Palmyra Henshaw was sitting in her neat kitchen, with folded hands. The
kettle was singing cheerfully, the cat was purring contentedly by the
stove; but for once Miss Palmyra's mood did not chime in with the
singing or the purring. She had sprained her ankle the day before, and
it was now so painful, that, after dragging it about till her work was
"done up" (for, land sakes! she couldn't sit down in the dirt; and her
kitchen had to be cleaned up, if she did it on her hands and knees), she
was fain now to sit down and put the offending member up on a chair.
She looked at the poor foot with great displeasure. It was badly
swollen; she had had to put on a green carpet slipper, one of an old
pair of her father's; and the contrast with her other foot, in its trim,
well-blacked shoe, was anything but pleasant.
As she sat thus in silent discomfort, she heard the sound of the pump in
the yard. Somebody was working the handle up and down with firm, regular
strokes.
"Well, what next?" said Miss Palmyra, fretfully, peering out of the
window and trying to gain a sight of the intruder. "I sh'd like to know
who's at that pump without askin' leave or license. I left the pail out
there, too, didn't I? Like as not it'll go, same as the hen did. I must
get up!"--she made a motion to rise, but sank back with a groan. "My
Land! Have I got to sit here and have my things stole without liftin' a
finger?"
At the same moment she heard quick steps crossing the yard: the door
opened, and a man entered, carrying a brimming pail of water. Miss
Palmyra opened her mouth to shriek, but closed it again when the
stranger smiled.
"Good eve!" said the man, who had black curls, gold rings in his ears,
and the brightest eyes that ever were seen. "I come to do ze work."
"Work!" ejaculated Miss Palmyra, faintly.
"Ze shores!" explained the man, with a brilliant flash of eyes and
teeth. "You have hurt ze foot? So peety! Look! I fill ze kettel--so! I
bring ze wood--so!" (He was gone, and back again with an armful of wood
before Miss Palmyra could trust her bewildered senses enough to know
whether she was awake or dreaming.) "I fill up ze stofe--so! And next?
It is a cow zat you haf? I milk her!" He swept a glance around the
kitchen, seized with unerring instinct the right pail, and was gone
again.
Miss Palmyra pinched herself, and opened and shut her eyes several
times.
"I wonder if I'm goin' crazy!" she said. "I feel kinder light-headed."
She looked at the cat, who blinked quietly in return, and his calm air
of tranquillity steadied her nerves. "If he'd been a tramp, he wouldn't
ha' brought in that wood!" she said. "Would he, Eben?" The cat was named
Ebenezer. Ebenezer purred assurance, and Miss Palmyra's spirits rose.
"Like as not he's stayin' with some o' the neighbours!" she said. "Mis'
Brewster's real kind: mebbe this is her nephew she was expectin', and
she sent him in to help me. Well, I'm sure!" She twitched a little shawl
over the carpet-slipper, and settled her neat collar and apron.
When the stranger returned, beaming over the brimming milk-pail, she was
able to greet him with "Well, you're real obligin', I must say. I didn't
hardly know what I should do about milkin', for I can't seem to put my
foot to the ground. Stayin' at Mis' Brewster's, be ye?"
"No!" with a flash which illuminated the kitchen. "Not zere. Where he
live, ze milk? Zis door?"
Miss Palmyra indicated the pantry door, where the yellow pans stood
ready and waiting.
She listened keenly for a sound of spilling or dripping, but none came;
only a steady, even pouring. "He's a real good hand!" she murmured.
"And now?" the dark eyes smiled on her again. "You lame, I get your
sopper. What you like?"
"Oh,--no, sir, you can't do that!" cried Miss Palmyra. "I'm jist as
obliged, I assure _you_, but I sha'n't want nothin' more to-night. I had
a good dinner. Well, I'm sure!"
She felt utterly helpless when the stranger, with another smile,
produced three eggs from his pocket, and taking a bowl, proceeded to
break the eggs into it and beat them with right good will. "When you
seeck, then you weak," he explained. "Most eat good sopper! I make!"
