INTRODUCING TOMMY CANDY AND SOLOMON, HIS GRANDFATHER
"Here's that boy again!" said Direxia Hawkes.
"What boy?" asked Mrs. Tree; but her eyes brightened as she spoke, and
she laid down her book with an expectant air.
"Tommy Candy. I told him I guessed you couldn't be bothered with him,
but he's there."
"Show him in. Come in, child! Don't sidle! You are not a crab. Come here
and make your manners."
The boy advanced slowly, but not unwillingly. He was an odd-looking
child, with spiky black hair, a mouth like a circus clown, and gray eyes
that twinkled almost as brightly as Mrs. Tree's own.
The gray eyes and the black exchanged a look of mutual comprehension.
"How do you do, Thomas Candy?" said Mrs. Tree, formally, holding out her
little hand in its white lace mitt. It was afternoon, and she was
dressed to receive callers.
"Shake hands as if you meant it, boy! I said _shake hands_, not flap
flippers; you are not a seal. There! that's better. How do you do,
Thomas Candy?"
"How-do-you-do-Missis-Tree-I'm-pretty-well-thank-you-and-hope-you-are-
the-same."
Having uttered this sentiment as if it were one word, Master Candy drew
a long breath, and said in a different tone, "I came to see the bird and
hear 'bout Grampy; can I?"
"_May_ I, not _can_ I, Tommy Candy! You mayn't see the bird; he's having
his nap, and doesn't like to be disturbed; but you may hear about your
grandfather. Sit down on the stool there. Open the drawer, and see if
there is anything in it."
The boy obeyed with alacrity. The drawer (it belonged to a sandalwood
table, inlaid with chess-squares of pearl and malachite), being opened,
proved to contain burnt almonds in an ivory box, and a silver saucer
full of cubes of fig-paste, red and white. Tommy Candy seemed to find
words unequal to the situation; he gave Mrs. Tree an eloquent glance,
then obeyed her nod and helped himself to both sweetmeats.
"Good?" inquired Mrs. Tree.
"Bully!" said Tommy.
"Now, what do you want to hear?"
"About Grampy."
"What about him?"
"Everything! like what you told me last time."
There was a silence of perfect peace on one side, of reflection on the
other.
"Solomon Candy," said Mrs. Tree, presently, "was the worst boy I ever
knew."
Tommy grinned gleefully, his mouth curving up to his nose, and rumpled
his spiky hair with a delighted gesture.
"Nobody in the village had any peace of their lives," the old lady went
on, "on account of that boy and my brother Tom. We went to school
together, in the little red schoolhouse that used to stand where the
academy is now. We were always friends, Solomon and I, and he never
played tricks on me, more than tying my pigtail to the back of the
bench, and the like of that; but woe betide those that he didn't take a
fancy to. I can hear Sally Andrews now, when she found the frog in her
desk. It jumped right into her face, and fell into her apron-pocket,--we
wore aprons with big pockets then,--and she screamed so she had to be
taken home. That was the kind of prank Solomon was up to, every day of
his life; and fishing for schoolmaster's wig through the skylight, and
every crinkum-crankum that ever was. Master Bayley used to go to sleep
every recess, and the skylight was just over his head. Dear me, Sirs,
how that wig did look, sailing up into the air!"
"I wish't ours wore a wig!" said Tommy, thoughtfully; then his eyes
brightened. "Isaac Weight's skeered of frogs!" he said. "The
apron-pockets made it better, though, of course. More, please!"
"Isaac Weight? That's the deacon's eldest brat, isn't it?"
"Yes'm!"
"His grandfather was named Isaac, too," said Mrs. Tree. "This one is
named for him, I suppose. Isaac Weight--the first one--was called
Squash-nose at school, I remember. He wasn't popular, and I understand
Ephraim, his son, wasn't either. They called _him_ Meal-bag, and he
looked it. Te-hee!" she laughed, a little dry keckle, like the click of
castanets. "Did ever I tell you the trick your grandfather and my
brother played on old Elder Weight and Squire Tree? That was
great-grandfather to this present Weight boy, and uncle to my husband.
