THE STONE MONKEY FIGURE GIVES UP ITS TREASURES.
I had been for some time employed on a large drawing of Jessie, in
crayons. It was my first ambitious attempt in colours; and it arose
from Jessie's complaint that I could not paint her as she was.
'I am all black and white,' she said; 'I am tired of seeing myself so.
Now if you could show me my eyes as they are---- What colour are they,
Chris?'
Thereupon it was necessary that a close investigation should be made,
which was not too rapidly concluded: these matters take a long time to
determine, especially when one is an enthusiast in his art, as I was.
The next day I bought crayons, and practised secretly; and secretly
also commenced the sketch of Jessie above mentioned. I was never tired
of contemplating my work, which promised to be a success; and one
Sunday, when it was nearly completed, I went to my room to examine it.
I kept it carefully concealed in my box, and, after a long
examination, I was about to replace it, when I was startled by
Jessie's voice, asking me what I was hiding. She had entered the room
softly and slyly, on purpose to surprise me, she told me.
'I am certain,' she said, 'that you are doing something secretly. For
the last three or four weeks you have shut yourself in here night
after night, for hours together. Now I want to know all about it.'
I did not wish her to see the sketch until it was quite finished; but
as she knelt by my side, and as my box was open, I could not prevent
her from discovering it.
'O Chris!' she cried. It's beautiful!'
And she expressed such praise of it that my heart thrilled with
delight.
'You think it's like you, then, Jessie?'
'Like me! It's _me_--me, myself! Set it on the box there; I'll show
you.'
And with a rapid movement she altered the fashion of her hair to suit
my picture, and assumed the exact expression I had chosen. She looked
very bewitching as she stood before me, the living embodiment of my
work. Then she knelt before the box again, and praised the picture
still more warmly, analysing it with exclamations of pleasure.
While she was talking and admiring herself; she was tossing over the
contents of my box, when she came upon the only legacy my grandmother
had left me--the smoke-dried monkey of a man in stone, which the old
lady had solemnly confided to my care. From the day I had entered
uncle Bryan's house it had lain in my box, and by this time I had
almost forgotten it; but as Jessie held it up and turned it about, my
mind was strangely stirred by those reminiscences of my early life
with which it was inseparably connected.
'What a curious image?' exclaimed Jessie. 'How long have you had it?'
'All my life, Jessie. Put it away; it's the ugliest thing that ever
was seen.'
'I don't think so. It's funny; look at it, wagging its head. Why, you
seem quite frightened of it! Well, then, I shall take it, and keep it
in my room.'
'No, I mustn't part with it. It was given to me by my grandmother, and
she said that it must be kept always in the family. Not that I think
much of what she said.'
Jessie shifted her position, and seated herself very comfortably upon
the floor.
'Now you've got something to tell me,' she said, pulling me down
beside her. 'I've never heard of your grandmother before, and you know
how fond I am of stories.'
'But mine is not a story, And there's nothing interesting to tell.'
'Oh, yes, there is; there must be. Everybody's life is full of
stories.'
'Yours, Jessie?' I put the question somewhat timorously.
'Perhaps,' she answered gravely; and added, after a short pause, 'But
we're not speaking of me; we're speaking of you. I want to know
everything.'
But it was long before she could coax me to speak of my early life.
There was much that I felt I should be ashamed for Jessie to know; and
a burning blush came to my cheeks as I thought of the time when my
mother used to beg for our living. To escape too searching an inquiry
I began to tell her of my grandmother, which led naturally to the
story of my grandmother's wedding. Of course the man with the knob on
the top of his head, and who was always eating his nails, was
introduced, he being the principal figure at the wedding.
'There!' cried Jessie. You said you hadn't any story to tell. Why,
you've told me half a dozen already. I can see your grandmother as
plain as plain can be; and that disagreeable man, too--I wonder what
became of him, after all? What was his name, Chris?'
'Anthony Bullpit'
'I hate the name of Anthony. Go on; I want to hear more.'
I gave a description of Jane Painter, at which Jessie laughed
heartily, and clapped her hands.
