew a deep sigh, as he turned and looked upon her.
"Wal, you be about the most uncomf'table woman ever I see!" he said,
with a dark and dissatisfied countenance.
"If you can't answer my question, I don't see why I need take the
trouble to answer yours,"--and Mrs. Ducklow returned with compressed
lips to her patching. "Yer supper is ready; ye can eat it when ye
please."
"I was answerin' your question as fast as I could," said her husband, in
a tone of excessive mildness, full of sorrow and discouragement.
"I haven't seen any signs of your answering it!"
And the housewife's fingers stitched away energetically at the patch.
"Wal, wal! ye don't see everything!"
Mr. Ducklow, having already removed one boot, drew gently on the other.
As it came off, something fell out on the floor. He picked it up, and
handed it with a triumphant smile to Mrs. Ducklow.
"Oh, indeed! is this the"----
She was radiant. Her hands dropped their work, and opened the package,
which consisted of a large, unsealed envelope and folded papers within.
These she unfolded and examined with beaming satisfaction.
"But what made ye carry 'em in yer boot so?"
"To tell the truth," said Mr. Ducklow, in a suppressed voice, "I was
afraid o' bein' robbed. I never was so afraid o' bein' robbed in my
life! So, jest as I got clear o' the town, I took it out o' my pocket,"
(meaning, not the town, but the envelope containing the papers,) "an'
tucked it down my boot-leg. Then, all the way home, I was scaret when I
was ridin' alone, an' still more scaret when I heard anybody comin'
after me. You see, it's jest like so much money."
And he arranged the window-curtain in a manner to prevent the
sharpest-eyed burglar from peeping in and catching a glimpse of the
papers.
He neglected to secure the stairway-door, however. There, in his
hiding-place behind it, stood Taddy, shivering in his shirt, but peeping
and listening in a fever of curiosity which nothing could chill. His
position was such that he could not see Mr. Ducklow or the documents,
and his mind was left free to revel in the most daring fancies regarding
the wonderful purchase. He had not yet fully given up the idea of a new
drum, although the image, which vaguely shaped itself in his mind, of
Mr. Ducklow "tucking it down his boot-leg," presented difficulties.
"This is the bond, you see," Mr. Ducklow explained; "and all these
little things that fill out the sheet are the cowpons. You have only to
cut off one o' these, take it to the bank when it is due, and draw the
interest on it in gold!"
"But suppose you lose the bonds?" queried Mrs. Ducklow, regarding, not
without awe, the destructible paper representatives of so much property.
"That's what I've been thinkin' of; that's what's made me so narvous. I
supposed 't would be like so much railroad stock, good for nothin' to
nobody but the owner, and somethin' that could be replaced, if I lost
it. But the man to the bank said no,--'t was like so much currency, and
I must look out for it. That's what filled all the bushes with robbers
as I come along the road. And I tell ye, 't was a relief to feel I'd got
safe home at last; though I don't see now how we're to keep the plaguy
things so we sha'n't feel uneasy about 'em."
"Nor I neither!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, turning pale. "Suppose the
house should take fire! or burglars should break in! I don't wonder you
was so particular about the matches! Dear me! I shall be frightened to
death! I'd no idee 't was to be such dangerous property! I shall be
thinking of fires and burglars!--O-h-h-h!"
The terrified woman uttered a wild scream; for just then a door flew
suddenly open, and there burst into the room a frightful object, making
a headlong plunge at the precious papers. Mr. Ducklow sprang back
against the table set for his supper with a force that made everything
jar. Then he sprang forward again, instinctively reaching to grasp and
save from plunder the coupon bonds. But by this time both he and his
wife had become aware of the nature of the intrusion.
"Thaddeus!" ejaculated the lady. "How came you here? Get up! Give an
account of yourself!"
Taddy, whose abrupt appearance in the room had been altogether
involuntary, was quite innocent of any predatory designs. Leaning
forward farther and farther, in the ardor of discovery, he had, when too
late to save himself, experienced the phenomenon of losing his balance,
and pitched from the stairway into the kitchen with a violence that
threw the door back against the wall with a bang, and laid him out, a
sprawling figure, in scanty, ghostly apparel, on the floor.
"What ye want? What ye here for?" sternly demanded Mr. Ducklow,
snatching him up by one arm, and shaking him.
"Don't know," faltered the luckless youngster, speaking the truth for
once in his life. "Fell."
"Fell! How did you come to fall? What are you out o' bed for?"
"Don't know,"--snivelling and rubbing his eyes. "Didn't know I was."
"Got up without knowing it! That's a likely story! How could that
happen, you Sir?" said Mrs. Ducklow.
"Don't know, 'thout 't was I got up in my sleep," said Taddy, who had on
rare occasions been known to indulge in moderate somnambulism.
"In your sleep!" said Mr. Ducklow, incredulously.
"I guess so. I was dreamin' you brought me home a new drum,--tucked down
yer--boot-leg," faltered Taddy.
"Strange!" said Mr. Ducklow, with a glance at his wife. "But how could I
bring a drum in my boot-leg?"
"Don't know, 'thout it's a new kind, one that'll shet up."
Taddy looked eagerly round, but saw nothing new or interesting, except
some curious-looking papers which Mrs. Ducklow was hastily tucking into
an envelope.
"Say, did ye, pa?"
"Did I? Of course I didn't! What nonsense! But how came ye down here?
Speak the truth!"
"I dreamt you was blowin' it up, and I sprung to ketch it, when, fust I
knowed, I was on the floor, like a thousan' o' brick! 'Mos' broke my
knee-pans!" whimpered Taddy. "Say, didn't ye bring me home nothin'?
What's them things?"
