CLOSING THE SHUTTERS.
Jared Boyce had a taste for society, and managed to enjoy a good deal of
it from the side-walk and park-benches wherein he could get an hour or
two in the day-time, or close the grocery early enough to witness the
outgoings or incomings of a fashionable party at night. Of course, this
great entertainment at the Carters had been the excitement of the week
in that corner store. Innumerable were the errands Boyce had run to
milliners, thread needle stores, and apothecaries, in behalf of his
mistress, who was so completely absorbed in her preparations, that she
generally forgot to count the change brought back from these little
excursions—a circumstance out of which he had made considerable profit.
On the eventful night, Boyce was as busy as a bee running up and down
stairs, crossing the street for yards of ribbon, or papers of pins,
holding consultations with Kate Gorman, and haunting the stables to make
certain that the carriage would come in time. Now and then he got a
glimpse of the mistress, who made a general dressing-room of the whole
second floor, and betrayed the progress of her toilet more frequently
than she was conscious of. At such times Boyce would lean forward, with
a hand on each knee, and exclaim, in the fullness of his admiration,
“Oh, my! Isn’t that dress agoing to put down the hull bilen of ’em. If
there’s a more stupendous lady than she’ll be, I’d like to see her a
going to the party, that’s all. Jim’s sister to think of evening herself
agin us. White pigeons agin peacocks, with moons on their spread
feathers! Bosh!”
Mrs. Smith heard these exclamations with no little elation; and Kate
Gorman repeated them, with Hibernian improvements, that fairly took the
good woman off her feet.
It was an important moment when Mrs. Smith descended to the store, with
her red moire antique gathered up in voluminous folds around her person,
and a huge bouquet in her hand.
When Boyce heard her step on the stairs, he fell to work at once,
removed baskets of fruit, butter-tubs and fish-barrels from their
places, and widened a safe passage for the gorgeous dress, which passed
through, as it were, with a rustle and flutter of acknowledgment. This
the mistress intensified, by a world of gracious thanks, and permission
to close the store immediately after ten. This was exactly what Boyce
had been aiming at, having made a private arrangement to go out with
Kate Gorman.
The moment Smith’s carriage drove off, Boyce took authority on himself,
and summoned James to action.
“Come along here and help put up the shutters. Haul them baskets inside,
and don’t stuff your pockets full of cranberries, while you’re a doing
it. I know yer tricks, old feller, so look sharp, if you want me to hold
my tongue.”
James had just seen his sister come forth in her soft white raiment, and
fresh flowers, on her way to the party, and felt some resentment at the
disparaging remarks Boyce made about her. But he knew well enough that
words would be of no avail with the young tyrant, and obeyed him in
angry silence.
In a few minutes the shutters were closed, and even the coal-bin, which
projected on the side-walk, was safely fastened. When this was done,
Boyce led the way up stairs, and met Kate Gorman at the landing, with
her shawl and bonnet on.
“They’re asleep at last,” she said, “all but Jerusha Maria; she holds
out like a trooper, for the sight of that red dress just drove her wild,
and she keeps snatching at the yeller feather yet. I gave her a double
dose of paregoric, and got her under a little; but she’s wide awake
yet.”
“Just in time,” Boyce broke in. “We shall have a good look at the whole
crowd. Jimmy will take care that the young ones don’t fall out of bed.
Just you go in there, old feller, and see that you stick to your post,
and hold that precious little girl in your arms till she crows herself
to sleep. It’s just the work for you.”
“I’ll go in, of course, because some one must take care of her,” said
James; “but it’s too early to close up, and you have no business to go
out so soon.”
“So soon,” cried Kate Gorman, tying her bonnet with an angry jerk. “Look
at the clock.”
James did look at the little time-piece, in its square mahogany case,
and was astonished to see that it only wanted a few minutes of ten
o’clock.
Kate gave Boyce a knowing wink, and made a swift motion with her
fingers, as if turning the pointers of a clock, which he understood, and
answered with an approving nod.
“Not just yet,” said Boyce, as James was going into the sleeping-room
where Jerusha Maria was making vigorous efforts to get out of her
cradle. “You’ve got to go down, and lock us out. I’m not a going to
carry a heavy key about in my pocket. Besides, safe bind and safe find
is my motto. So make sure you don’t go to sleep with the baby, for we
depend on you to let us in, and so will the other party.”
James made no answer, but took the key that Boyce held out, and followed
the two down stairs. The store was dark as midnight, for the shutters
were firmly closed, and the candle which James carried, only gave out a
faint circle of light, by which the clerk and housemaid found their way
into the street.
James closed the door after them, locked it, and looked around for an
iron bar, that usually stood back of the door, ready for the two staples
sunk into the woodwork on either side. It was not to be seen. The boy
held down his light, and searched for it in every place he could think
of, but in vain.
“Boyce has flung it down somewhere, moving the things about,” he
thought, a little anxiously. “It was awful careless of him; but there’s
no need of it. The lock is strong enough, and I’m not likely to go to
sleep.”
Just then the little girl up stairs gave an impatient yell, which drove
all ideas of the bar out of the lad’s mind; with the key in his hand, he
rushed up stairs, calling out cheerfully to the little night-hawk as he
went.
During the next half hour James was busy carrying that spoiled child up
and down the room, while she tugged viciously at his hair, sobbed,
shrieked, and kicked her tiny feet against his chest, until even her
unnatural energy gave out, and she fell asleep in his tired arms.
With the stealthy tread of a cat, and holding his breath, James laid the
child in its crib, and sat down completely tired out. He had been busy
all day, and excitement had taken away his appetite. He was not hungry
now, but found his throat dry, and a feverish thirst upon him.
A pitcher of root beer stood on the table, with a tumbler, from which
Boyce had drank before going out. The bottle of paregoric, brought from
the druggist’s that afternoon, was on the window-sill close by, almost
empty.
James took up the tumbler, filled it, and drank eagerly. It seemed a
little strong, but he thought nothing of that until he noticed the vial
on the window. Then he fancied a taste of paregoric in his mouth.
“I suppose they dropped the spoon into the glass, after the baby had
done with it,” he thought. “But what a jolly dose they must have given
her. There isn’t a teaspoonful left. How she will sleep, now that I’ve
got her down.”
The boy seated himself by the crib, and began to swing it lightly to and
fro, rather to keep himself busy, than from any idea of its usefulness.
After awhile his eyes grew heavy, and his hand rested motionless on the
crib. Then it fell away altogether, and, seated in the Boston
rocking-chair, James slept as soundly as his little charge.
Once or twice the boy awoke with a start, as if some noise had aroused
him; but his head was heavy, and his senses dull. Strive as he would to
listen, sleep overpowered him, and was more and more profound as the
night wore on.