BROTHER ABNER.
When Jack retired on this night he was far from feeling comfortable in
mind.
Aunt Nancy had literally obliged him to cease speaking of the matter,
and during the evening devotions prayed so fervently that she might be
forgiven for acting a lie, it really distressed him.
She had done it solely for him, and he felt personally responsible for
her mental trouble.
It caused the little woman great anxiety as he could well understand
from the fact that she referred to the subject very frequently, and
never ceased to sue for pardon.
As has been said, Jack did not think the little woman did any great
wrong; but since she believed it, the case was as serious to her as if a
deadly crime had been committed.
He remained awake a long while trying to decide what should be done, and
more than once was he tempted to run the risk of calling upon Farmer
Pratt to explain all the circumstances, in order to relieve Aunt Nancy's
mind.
To do this would be, as he firmly thought, neither more nor less than
voluntarily condemning himself to the poor farm; but Louis would be safe
from the ignominy, and he would be doing the little woman a very great
favor.
He had decided upon nothing when sleep visited his eyelids, and on the
following morning there was so much to be done around the house he could
not find any opportunity to study the subject.
Aunt Nancy believed it necessary to clean nearly every portion of the
house, and as a matter of course he assisted.
Louis was really neglected on this day. Having been allowed to play on
the floor to his heart's content, neither his crooked guardian nor Aunt
Nancy paid very much attention to him.
Not until late in the afternoon was the labor brought to a close, and
then the tired ones sought rest under the big oak.
Jack was about to broach the subject which occupied the greater portion
of his thoughts, when the rumble of wheels at the end of the lane caused
him to look up in alarm.
"Who is that?" he asked excitedly, fearing lest it might be a messenger
from Farmer Pratt.
"Only Deacon Downs. He sometimes stops on his way home from Treat's
store to see if anything is needed. I buy a good many vegetables of
him."
On this occasion the deacon had not called for any such purpose.
He reined in his horse near where Aunt Nancy was sitting, and, refusing
her invitation to "get out and visit," unbuttoned his coat in a
deliberate manner, saying slowly as he did so,--
"I found this 'ere for you down to Treat's, an' kinder 'lowed you'd be
wantin' it."
Then fully a moment more was spent before the article referred to was
produced, and, meanwhile, Aunt Nancy was in a mild state of excitement
through curiosity.
"Something for me? What is it, Deacon?"
"Wait till I find the pesky thing. I put it in this pocket so there
shouldn't be any chance of losin' it, an' now I wouldn't be surprised if
it had slipped out."
Aunt Nancy came close to the wagon watching the old gentleman's every
movement, her face expressing the liveliest impatience; but the visitor
did not gratify her curiosity until having found that for which he
sought.
"Here it is," he said, as he handed her a letter, "an' seein's how it's
stamped Binghamton, I wouldn't be surprised if it was from Abner, for I
don't reckon you know anybody but him in York State, Nancy?"
"Of course it's from Abner, and you gave me almost a shock, Deacon, for
I couldn't imagine what you had found of mine."
"I don't allow there's any bad news, eh?" and the visitor waited as if
expecting Aunt Nancy would open the letter at once.
"It's only in regard to some business, Deacon," the little woman replied
in a tone which told she did not intend to read the missive until she
should be alone.
"I don't reckon he's thinkin' of comin' here this summer?"
"Dear me, no. Abner's getting too old to go gallivantin' 'round the
country very much, an' it's a powerful long journey from here to York
State."
"You're right, Nancy; but you know Abner allers was a master hand at
travellin'."
Then the deacon, despairing of getting a glimpse of the letter, urged
the aged horse into a slow trot, and the occupants of the Curtis farm
were alone once more.
"The deacon is a real obliging neighbor," Aunt Nancy said as the rumble
of wheels died away in the distance, "but terribly inquisitive. He
thought I would read Abner's letter so he'd know what was going on, and
perhaps I might have done so if it hadn't been concerning your business,
which should be kept to ourselves."
"Do you s'pose he has found out anything about Louis's father?" Jack
asked, eager to learn the contents of the letter, but not feeling at
liberty to hurry the little woman.
"I don't think there is any doubt about it"; and Aunt Nancy tore open
the envelope with a slowness and deliberation which was almost
provoking.
During the next five minutes Jack waited impatiently to hear "brother
Abner's" reply; but nothing was said until the letter had been read
carefully twice over, and then Aunt Nancy exclaimed as she took off her
spectacles,--
"Well, I declare!"