"Nothin' little boys know anything about. Now run back to bed again. I
forgot to buy you a drum to-day, but I'll git ye somethin' next time I
go to town,--if I think on 't."
"So ye always say, but ye never think on't!" complained Taddy.
"There, there! Somebody's comin'! What a lookin' object you are, to be
seen by visitors!"
There was a knock. Taddy disappeared. Mr. Ducklow turned anxiously to
his wife, who was hastily hiding the bonds in her palpitating bosom.
"Who can it be this time o' night?"
"Sakes alive!" said Mrs. Ducklow, in whose mind burglars were uppermost,
"I wish, whoever 't is, they'd keep away! Go to the door," she
whispered, resuming her work.
Mr. Ducklow complied; and, as the visitor entered, there she sat plying
her needle as industriously and demurely as though neither bonds nor
burglars had ever been heard of in that remote rural district.
"Ah, Miss Beswick, walk in!" said Mr. Ducklow.
A tall, spare, somewhat prim-looking female of middle age, with a shawl
over her head, entered, nodding a curt and precise good-evening, first
to Mr. Ducklow, then to his wife.
"What, that you?" said Mrs. Ducklow, with curiosity and surprise. "Where
on 'arth did you come from? Set her a chair, why don't ye, father?"
Mr. Ducklow, who was busy slipping his feet into a pair of old shoes,
hastened to comply with the hospitable suggestion.
"I've only jest got home," said he, apologetically, as if fearful lest
the fact of his being caught in his stocking-feet should create
suspicions: so absurdly careful of appearances some people become, when
they have anything to conceal. "Jest had time to kick my boots off, you
see. Take a seat."
"Thank ye. I s'pose you'll think I'm wild, makin' calls at this hour!"
And Miss Beswick seated herself, with an angular movement, and held
herself prim and erect in the chair.
"Why, no, I don't," said Mrs. Ducklow, civilly; while at the same time
she did think it very extraordinary and unwarrantable conduct on the
part of her neighbor to be walking the streets and entering the
dwellings of honest people, alone, after eight o'clock, on a dark night.
"You're jest in time to set up and take a cup o' tea with my husband":
an invitation she knew would not be accepted, and which she pressed
accordingly. "Ye better, Miss Beswick, if only to keep him company. Take
yer things, won't ye?"
"No, I don't go a-visitin', to take off my things and drink tea, this
time o' night!"
Miss Beswick condescended, however, to throw back the shawl from her
head, exposing to view a long, sinewy neck, the strong lines of which
ran up into her cheeks, and ramified into wrinkles, giving severity to
her features. At the same time emerged from the fold of the garment, as
it were, a knob, a high, bare poll, so lofty and narrow, and destitute
of the usual ornament, natural or false, that you involuntarily looked
twice, to assure yourself that it was really that lovely and adorable
object, a female head.
"I've jest run over to tell you the news," said Miss Beswick.
"Nothing bad, I hope?" said Mrs. Ducklow. "No robbers in town? for massy
sake!" And Mrs. Ducklow laid her hand on her bosom, to make sure that
the bonds were still there.
"No, good news,--good for Sophrony, at any rate!"
"Ah! she has heard from Reuben?"
"No!" The severity of the features was modified by a grim smile. "No!"
and the little, high knob of a head was shaken expressively.
"What then?" Ducklow inquired.
"Reuben has come home!" The words were spoken triumphantly, and the keen
gray eyes of the elderly maiden twinkled.
"Come home! home!" echoed both Ducklows at once, in great astonishment.
Miss Beswick assured them of the fact.
"My! how you talk!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. "I never dreamed of such
a----When did he come?"
"About an hour 'n' a half ago. I happened to be in to Sophrony's. I had
jest gone over to set a little while with her and keep her company,--as
I've often done, she seemed so lonely, livin' there with her two
children alone in the house, her husband away so. Her friends ha'n't
been none too attentive to her in his absence, she thinks,--and so I
think."
"I--I hope you don't mean that as a hint to us, Miss Beswick," said Mrs.
Ducklow.
"You can take it as such, or not, jest as you please! I leave it to your
own consciences. You know best whether you have done your duty to
Sophrony and her family, whilst her husband has been off to the war; and
I sha'n't set myself up for a judge. You never had any boys of your own,
and so you adopted Reuben, jest as you have lately adopted Thaddeus; and
I s'pose you think you've done well by him, jest as you think you will
do by Thaddeus, if he's a good boy, and stays with you till he's
twenty-one."
"I hope no one thinks or says the contrary, Miss Beswick!" said Mr.
Ducklow, gravely, with flushed face.
"There may be two opinions on that subject!" said Miss Beswick, with a
slight toss of the head, setting that small and irregular spheroid at a
still loftier and more imposing altitude. "Reuben came to you when he
was jest old enough to be of use about the house and on the farm; and if
I recollect right, you didn't encourage idleness in him long. You didn't
give his hands much chance to do 'some mischief still'! No, indeed!
nobody can accuse you of that weakness!" And the skin of the wrinkled
features tightened with a terrible grin.
"Nobody can say we ever overworked the boy, or ill used him in any way!"
exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, excitedly.
"No! _I_ don't say it! But this I'll say, for I've had it in my mind
ever since Sophrony was left alone,--I couldn't help seein' and feelin',
and, now you've set me a-talkin', I may as well speak out. Reuben was
always a good boy, and a willin' boy, as you yourselves must allow; and
he paid his way from the first."
"I don't know about that!" interposed Mr. Ducklow, taking up his knife
and fork, and dropping them again, in no little agitation. "He was a
good and willin' boy, as you say; but the expense of clothin' him and
keepin' him to school"----
"He paid his way from the first!" repeated Miss Beswick, sternly. "You
kept him to school winters, when he did more work 'fore and after school
than any other boy in town. He worked all the time summers; and soon he
was as good as a hired man to you. He never went to school a day after
he was fifteen; and from that time he was better 'n any hired man, for
he was faithful, and took an interest, and looked after and took care of
things, as no hired man ever would or could do, as I've heard you
yourself say, Mr. Ducklow!"
"Reuben was a good, faithful boy: I never denied that! I never denied
that!"
"Well, he stayed with you till he was twenty-one,--did ye a man's
service for the last five or six years; then you giv' him what you
called a settin' out,--a new suit o' clothes, a yoke of oxen, some
farmin'-tools, and a hundred dollars in money! You, with yer thousands,
Mr. Ducklow, giv' him a hundred dollars in money!"
"That was only a beginnin', only a beginnin', I've always said!"
declared the red-flushed farmer.
"I know it; and I s'pose you'll continner to say so till the day of yer
death! Then may-be you'll remember Reuben in yer will. That's the way!
Keep puttin' him off as long as you can possibly hold on to your
property yourself,--then, when you see you've got to go and leave it,
give him what you ought to 've gi'n him years before. There a'n't no
merit in that kind o' justice, did ye know it, Mr. Ducklow! I tell ye,
what belongs to Reuben belongs to him _now_,--not ten or twenty year
hence, when you've done with it, and he most likely won't need it. A few
hundred dollars now'll be more useful to him than all your thousands
will be by-and-by. After he left you, he took the Moseley farm;
everybody respected him, everybody trusted him; he was doin' well,
everybody said; then he married Sophrony, and a good and faithful wife
she's been to him; and finally he concluded to buy the farm, which you
yourself said was a good idee, and encouraged him in 't."
"So it was; Reuben used judgment in that, and he'd have got along well
enough, if 't hadn't been for the war," said Mr. Ducklow; while his wife
sat dumb, not daring to measure tongues with their vigorous-minded and
plain-speaking neighbor.
"Jest so!" said Miss Beswick. "If it hadn't been for the war! He had
made his first payments, and would have met the rest as they came due,
no doubt of it. But the war broke out, and he left all to sarve his
country. Says he, 'I'm an able-bodied man, and I ought to go,' says he.
His business was as important, and his wife and children was as dear to
him, as anybody's; but he felt it his duty to go, and he went. They
didn't give no such big bounties to volunteers then as they do now, and
it was a sacrifice to him every way when he enlisted. But says he, 'I'll
jest do my duty,' says he, 'and trust to Providence for the rest.' You
didn't _dis_courage his goin',--and you didn't _in_courage him, neither,
the way you'd ought to."
"My! what on 'arth, Miss Beswick!----Seems to me you're takin' it upon
yourself to say things that are uncalled for, to say the least! I can't
understand what should have sent you here, to tell me what's my
business, and what a'n't, this fashion! As if I didn't know my own duty
and intentions!" And Mr. Ducklow poured his tea into his plate, and
buttered his bread with a teaspoon.
"I s'pose she's been talking with Sophrony, and she has sent her to
interfere."
"Mrs. Ducklow, you don't s'pose no such thing! You know Sophrony
wouldn't send anybody on such an arrant; and you know I a'n't a person
to do such arrants, or be made a cat's-paw of by anybody. I a'n't
handsome, not partic'larly; and I a'n't wuth my thousands, like some
folks I know; and I never got married, for the best reason in the
world,--them that offered themselves I wouldn't have, and them I would
have had didn't offer themselves; and I a'n't so good a Christian as I
might be, I'm aware. I know my lacks as well as anybody; but bein' a spy
and a cat's-paw a'n't one of 'em. I don't do things sly and underhand.
If I've anything to say to anybody, I go right to 'em, and say it to
their face,--sometimes perty blunt, I allow. But I don't wait to be
_sent_ by other folks. I've a mind o' my own, and my own way o' doin'
things,--that you know as well as anybody. So, when you say you s'pose
Sophrony or anybody else sent me here to interfere, I say you s'pose
what a'n't true, and what you know a'n't true, Mrs. Ducklow!"
Mrs. Ducklow was annihilated; and the visitor went on.
"As for you, Mr. Ducklow, I haven't said you _don't_ know your own duty
and intentions. I've no doubt you _think_ you do, at any rate."
"Very well! then why can't you leave me to do what I think 's my duty?
Everybody ought to have that privilege."
"You think so?"
"Sartin, Miss Beswick; don't you?"
"Why, then, _I_ ought to have the same."
"Of course; nobody in this house'll prevent your doin' what you're
satisfied 's your duty."
"Thank ye! much obleeged!" said Miss Beswick, with gleaming, gristly
features. "That's all I ask. Now I'm satisfied it's my duty to tell ye
what I've been tellin' ye, and what I'm goin' to tell ye: that's _my_
duty. And then it'll be _your_ duty to do what _you_ think 's right.
That's plain, a'n't it?"
"Wal, wal!" said Mr. Ducklow, discomfited; "I can't hender yer talkin',
I s'pose; though it seems a man ought to have a right to peace and quiet
in his own house."
"Yes, and in his own conscience too!" said Miss Beswick. "And if you'll
hearken to me now, I promise you'll have peace and quiet in your
conscience, and in your house too, such as you never have had yit. I
s'pose you know your great fault, don't ye? Graspin',--that's your
fault, that's your besettin' sin, Mr. Ducklow. You used to give it as an
excuse for not helpin' Reuben more, that you had your daughter to
provide for. Well, your daughter has got married; she married a rich
man,--you looked out for that,--and she's provided for, fur as property
can provide for any one. Now, without a child in the world to feel
anxious about, you keep layin' up and layin' up, and 'll continner to
lay up, I s'pose, till ye die, and leave a great fortin' to your
daughter, that already has enough, and jest a pittance to Reuben and
Thaddeus."