In the twinkling of an eye the frying-pan was on the stove; and, while
it was heating, his keen black eyes spied a tray. Napkin, knife and fork
were arranged upon it with swift precision. Setting a plate to warm on
the back of the stove, he proceeded to do wonderful things with the
beaten eggs, tossing them about with a fork, stirring, seasoning,
tasting. This was done with the right hand, while the left was toasting
a slice of bread. All the time the black eyes were glancing here and
there, like darting sunbeams. Spying a string of onions, the stranger
pounced upon them. A morsel was torn off, shredded fine, and stirred
into the savoury mess.
In five minutes such an omelette was smoking on the hot plate as Miss
Palmyra had never even dreamed of; and in one minute more it was beside
her on the little light-stand, and she was bidden "Eat! I make tea!"
Now Miss Palmyra had _not_ had a good dinner, and she was desperately
hungry, and--oh! how good that omelette did smell! The toast was
perfect!
Where had Mis' Brewster's nephew learned all this? And now, to crown
all, a cup of tea was set beside her,--hot, strong and fragrant. And
then--
"Please ze lady I also have a cup?" asked this astonishing person. The
tone was soft and pleading, the dark eyes deprecating, as if he were a
humble suitor, asking a royal boon.
"Well, I should hope you could!" cried Miss Palmyra, hospitably. "The
idea! I don't see what I was thinking of, Mr.--_Is_ your name Brewster?"
"No!" said the stranger, softly. "Name is Jim!"
A good supper had Giorgios Aristides Evangelides Paparipopoulos, _alias_
Jim, that night! There was more omelette than Miss Palmyra could
possibly eat, she declared; indeed, Jim had meant that there should be.
Then she told him where to find a certain loaf of spice cake, and a jar
of damson jam; and she insisted upon his eating till he could eat no
more. After a week of salted backbone of hog, Jim's appetite for these
good things was keen enough.
He beamed with pleasure; his smiles made noonday in the darkening
kitchen: Miss Palmyra thought him uncommonly handsome. Only--it was a
pity he wore ear-rings. And, after all, who was he? She really must find
out.
"You've never told me how you kem to know of my bein' lame!" she said,
as her guest was washing the dishes with careful nicety. "You a stranger
here, too! Who did send ye, if I'm not takin' a liberty?"
"Ze honourable captains send me," said Jim, with open cheerfulness; "and
ze selected gentlemen."
"Well, I'm sure!" ejaculated Miss Palmyra.
"I steal your hen!" Jim explained, with winning grace. "Was very sorry;
should not have done--but! Now I work t'ree mont'; do shores for ladies;
do all works. But for you I work most, for I steal your hen. Is it not?"
And putting away the cups and saucers, he swept the hearth with ardour.
"Well, I'm sure!" said Miss Palmyra again; and she really could not
think of anything else to say.
Everyone agreed that it was a special providence that Jim Popples (such
being the popular rendering of our hero's name) had been cast away on
the Island just when there was so much sickness "goin' about," and when
Aunt Ruhamy Snell, the accredited nurse of the Island, was laid up with
rheumatism The quick, active Greek was here, there and everywhere. He
split wood, he made fires, he milked cows. He mended chairs, and set
panes of glass; he kept all the children happy by plaiting wonderful
things out of twine, and whittling royal navies with his jackknife.
He also mended up the jail as well as he could, and might be seen
patching the walls of his cell, whistling merrily, while the jailer sat
by in moody silence watching him. It was generally felt that Sefami Bunt
had not done as he ought by his prisoner, and that he really was not
fitted for the offices he held of jailer and hog-reeve; but, as Captain
Zeno Pye said, "thar warnt nothin' else Sefami _could_ do, and it kep'
him off the town, anyway."