The old squire was high in his notions, very high; he thought but little
of Weights, though he sat under Elder Weight at that time. The Weights
were a good stock in the beginning, I've been told, but even then they
had begun to go down-hill. It was one summer, and Conference was held
here in Elmerton. The meetings were very long, and every soul went that
could. Elmerton was a pious place in those days. The afternoon sessions
began at two o'clock and lasted till seven. Their brains must have been
made of iron--or wood." Mrs. Tree clicked her castanets again.
"Well, sir, the last day there was a sight of business, and folks knew
the afternoon meeting would be extra long. Elder Weight and his wife
(she was a Bonny; he'd never have been chosen elder if it hadn't been
for her) were off in good season, and locked the door behind them; they
kept no help at that time. The squire was off too, who but he, stepping
up the street--dear me, Sirs, I can see him now, in his plum-colored
coat and knee-breeches, silk stockings and silver buckles to his shoes.
He had a Malacca cane, I remember, with a big ivory knob on it, and he
washed it night and morning as if it were a baby. He was a very
particular man, had his shirt-frills done up with a silver friller.
Well, those boys, Solomon Candy and Tom Darracott (that was my brother),
watched till they saw them safe in at the meeting-house door, and then
they set to work. There was no one in the parsonage except the cat, and
at the Homestead there was only the housekeeper, who was deaf as Dagon,
well they knew. The other servants had leave to go to meeting; every
one went that could, as I said. Tom knew his way all over the Homestead,
our house being next door. No, it's not there now. It was burned down
fifty years ago, and Tom's dead as long. They took our old horse and
wagon, and they slipped in at the window of the squire's study, took out
his things,--his desk and chair, his footstool, the screen he always
kept between him and the fire, and dear knows what all,--and loaded them
up on the wagon. They worked twice as hard at that imp's doing as they
would at honest work, you may be bound. Then they drove down to the
parsonage with the load, and tried round till they found a window
unfastened, and in they carried every single thing, into the elder's
study, and then loaded up with his rattletraps, and back to the
Homestead. Working like beavers they were, every minute of the
afternoon. By five o'clock they had their job done; and then in goes
Tom and asks dear old Grandmother Darracott, who could not leave her
room, and thought every fox was a cosset lamb, did she think father and
mother (they were at the meeting too, of course) would let him and Sol
Candy go and take tea and spend the night at Plum-tree Farm, three miles
off, where our old nurse lived. Grandmother said 'Yes, to be sure!' for
she was always pleased when the children remembered Nursey; so off those
two Limbs went, and left their works behind them.
"Evening came, and Conference was over at last; and here comes the
squire home, stepping along proud and stately as ever, but mortal
head-weary under the pride of his wig, for he was an old man, and
grudged his age, never sparing himself. He went straight into his
study--it was dusk by now--and dropped into the first chair, and so to
sleep. By and by old Martha came and lighted the candles, but she never
noticed anything. Why people's wits should wear out like old shoes is a
thing I never could understand; unless they're made of leather in the
first place, and sometimes it seems so. The squire had his nap out, I
suppose, and then he woke up. When he opened his eyes, there in front of
him, instead of his tall mahogany desk, was a ramshackle painted thing,
with no handles to the drawers, and all covered with ink. He looked
round, and what does he see but strange things everywhere; strange to
his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three
chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of
Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures,
weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in
worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very
likely they are there still."
"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room."
"_Saw_, not _see_!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better
English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or
you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in
my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and
in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked
over on one ear--he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and
cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?'
"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was
that the squire had lost his wits.
"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.'
"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted
out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering
gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?'
"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a
great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him,
and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a
devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was
senior deacon at that time.)
"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire
Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine
own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.'
"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy.
Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well
deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a
third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do
the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?"
"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly.
"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to
give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with
his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?"
Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys
don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor Dad don't;
nor I don't."
"Here, you may have the fig-paste," said the old lady. "Shut the drawer.
Mind you, Solomon, nor Tom either, ever did them any real harm. Solomon
was a kind boy, only mischievous--that was all the harm there was to
him. Even when he painted Isaac Weight's nose in stripes, he meant no
harm in the world; but 'twas naughty all the same. He said he did it to
make him look prettier, and I don't know but it did. Don't you do any
such things, do you hear?"
"Yes'm," said Tommy Candy.