"No, no, Miss Beswick! you're wrong, you're wrong, Miss Beswick! I mean
to do the handsome thing by both on 'em."
"Mean to! ye mean to! That's the way ye flatter yer conscience, and
cheat yer own soul. Why don't ye do what ye _mean_ to do to once, and
make sure on 't? That's the way to git the good of your property. I tell
ye, the time's comin' when the recollection of havin' done a good action
will be a greater comfort to ye than all the property in the world. Then
you'll look back, and say, 'Why _didn't_ I do this and do that with my
money, when 't was in my power, 'stead of hoardin' up and hoardin' up
for others to spend after me?' Now, as I was goin' to say, ye didn't
_dis_courage Reuben's enlistin', and ye didn't _in_courage him the way
ye might. You ought to 've said to him, 'Go, Reuben, if ye see it to be
yer duty; and, as fur as money goes, ye sha'n't suffer for 't. I've got
enough for all on us; and I'll pay yer debts, if need be, and see 't yer
fam'ly 's kep' comf'table while ye're away.' But that's jest what ye
didn't say, and it's jest what ye didn't do. All the time Reuben's been
sarvin' his country, he's had his debts and his family expenses to worry
him; and you know it's been all Sophrony could do, by puttin' forth all
her energies, and strainin' every narve, to keep herself and children
from goin' hungry and ragged. You've helped 'em a little, now and then,
in driblets, it's true; but, dear me!" exclaimed Miss Beswick; and she
smote her hands, palms downwards, upon her lap, with a look and gesture
which signified that words utterly failed to express her feelings on the
subject.
Mrs. Ducklow, who, since her annihilation, had scarcely ventured to look
up, sat biting her lips, drawing breaths of suppressed anger and
impatience, and sewing the patch to the trousers and to her own apron
under them. There was an awful silence, broken only by the clock
ticking, and Mr. Ducklow lifting his knife and fork, and letting them
fall again. At last he forced himself to speak.
"Wal, you've read us a pretty smart lectur', Miss Beswick, I must say! I
can't consaive what should make ye take such an interest in our affairs;
but it's very kind in ye,--very kind, to be sure!"
"Take an interest! Haven't I seen Sophrony's struggles with them
children? And haven't I seen Reuben come home this very night, a sick
man, with a broken constitution, and no prospect before him but to give
up his farm, lose all he has paid, and be thrown upon the charities of
the world with his wife and children? And if the charities of friends
are so cold, what can he expect of the charities of the world? Take an
interest! I wish you took half as much! Here I've sot half an hour, and
you haven't thought to ask how Reuben appeared, or anything about him!"
"May-be there's a good reason for that, Miss Beswick. 'Twas on my lips
to ask half a dozen times; but you talked so fast, you wouldn't give me
a chance."
"Well, I'm glad you've got some excuse, though a poor one!" said Miss
Beswick.
"How is Reuben?" Mrs. Ducklow meekly inquired.
"All broken to pieces,--a mere shadder of what he was. He's had his old
wound troublin' him agin; then he's had the fever, that came within one
of takin' him out o' the world. He was in the hospitals, ye know, for
two months or more; but finally the doctors see 't his only chance was
to be sent home, weak as he was. A sergeant that was comin' on brought
him all the way, and took him straight home; and that's the reason he
got along so sudden and unexpected, even to Sophrony. Oh, if you could
seen their meetin', as I did! then you wouldn't sneer at my takin' an
interest!" And Miss Beswick, strong-minded as she was, found it
necessary to make use of her handkerchief. "I didn't stop only to help
put him to bed, and fix things a little; then I left 'em alone, and run
over to tell ye. It's a pity you didn't know he was in town when you was
there to-day, so as to bring him home with ye. But I s'pose you had your
investments to look after. Come, now, Mr. Ducklow, how many thousan'
dollars have you invested, since Reuben's been off to the war, and his
folks have been sufferin' to home? You may have been layin' up hundreds,
or even thousands, that way, this very day, for aught I know. But let me
tell ye, you won't git no good of such property,--it'll only be a cuss
to ye,--till you do the right thing by Reuben. Mark my word!"
There was another long silence.
"You a'n't going, be ye Miss Beswick?" said Mrs. Ducklow,--for the
visitor had arisen. "What's yer hurry?"
"No hurry at all; but I've done my arrant and said my say, and may as
well be goin'. Good night. Good night, Mr. Ducklow."
And Miss Beswick, pulling her shawl over her head, stalked out of the
house like some tall, gaunt spectre, leaving the Ducklows to recover as
best they could from the consternation into which they had been thrown
by her coming.
"Did you ever?" said Mrs. Ducklow, gaining courage to speak after the
visitor was out of hearing.
"She's got a tongue!" said Mr. Ducklow.
"Strange she should speak of your investing money to-day! D' ye s'pose
she knows?"
"I don't see how she _can_ know." And Mr. Ducklow paced the room in deep
trouble. "I've been careful not to give a hint on 't to anybody, for I
knew jest what folks would say: 'If Ducklow has got so much money to
dispose of, he'd better give Reuben a lift.' I know how folks talk."
"Coming here to browbeat us!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow. "I wonder ye
didn't be a little more plain with _her_, father! I wouldn't have sot
and been dictated to as tamely as you did!"
"You wouldn't? Then why did ye? She dictated to you as much as she did
to me; and you scurce opened your head; you didn't dars' to say yer soul
was your own!"
"Yes, I did, I"----.