'I shall come into your bedroom one night with a sheet over me, and
frighten you.'
'I shouldn't be frightened of you, Jessie; besides, I'm not a boy now,
and I'm not afraid of anything. Then your voice----'
'Well!'
'Your voice is musical. How could you frighten anybody with it?'
Jessie edged a little closer to me.
'Go on, Chris. Anything more about Jane Painter? What a wretch she
must have been!' Then came an account of my grandmother's death, and
the legend of the long stocking, in which Jessie was immensely
interested.
'And you never found any money after all, Chris?'
'No; and I'm sure we searched for it everywhere. We looked up the
chimney, and ripped the bed open, and pulled the armchair all to
pieces.'
'I'd have had the cellar dug up,' cried Jessie excitedly; I'd have had
the paper taken off the walls, and the flooring taken away bit by bit.
I am certain the money was hidden somewhere.'
I shook my head.
'Or Jane Painter stole it,' she continued. 'I sha'n't sleep to-night
for thinking of it. I do so like to find out things! And I'd like to
find out this thing more than any other.'
'Why, Jessie?'
'Such a lot of money, Chris! Hundreds and hundreds of pounds there
must have been hidden away, or stolen. Hundreds and hundreds of
pounds!'
'Would you like to be rich, Jessie?'
'Chris,' she replied, looking at me seriously, 'I think I would do
anything in the world for money.'
A miserable feeling came over me, and for the first time in my life I
repined at my lot. What would I not have sacrificed at that moment if
I could have filled her lap with money! All this time Jessie had been
playing with the stone monkey figure, and now she suddenly uttered an
exclamation of surprise.
'Look!' she cried. 'The head comes off. It isn't broken; here's the
wire it hangs upon. Why, Chris----'
She seized my hand in uncontrollable excitement, and hid the figure in
her lap.
'What's the matter, Jessie?'
'There's something inside. It's stuffed full of paper. What if it
should be your grandmother's money?'
The amazing suggestion almost took away my breath.
'It's just the kind of place,' continued Jessie, panting, 'she would
have hidden it in. She kept it all in large bank-notes, and stuffed
them in here, where nobody could possibly suspect they were, and where
she could have them under her eye all the day. O Chris! feel how my
heart beats!'
My excitement was now as great as her own.
'Quick, Jessie! Let us look!'
'No,' she cried, covering the figure with both hands, 'let us wait a
bit. This is the best part of things: knowing that something wonderful
is coming, and waiting a little before it comes. How much is it? A
hundred pounds! Five hundred pounds! It can't be less, for you say she
always wore silk dresses. What will you do with it? We'll all have new
clothes. I know where there's such a lovely blue barege, and I saw a
hat in a window yesterday, trimmed with blue ribbon, and with lilies
and forget-me-nots in it, that I'd give my life for. O Chris! I can
see myself in them already.'
So she went on for full five minutes, building her castles; then with
a long-drawn breath she said,
'Now, Chris!'
The inside of the figure was certainly full of paper, which I fished
out very easily with one of Jessie's hairpins, and amid a little cloud
of dust--emblematical of Jessie's castles, for the paper was utterly
valueless. She refused to believe at first, and when she was
convinced, her disappointment took the form of anger against my
grandmother; she declared that the old lady had done it on purpose,
and that she was a spiteful, wicked, deceitful old creature. I was
quite as disappointed as Jessie was, more for her sake than my own,
and I tried to talk her into a better mood. Thinking there might be
writing on some of the paper, I smoothed it out, piece by piece; but
there was nothing written or printed on any of it with the exception
of one long slip, which was evidently a cutting from a newspaper. It
was headed, 'Remarkable Discovery of a Forger by the Celebrated
Detective, Mr. Vinnicombe.' And glancing down the column, the name of
Anthony Bullpit attracted my attention. I became interested
immediately.
'Here's something, at all events,' I said; 'something about my
grandmother's nail-eating lover. Listen, Jessie.'
'I don't want to hear anything about him,' replied Jessie, in a pet,
leaving the room.
So I read this 'Remarkable Discovery' quietly by myself. It ran as
follows: