MYSTERIES AND MASTERIES.
"Sure, Mister Frederic, I'd be proud to show ye the cellar that's doin'
below. Would he mind comin' the now?"
"A 'cellar below' is surely in its proper place. I'll be delighted to
view it, Mistress Goodsoul."
"Alanna, it was ever yourself had a jest an' a twist of a body's words!
To my notion, it's a tidy job, but I sometimes misgives it's no all
right for the house."
"Then it surely should be looked after. Who's doing it for you?"
"That silly one I was tellin' you about. He's--he's--" The woman glanced
over her shoulder, as if she feared to be heard. This was a curious
circumstance in the case of one so frank as she, and her old friend
commented on it.
"Why so mysterious, Cleena? Secrets afoot? But it's after Christmas, not
before it."
"Come by."
He followed her gayly down the stairs into the one central cellar, and
from this slightly farther into another, being opened toward the side.
She carried a lighted candle in her hand, and pointed with pride to the
neatness of the work as far as it had proceeded.
"Nobody could ha' done it finer, eh?"
"It seems all right. The walls will have to be supported, of course,
though it looks a solid rock. Old Ingraham obeyed the Scripture
injunction in letter, if not in spirit. What does Cuthbert think of
this?"
"The same as of most things--nothin' at all. So long as he's his bit
pictures an' books to pore over, the very house might tumble about his
ears an' no heed. There's been no nerve frettin' nor crossness since the
mistress was called--not once. He's a saint the now. But it's aye good
ye're come home, Mister Fred."
"And it's good to hear you say so, old friend. Yet if it suits you just
as well, I'd prefer to have you say it up in the open. I'm not a lover
of dark cellars, or of holes that may be cellars some day. Come out of
it; it gives me the 'creeps.'"
"Ye believe it's all safe, eh?"
"Safe enough so far."
"Come by. If you like not this place, you must e'en bide the kitchen a
bit. I've somewhat to speak to you."
Cleena started back over the way they had come, and Mr. Kaye was
following her, when he stumbled against something soft, and fell
headlong in the mud; but he was up again in an instant, no worse for the
accident save by the soil upon his clothing. He had grasped the thing
over which he had tripped, and held it up to the candle-light.
"Hello! Seems to me I've seen this garment, or felt it, before. That
peculiarity of a cloth coat with a leather collar is noticeable. Whose
is it, Cleena?"
"Fetch it," she commanded tersely, and he obeyed her. Once in the better
lighted kitchen she extinguished the candle, carefully closed all the
doors, and seated herself near her visitor. She had taken the coat from
him, and laid it upon her own knees. Her manner was still full of that
mystery which consorted so oddly with her honest, open face.
"I thought so. I thought so, so I did."
"Very likely."
"Cease yer haverin', lad. There's matter here."
"Considerable. Upon my clothes, too. The matter seems to be of the same
sort--rather brown and sticky, what the farmers call 'loom.'"
"Know you whose coat this be?"
"Never a know I know," he mimicked, enjoying his bit of nonsense with
this old friend of his youth.
"It's Fayetty's."
"Your superior cellar digger? Whew!"
He had now become quite as serious as she desired. "Cleena, this is a
bad business. This coat was on the back of the man who horsewhipped Mr.
Wingate."
"I thought it; but, mind you, me lad, he's not for punishin'."
"Hold on, he certainly _is_. Don't you know that I--I, a Kaye, am under
suspicion of this dastardly thing? Of course you do. Well, then, I'm
going to step out from under the suspicion with neatness and despatch.
How long have you been hiding this, Cleena?"
"The poor chap's been here ever since. Only once a day he slips out, but
he's back by night. Oh, he's safe enough the now."
"Glad of it. Like to have him handy; and as soon as you've finished what
you have to say, I'll walk into the village and inform the sheriff, or
somebody who should know."
"You'll do naught like it."
"Why, Cleena, woman, have you lost your good sense?"
"Have I saved it, no? Hear me. I know 'twas me poor little Gineral
Bonyparty 't did the deed. I knew, soon as I heard the tale o' the coat.
You're no so stupid yerself. You recognized it immediate. It was a part
o' his uniform he wore a-paradin'. His notion 'twould save the collar
clean o' the jacket I fixed him. He's never no care in all his hard life
till he met up with me. The poor little gossoon!"
"Cleena, Cleena, turncoat! Wasn't I once, on a day gone by, another
'poor little gossoon'? But come, drop nonsense; it's a disgracefully
serious business for me and for your whole family."
"It's because o' the family I say it. The lad's for no punishin'. Not
yet. You're big an' strong, an' uncommon light o' heart. It'll do ye no
harm. The suspicioned you must be till--Wait lad. You loved the
mistress, Salome?"
"Why, Cleena, you know it!"
"Love you her childer?"
"Dearly; for their sakes I must shake off this obnoxious misjudgment."