"You ventur'd to speak once, and she shet ye up quicker 'n lightnin'!
Now tell about you wouldn't have sot and been dictated to like a tame
noodle, as I did!"
"I didn't say _a tame noodle_."
"Yes, ye did. I might have answered back sharp enough, but I was
expectin' _you_ to speak. _Men_ don't like to dispute with _women_."
"That's your git-off," said Mrs. Ducklow, trembling with vexation. "You
was jest as much afraid of her as I was. I never see ye so cowed in all
my life."
"Cowed! I wasn't cowed, neither. How unreasonable, now, for you to cast
all the blame on to me!"
And Mr. Ducklow, his features contracted into a black scowl, took his
boots from the corner.
"Ye ha'n't got to go out, have ye?" said Mrs. Ducklow. "I shouldn't
think you'd put on yer boots jest to step to the barn and see to the
hoss."
"I'm goin' over to Reuben's."
"To Reuben's! Not to-night, father!"
"Yes, I think I better. He and Sophrony'll know we heard of his gittin'
home, and they're enough inclined a'ready to feel we neglect 'em.
Haven't ye got somethin' ye can send?"
"I don't know,"--curtly. "I've scurce ever been over to Sophrony's, but
I've carried her a pie or cake or something; and mighty little thanks I
got for it, as it turns out!"
"Why didn't ye say that to Miss Beswick, when she was runnin' us so hard
about our never doin' anything for 'em?"
"'T wouldn't have done no good; I knew jest what she'd say. 'What's a
pie or a cake now and then?'--that's jest the reply she'd have
made.--Dear me! what have I been doing?"
Mrs. Ducklow, rising, had but just discovered that she had stitched the
patch and the trousers to her apron.
"So much for Miss Beswick!" she exclaimed, untying the apron-strings,
and flinging the united garments spitefully down upon a chair. "I do
wish such folks would mind their own business and stay to home!"
"You've got the bonds safe?" said Mr. Ducklow, putting on his waistcoat.
"Yes; but I won't engage to keep 'em safe. They make me as narvous as
can be. I'm afraid to be left alone in the house with 'em. Here, you
take 'em."
"Don't be foolish. What harm can possibly happen to them or you while
I'm away? You don't s'pose I want to lug them around with me wherever I
go, do ye?"
"I'm sure it's no great lug. I s'pose you're afraid to go acrost the
fields alone with 'em in yer pocket. What in the world we're going to do
with 'em I don't see. If we go out, we can't take 'em with us, for fear
of losing 'em, or of being robbed; and we sha'n't dare to leave 'em to
home, fear the house'll burn up or git broke into."
"We can hide 'em where no burglar can find 'em," said Mr. Ducklow.
"Yes, and where nobody else can find 'em, neither, provided the house
burns and neighbors come in to save things. I don't know but it'll be
about as Miss Beswick said: we sha'n't take no comfort with property we
ought to make over to Reuben."
"Do _you_ think it ought to be made over to Reuben? If you do, it's new
to me!"
"No, I don't!" replied Mrs. Ducklow, decidedly. "I guess we better put
'em in the clock-case for to-night, hadn't we?"
"Jest where they'd be discovered, if the house is robbed! No: I've an
idee. Slip 'em under the settin'-room carpet. Let me take 'em: I can fix
a place right here by the side of the door."
With great care and secrecy the bonds were deposited between the carpet
and the floor, and a chair set over them.
"What noise was that?" said the farmer, starting.
"Thaddeus," cried Mrs. Ducklow, "is that you?"
It was Thaddeus, indeed, who, awaking from a real dream of the drum this
time, and, hearing conversation in the room below, had once more
descended the stairs to listen. What were the old people hiding there
under the carpet? It must be those curious things in the envelope. And
what _were_ those things, about which so much mystery seemed necessary?
Taddy was peeping and considering, when he heard his name called. He
would have glided back to bed again, but Mrs. Ducklow, who sprang to the
stairway-door, was too quick for him.
"What do you want now?" she demanded.
"I--I want you to scratch my back," said Taddy.
As he had often come to her with this innocent request, after undressing
for bed, he did not see why the excuse would not pass as readily as the
previous one of somnambulism. But Mrs. Ducklow was in no mood to be
trifled with.
"I'll scratch your back for ye!" And seizing her rattan, she laid it
smartly on the troublesome part, to the terror and pain of poor Taddy,
who concluded that too much of a good thing was decidedly worse than
nothing. "There, you Sir, that's a scratching that 'll last ye for one
while!"
And giving him two or three parting cuts, not confined to the region of
the back, but falling upon the lower latitudes, which they marked like
so many geographical parallels, she dismissed him with a sharp
injunction not to let himself be seen or heard again that night.
Taddy obeyed, and, crying himself to sleep, dreamed that he was himself
a drum, and that Mrs. Ducklow beat him.
"Father!" called Mrs. Ducklow to her husband, who was at the barn, "do
you know what time it is? It's nine o'clock! I wouldn't think of going
over there to-night; they'll be all locked up, and abed and asleep, like
as not."
"Wal, I s'pose I must do as you say," replied Mr. Ducklow, glad of an
excuse not to go,--Miss Beswick's visit having left him in extremely low
spirits.
Accordingly, after bedding down the horse and fastening the barn, he
returned to the kitchen; and soon the prosperous couple retired to rest.
"Why, how res'less you be!" exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, in the middle of the
night. "What's the reason ye can't sleep?"
"I don't know," groaned Mr. Ducklow. "I can't help thinkin' o' Miss
Beswick. I never was so worked at any little thing."
"Well, well! forget it, father; and do go to sleep!"