But Jim's best work, and his longest hours, were given to Miss Palmyra
Henshaw. She had freely forgiven him his theft of the hen, and in the
long period of inactivity to which she was now condemned (for if one
trifles with a sprained ankle, one is apt to pay for it, and it was a
month before she could do more than hobble about with a crutch), she
found him an invaluable friend. Morning, noon and night would see him
smiling at the door, with his cheery "How you do, Mees Palmyre? So
better, is it not? Glad I am!"
Often he brought some little offering: a wooden dish of wild
strawberries; a string of fish, gleaming fresh from the water; or it
might be half-a-dozen crabs, which would crawl out of his pockets, only
to meet a swift death in the kettle of boiling water, and be converted
into some wonderful dish. Of Jim's skill in cookery, Miss Palmyra spoke
with bated breath.
"Well!" she would say to Mrs. Brewster, who, toiling over her own cook
stove, sometimes wished she had a sprained ankle and could have Jim
Popples to do her work; "that man has a real gift, that's sartin'. Give
him an egg and an onion, and it does seem as if he could git the
flesh-pots of Egypt out of 'em. Jest you step to the cupboard, Mis'
Brewster. Thar's a corner I left special for you to taste, a dish o'
tomaytoes and rice he cooked for my dinner yesterday. Just them, and a
bit o' butter and a scrap of onion, and--thar! Did you ever! Don't that
relish good?"
Small wonder that Miss Palmyra grew plump and rosy in spite of the
sprained ankle.
Many a housewife wished, like Mrs. Brewster, that she also might profit
by Jim's gift; but though he did all kinds of chores for the whole
village, he would cook for no one but Miss Palmyra Henshaw. "I steal you
hen!" he said to her. "I wish to make you up for zat. I steal hens at no
ozer lady."
So Miss Palmyra grew to feel a sort of ownership of Jim Popples, which
was by no means unpleasant; and she sewed on his buttons (for pleasure;
he could do it perfectly well himself, as she knew) and mended his
clothes; while he, at work with broom or mop, or whittling away at
basket-splints, told her wonderful stories of foreign lands, of apes and
peacocks, cedars and pomegranates, till the good woman grew to feel that
her thief was a very remarkable and very gifted person.
So three months slipped away, as fast as months are apt to do; and a day
came when the captains sat all together in the Upper House at
Bannister's, and Giorgios Aristides Evangelides Paparipopoulos stood
before them, as he had stood once before, with his jailer glooming
beside him.
The captains had sent for him, and now, at a murmur from the others,
Captain Zeno Pye took up the word:
"Wal, Jim, yer three months is up, and I s'pose you're thinkin' about
goin'. Me and the captains feel to say to you that you've done well,
real well. Of course you started in mean, and stealin' aint right,
however you look at it. But you've worked stiddy, and you've worked
good; and I reckon you'd have to hunt round consid'able before you found
anybody in town who wa'n't real sorry to have ye go. If you felt to
stay, I don't doubt but you could get all the work you wanted,
odd-jobbin' round. The _se_leckmen 'd oughter pay ye somethin' for
repairin' the jail, but thar!--that's between you and them. Wal! the
steamer comes to-morrer, and I s'pose you'll be movin'. What we want to
say is, that we're right sorry to have ye go, Jim Popples. You're a
handy fellow, and I don't doubt you're a good seaman; and if me or the
other captains can speak a good word for ye, or help ye any way with a
start, why, we're ready to do it. That's so, aint it?"
There was a growl of assent, in the midst of which--
"Thar she blows!" sung out Captain Abram Bannister.
"Where away?" cried Captain Bije Tarbox.
"Weather bow!" responded Captain Abram, and slept peacefully.
Jim looked slowly round the circle; his smile grew wider and brighter,
till each man felt warm, and thought the weather was moderating; then he
saluted in seaman fashion.
"I not go!" said the child of Hellas. "I stay. I get married
to-morrow--to Mees Palmyre!"
THE TROUBLING OF BETHESDA POOL.