He shrugged his shoulders as if the obloquy were a tangible load that
could be shifted.
"Hallam, the cripple, that's walked never a step since a diny dony
thing, an' a bad nurse set him prone on the cold stones o' the nasty
cellar house where her kind lived. That winter in the town, an' me
mindin' the mistress with Miss Amy a babe. How could we watch all the
time? He must have the air, what for no? An' her with a face as smooth
as bees-wax. Down on the cold, damp stones she'd put him, whiles off
with her young man she'd be trapesin', an' him made a cripple for life."
"Yes, Cleena, I remember it all. And how, as Amy tells me, almost a
fortune has been spent to restore him. But if ever I earn enough to try
again, I'll never rest till every doctor in the world, who understands
such things, shall tell me there is no hope."
"Good lad. Aye, aye, _good lad_!"
The gentleman looked at her in amazement. This had been the old
servant's term of commendation when he had refrained from some of his
youthful and natural mischievousness. She seemed to mean it just as
earnestly now. Suddenly she leaned forward and placed her hands upon his
knees.
"Say it again, avick. You'd do all in your power for me darlin' Master
Hallam, what for no?"
"What idleness to ask! I would give anything in this world to see him
cured."
"The Kayes are aye proud, in troth. Yer honor, lad; _even yer honor_?"
"Hmm, well--yes. Even my honor."
"Hark to me."
For five minutes thereafter Cleena talked, and not once did her listener
interrupt. Her words were spoken in that sibilant whisper that is louder
than ordinary speech, and not one of them was lost. When she had
finished, she rose and demanded, laying her hand upon Mr. Kaye's
shoulder:--
"Now, Mister Fred, will ye leave me gineral be?"
"Yes, Cleena. For the present, till a final test comes, he shall be safe
from any interference from me. I'll take him under my personal
protection. I'll make myself his friend. He shall have a fair chance. If
he fails--"
"He'll no fail! he'll no fail, laddie! Such as him is the Lord's own.
Whist, alanna, here he comes."
Fayette approached the entrance, walking stealthily, and casting furtive
glances toward that part of the building where the guest had hitherto
remained. Apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, he crept to
the door and tapped it twice.
Cleena nodded her head, and Frederic Kaye opened to admit the boy, who
would have retreated when he saw the stranger, had not his arm been
caught and held so firmly he could not writhe himself free.
"Leave me alone. What you doin'?"
"Why, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you since Christmas night."
"'Twasn't me. I never done it. Leave me be. Huckleberries! I'll smash
ye!"
"Why, Fayette, I'm astonished. Be quiet, listen. I know you--I know all
about you. You have got to behave. You must stay here and do exactly
what Cleena and I tell you to do. You'll be treated well. I'll show you
how you can make a lot of that money you like so much; upon condition,
though--upon the one condition that you simply behave correctly. You are
wise enough to understand me. If you disobey or prove tricky--well, I
have but to hand you over to the law and you're settled. Do you
understand?"
"You mean, if I don't mind, they'll jail me?"
"That's it, exactly. You're cleverer than I hoped."
"All right; I'll do it. Say, I believe Balaam's sick."
"Balaam? Have you got him, too? Are you a horse thief as well as
highwayman? Well, poor fellow, it's lucky your lot is cast in this
peaceful valley instead of on the frontier. Where is he?"
"I rode him to a place I know. There was plenty o' fodder once, but
it's been took. He hain't had much to eat, an' maybe that's it. I was
bound old Wingate shouldn't get him."
"Look here, young man, call nobody names. That's not allowed. And now
you travel after Balaam. If he's too sick for you to manage alone, I'll
go with you; if not, you must do it. How far away is he?"
"Not more 'n a mile."
"Fetch him. I've something to tell you, for your own benefit. I'll teach
you how to grow mushrooms, down in that cellar you're digging.
Well-grown ones will bring you a dollar a pound. I know, I've raised
them. I'd made a fortune only I love daylight and hate darkness. If you
can stand the underground part just for fun, you'll make it pay."
"Huckleberries! I'll get him. I'll hurry back."
As if he expected the new enterprise to begin that very night the lad
started down the hill. Already there was a manlier bearing about his
ill-shaped body. The necessity for hiding which he had felt had been
removed, and he was a free lad again.
An hour later Frederic Kaye saw him reappear, riding the apparently
restored burro, and smiled grimly.
"Hmm. Well, I'm in for it. I'm to remain under the cloud for an
indefinite time. If it succeeds--I'll not regret. If it doesn't, maybe
the Lord will square it up to my account, against the thoughtless
neglect I showed Salome. Now, I'll go out and interview my old
acquaintance of the Sierras. I wonder is his voice as mellifluous as
erstwhile!"
"Br-a-a-ay! Ah-umph! A-h-h-u-m-p-h!!" responded Balaam, from afar.