"I feel I ought to have gone over to Reuben's! And I should have gone,
if 't hadn't been for you!"
"Now how unreasonable to blame me!" said Mrs. Ducklow. "Ye might have
gone; I only reminded ye how late it was."
Mr. Ducklow groaned, and turned over. He tried to forget Miss Beswick,
Reuben, and the bonds, and at last he fell asleep.
"Father!" whispered Mrs. Ducklow, awaking him.
"What's the matter?"
"I think--I'm pretty sure--hark! I heard something sounded like somebody
gitting into the kitchen winder!"
"It's your narvousness." Yet Mr. Ducklow listened for further
indications of burglary. "Why can't ye be quiet and go to sleep, as you
said to me?"
"I'm sure I heard something! Anybody might have looked through the
blinds and seen us putting--you know--under the carpet."
"Nonsense! 't a'n't at all likely."
But Mr. Ducklow was more alarmed than he was willing to confess. He
succeeded in quieting his wife's apprehensions; but at the same time the
burden of solicitude and wakefulness seemed to pass from her mind only
to rest upon his own. She soon after fell asleep; but he lay awake,
hearing burglars in all parts of the house for an hour longer.
"What now?" suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Ducklow, starting up in bed.
"I thought I might as well git up and satisfy myself," replied her
husband, in a low, agitated voice.
He had risen, and was groping his way to the kitchen.
"Is there anything?" she inquired, after listening long with chilling
blood, expecting at each moment to hear him knocked down or throttled.
He made no reply, but presently came gliding softly back again.
"I can't find nothin'. But I never in all my life heard the floors creak
so! I could have sworn there was somebody walkin' over 'em!"
"I guess you're a little excited, a'n't ye?"
"No,--I got over that; but I _did_ hear noises!"
Mr. Ducklow, returning to his pillow, dismissed his fears, and once more
composed his mind for slumber. But the burden of which he had
temporarily relieved his wife now returned with redoubled force to the
bosom of that virtuous lady. It seemed as if there was only a certain
amount of available sleep in the house, and that, when one had it, the
other must go without; while at the same time a swarm of fears
perpetually buzzed in and out of the mind, whose windows wakefulness
left open.
"Father!" said Mrs. Ducklow, giving him a violent shake.
"Hey? what?"--arousing from his first sound sleep.
"Don't you smell something burning?"
Ducklow snuffed; Mrs. Ducklow snuffed; they sat up in bed, and snuffed
vivaciously in concert.
"No,--I can't say I do. Did you?"
"Jest as plain as ever I smelt anything in my life! But I don't
so"--snuff, snuff--"not quite so distinct now."
"Seems to me I _do_ smell somethin'," said Mr. Ducklow, imagination
coming to his aid. "It can't be the matches, can it?"
"I thought of the matches, but I certainly covered 'em up tight."
They snuffed again,--first one, then the other,--now a series of quick,
short snuffs, then one long, deep snuff, then a snuff by both together,
as if by uniting their energies, like two persons pulling at a rope,
they might accomplish what neither was equal to singly.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Ducklow.
"Why, what, father?"
"It's Thaddeus! He's been walkin' in his sleep. That's what we heard.
And now he's got the matches and set the house afire!"
He bounded out of bed; he went stumbling over the chairs in the kitchen,
and clattering among the tins in the pantry, and rushing blindly and
wildly up the kitchen stairs, only to find the matches all right, Taddy
fast asleep, and no indications anywhere, either to eye or nostril, of
anything burning.
"'Twas all your imagination, mother!"
"_My_ imagination! You was jest as frightened as I was. I'm sure I
can't tell what it was I smelt; I can't smell it now. Did you feel for
the--you know what?"
Mrs. Ducklow seemed to think there were evil ones listening, and it was
dangerous to mention by name what was uppermost in the minds of both.
"I wish you _would_ jest put your hand and see if they're all right; for
I've thought several times I heard somebody taking on 'em out."
Mr. Ducklow had been troubled by similar fancies; so, getting down on
his knees, he felt in the dark for the bonds.
"Good gracious!" he ejaculated.
"What now?" cried Mrs. Ducklow. "They a'n't gone, be they? You don't say
they're gone!"
"Sure 's the world!--No, here they be! I didn't feel in the right
place."
"How you _did_ frighten me! My heart almost hopped out of my mouth!"
Indeed, the shock was sufficient to keep the good woman awake the rest
of the night.
Daylight the next morning dissipated their doubts, and made both feel
that they had been the victims of unnecessary and foolish alarms.
"I hope ye won't git so worked up another night," said Mr. Ducklow.
"It's no use. We might live in the house a hundred years, and never hear
of a robber or a fire. Ye only excite yerself, and keep me awake."
"I should like to know if you didn't git excited, and rob me of my sleep
jest as much as I did you!" retorted the indignant housewife.
"You began it; you fust put it into my head. But never mind; it can't be
helped now. Le' 's have breakfast as soon as ye can; then I'll run over
and see Reuben."
"Why not harness up, and let me ride over with ye?"
"Very well; mabby that'll be the best way.--Come, Taddy! ye must wake
up! Fly round! You'll have lots o' chores to do this mornin'!"
"What's the matter 'th my breeches?" snarled Taddy. "Some plaguy thing
's stuck to 'em!"
It was Mrs. Ducklow's apron, trailing behind him at half-mast,--at sight
of which, and of Taddy turning round and round to look at it, like a
kitten in pursuit of her own tail, Ducklow burst into a loud laugh.
"Wal, wal, mother! you've done it! You're dressed for meetin' now,
Taddy!"
"I do declare!" said Mrs. Ducklow, mortified. "I can't, for the life of
me, see what there is so very funny about it!" And she hastened to cut
short Taddy's trail and her husband's laughter with a pair of scissors.
After breakfast the Ducklows set off in the one-horse wagon, leaving
Taddy to take care of the house during their absence. That each felt
secretly uneasy about the coupon bonds cannot be denied; but, after the
experiences of the night and the recriminations of the morning, they
were unwilling to acknowledge their fears even to themselves, and much
less to each other; so the precious papers were left hidden under the
carpet.
"Safe enough, in all conscience!" said Mr. Ducklow.
"Taddy! Taddy! now mind!" Mrs. Ducklow repeated for the twentieth time.
"Don't you leave the house, and don't you touch the matches nor the
fire, and don't go to ransacking the rooms neither. You won't, will ye?"
"No 'm," answered Taddy, also for the twentieth time,--secretly
resolved, all the while, to take advantage of their absence, and
discover, if possible, what Mr. Ducklow brought home last night in his
boot-leg.
The Ducklows had intended to show their zeal and affection by making
Reuben an early visit. They were somewhat chagrined, therefore, to find
several neighbors already arrived to pay their respects to the returned
soldier. The fact that Miss Beswick was among the number did not serve
greatly to heighten their spirits.
"I've as good a notion to turn round and go straight home again as ever
I had to eat!" muttered Mrs. Ducklow.
"It's too late now," said her husband, advancing with a show of
confidence and cordiality he did not feel. "Wal, Reuben! glad to see
ye! glad to see ye! This is a joyful day I scurce ever expected to see!
Why, ye don't look so sick as I thought ye would! Does he, mother?"
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Ducklow, her woman's nature, and perhaps her old
motherly feelings for their adopted son, deeply moved by the sight of
his changed and wasted aspect. "I'd no idee he could be so very, so very
pale and thin! Had you, Sophrony?"
"I don't know what I thought," said the young wife, standing by,
watching her returned volunteer with features surcharged with
emotion,--deep suffering and sympathy, suffused and lighted up by love
and joy. "I only know I have him now! He has come home! He shall never
leave me again,--never!"
"But wasn't it terrible to see him brought home so?" whispered Mrs.
Ducklow.
"Yes, it was! But, oh, I was so thankful! I felt the worst was over; and
I had him again! I can nurse him now. He is no longer hundreds of miles
away, among strangers, where I cannot go to him,--though I should have
gone long ago, as you know, if I could have raised the means, and if it
hadn't been for the children."
"I--I--Mr. Ducklow would have tried to help you to the means, and I
would have taken the children, if we had thought it best for you to go,"
said Mrs. Ducklow. "But you see now it wasn't best, don't you?"
"Whether it was or not, I don't complain. I am too happy to-day to
complain of anything. To see him home again! But I have dreamt so often
that he came home, and woke up to find it was only a dream, I'm half
afraid now to be as happy as I might be."
"Be as happy as you please, Sophrony!" spoke up Reuben, who had seemed
to be listening to Mr. Ducklow's apologies for not coming over the night
before, while he was in reality straining his ear to catch every word
his wife was saying. He was dressed in his uniform and lying on a
lounge, supported by pillows. "I'm just where I want to be, of all
places in this world,--or the next world either, I may say; for I can't
conceive of any greater heaven than I'm in now. I'm going to get well,
too, spite of the doctors. Coming home is the best medicine for a fellow
in my condition. Not bad to take, either! Stand here, Ruby, my boy, and
let yer daddy look at ye again! To think that's _my_ Ruby, Pa Ducklow!
Why, he was a mere baby when I went away!"
"Reuben! Reuben!" entreated the young wife, leaning over him, "you are
talking too much. You promised me you wouldn't, you know."
"Well, well, I won't. But when a fellow's heart is chock-full, it's hard
to shut down on it sometimes. Don't look so, friends, as if ye pitied
me! I a'n't to be pitied. I'll bet there isn't one of ye half as happy
as I am at this minute!"
"Here's Miss Beswick, Mother Ducklow," said Sophronia. "Haven't you
noticed her?"
"Oh! how do you do, Miss Beswick?" said Mrs. Ducklow, appearing
surprised.
"Tryin' to keep out o' the way, and make myself useful," replied Miss
Beswick, stiffly.
"I don't know what I should do without her," said Sophronia, as the tall
spinster disappeared. "She took right hold and helped me last night;
then she came in again the first thing this morning. 'Go to your
husband,' says she to me; 'don't leave him a minute. I know he don't
want ye out of his sight,--and you don't want to be out of his sight,
either; so you 'tend right to him, and I'll do the work. There'll be
enough folks comin' in to hender, but I've come in to help,' says she.
And here she's been ever since, hard at work; for when Miss Beswick says
a thing, there's no use opposing her,--that _you_ know, Mother Ducklow."
"Yes, she likes to have her own way," said Mrs. Ducklow, with a
peculiar pucker.
"It seems she called at the door last night to tell you Reuben had
come."
"Called at the door! Didn't she tell you she came in and made us a
visit?"
"No, indeed! Did she?"
Mrs. Ducklow concluded, that, if nothing had been said on that subject,
she might as well remain silent; so she merely remarked,--
"Oh, yes, a visit,--_for her_. She a'n't no great hand to make long
stops, ye know."
"Only when she's needed," said Sophronia; "then she never thinks of
going as long as she sees anything to do. Reuben! you mustn't talk,
Reuben!"
"I was saying," remarked Neighbor Jepworth, "it'll be too bad now, if
you have to give up this place; but he"----
Sophronia, unseen by her husband, made anxious signs to the speaker to
avoid so distressing a topic in the invalid's presence.
"We are not going to worry about that'," she hastened to say. "After we
have been favored by Providence so far, and in such extraordinary ways,
we think we can afford to trust still further. We have all we can think
of and attend to to-day; and the future will take care of itself."
"That's right; that's the way to talk!" said Mr. Ducklow. "Providence
'll take care of ye, you may be sure!"
"I should think you might get Ditson to renew the mortgage," observed
Neighbor Ferring. "He can't be hard on you, under such circumstances.
And he can't be so foolish as to want the money. There's no security
like real estate. If I had money to invest, I wouldn't put it into
anything else."
"Nor I," said Mr. Ducklow; "nothin' like real estate!"--with an
expression of profound conviction.
"What do you think of Gov'ment bonds?" asked Neighbor Jepworth.
"I don't know." Mr. Ducklow scratched his cheek and wrinkled his brow
with an expression of thoughtfulness and candor. "I haven't given much
attention to the subject. It may be a patriotic duty to lend to
Gov'ment, if one has the funds to spare."
"Yes," said Jepworth, warming. "When we consider that every dollar we
lend to Government goes to carry on the war, and put down this cursed
Rebellion,----"
"And to pay off the soldiers," put in Reuben, raising himself on his
elbow. "Nobody knows the sufferings of soldiers and soldiers' families
on account of the Government's inability to pay them off. If that
subject was felt and understood as some I know feel and understand it,
I'm sure every right-minded man with fifty dollars to spare would make
haste to lend it to Uncle Sam. I tell ye, I got a little excited on this
subject, coming on in the cars. I heard a gentleman complaining of the
Government for not paying off its creditors; he did n't say so much
about the soldiers, but he thought contractors ought to have their
claims settled at once. At the same time he said he had had twenty
thousand dollars lying idle for two months, not knowing what to do with
it, but had finally concluded to invest it in railroad stock. 'Have ye
any Government stock?' said his friend. 'Not a dollar's worth,' said he;
'I'm afraid of it.' Sick as I was, I couldn't lie and hear that.' And do
you know the reason,' said I, 'why Government cannot pay off its
creditors? I'll tell ye,' said I. 'It is because it hasn't the money.
And it hasn't the money, because such men as you, who have your
thousands lying idle, refuse to lend to your country, because you are
afraid. That's the extent of your patriotism: you are afraid! What do
you think of us who have gone into the war, and been willing to risk
everything,--not only our business and our property, but life and limb?
I've ruined myself personally,' said I, 'lost my property and my health,
to be of service to my country. I don't regret it,--though I should
never recover, I shall not regret it. I'm a tolerably patient,
philosophical sort of fellow; but I have n't patience nor philosophy
enough to hear such men as you abuse the Government for not doing what
it's your duty to assist it in doing.'"
"Good for you, Reuben!" exclaimed Mr. Ducklow, who really felt obliged
to the young soldier for placing the previous day's investment in such a
strong patriotic light. ("I've only done _my_ duty to Gov'ment, let Miss
Beswick say what she will," thought he.) "You wound him up, I guess.
Fact, you state the case so well, Reuben, I believe, if I had any funds
to spare, I shouldn't hesitate a minute, but go right off and invest in
Gov'ment bonds."
"That might be well enough, if you did it from a sense of duty," said
Neighbor Ferring, who was something of a croaker, and not much of a
patriot "But as an investment, 't would be the wust ye could make."
"Ye think so?" said Mr. Ducklow, with quick alarm.
"Certainly," said Ferring. "Gov'ment 'll repudiate. It 'll _have_ to
repudiate. This enormous debt never can be paid. Your interest in gold
is a temptation, jest now; but that won't be paid much longer, and then
yer bonds won't be wuth any more 'n so much brown paper."
"I--I don't think so," said Mr. Ducklow, who nevertheless turned
pale--Ferring gave his opinion in such a positive, oracular way. "I
don't believe I should be frightened, even if I _had_ Gov'ment
securities in my hands. I wish I had; I really wish I had a good lot o'
them bonds! Don't you, Jepworth?"
"They're mighty resky things to have in the house, that's one objection
to 'em," replied Jepworth, thus adding breath to Ducklow's already
kindled alarm.
"That's so!" said Ferring, emphatically. "I read in the papers almost
every day about somebody's having his cowpon bonds stole."
"I should be more afraid of fires," observed Jepworth.
"But there's this to be considered in favor of fires," said Reuben: "If
the bonds burn up, they won't have to be paid. So what is your loss is
the country's gain."
"But isn't there any--isn't there any remedy?" inquired Ducklow, scarce
able to sit in his chair.
"There's no risk at all, if a man subscribes for registered bonds," said
Reuben. "They're like railroad stock. But if you have the coupons, you
must look out for them."
"Why didn't I buy registered bonds?" said Ducklow to himself. His chair
was becoming like a keg of gunpowder with a lighted fuse inserted. The
familiar style of expression,--_"Your_ bonds," "_your_ loss," "_you_
must look out,"--used by Ferring and Reuben, was not calculated to
relieve his embarrassment. He fancied that he was suspected of owning
Government securities, and that these careless phrases were based upon
that surmise. He could keep his seat no longer.
"Wal, Reuben! I must be drivin' home, I s'pose. Left everything at loose
ends. I was in such a hurry to see ye, and find out if there's anything
I can do for ye."
"As for that," said Reuben, "I've got a trunk over in town which
couldn't be brought last night. If you will have that sent for, I'll be
obliged to ye."
"Sartin! sartin!" And Mr. Ducklow drove away, greatly to the relief of
Mrs. Ducklow, who, listening to the alarming conversation, and
remembering the bonds under the carpet, and the matches in the pantry,
and Taddy's propensity to mischief, felt herself (as she afterwards
confessed) "jest ready to fly."