"Does he know the captain?"
"He's never heard of him! It's so surprising when I think of how many
people he used to be acquainted with when he lived here."
"What does he say about it?"
"Nothing of any consequence, and writes as if he was provoked because I
asked the question. Wants to know how I suppose he can find a man who
was exploded in a vessel at sea; and I can't say but there is
considerable good sense in his asking that, for of course when the ship
blowed to pieces that settled the whole thing."
"But the captain might have been saved, and, besides, while we were in
sight the 'Atlanta' looked whole and sound as before the explosion."
"But if she didn't go to pieces why hasn't the captain come after his
son?"
This was a question which Jack could not answer, and had to remain
silent.
"According to Abner's story, he don't know many of the York State folks
except them as lives in Binghamton. Perhaps he's settling down, and
isn't as newsy as when he was with me."
"If he can't help us, what are Louis an' I to do?"
"Stay here, of course."
"But, Aunt Nancy, I must try to find Louis's relations, even if his
father and mother are dead."
"I reckon you're bound to do that somehow; but there's no sense in
trying to walk to New York while the weather is so hot."
Then the little woman, as if believing the matter had been finally
settled, began to speak of the subject which was very near her heart,
and for at least the hundredth time Jack was forced to listen to her
lamentations because of the equivocation when Farmer Pratt called.
It was particularly hard for him to remain quiet during her
self-accusations, for now that it was useless to expect "brother Abner"
could do anything in the way of learning the details concerning the fate
of the good ship "Atlanta," it seemed in the highest degree important to
decide upon some course of action.
He was well content to stay where he was a certain time; but it seemed
as if he should have at least some idea of what was to be done in the
future.
Aunt Nancy did not give him an opportunity to discuss the matter,
however, and when the hour came to search the house for supposed
burglars he was in a fine state of perplexity.
On the following morning it seemed as if the little woman had dismissed
all such thoughts from her mind, for whenever she spoke to Jack it was
upon anything rather than how he might best accomplish that which he
believed to be his duty.
He noticed she was particularly tender toward Louis, and gave him an
unusual amount of attention when she thought he and she were alone.
It was on this day Mrs. Souders called, and during fully half an hour
was closeted with Aunt Nancy, after which she met Jack in the yard when
her greeting was more than cordial, but never a word was spoken in
reference to the incidents of the day she allowed anger to overcome
judgment.
Since Jack had not expected anything in the way of an apology, he was
agreeably surprised by the change in her manner toward him, and felt
that ample reparation had been made.
What the lady may have said to Aunt Nancy will never be known, for the
little woman maintained the most perfect secrecy regarding it, despite
the fact that Jack questioned her as closely as he dared.
It was on the evening of this day when they were sitting under the old
oak, and Louis was playing in front of them, that Bill Dean walked
boldly into the yard, accosting Aunt Nancy as if he and she were on the
most friendly terms.
Jack was so thoroughly surprised that he experienced the sensation of
one who has suddenly been plunged into cold water, for the assurance of
the boy was more than he could understand until Master Dean handed Aunt
Nancy a printed circular, as he said,--
"I've been hired to carry these around, an' I know you allers go to camp
meetin', so I stopped here first. I s'pose you think I'm kinder tough;
but them as come here lookin' for jobs without wantin' to work ain't so
good as you believe they are."
"I don't intend to argue with you, William; but you know very well I
have good reason to feel harsh toward you."
"Why, what have I done?" and Bill looked as innocent as a lamb.
"It would be better if you asked what you haven't done," and the little
woman spoke in the most severe tone. "In the first place you drove away
a well-disposed boy last summer, and are now trying to do the same by
poor little crippled Jack."
"I don't see how you can say sich a thing, Aunt Nancy"; and Bill assumed
an injured expression.
"Didn't you mix up the harness when the circle met here, and didn't you
try to drown the baby?"
"Me drown a baby?" Bill cried in a horrified tone.
"Yes, it was you and your friends who carried him to the duck pond and
set him adrift on a raft."
"Now, Aunt Nancy, it ain't right to talk agin me in this way"; and a
stranger would have said that Bill was on the point of crying.
"Why, William Dean, I saw you running away!"
"I ain't sayin' you didn't; but that's nothin' to do with the baby. When
I came across the field he was at the pond, an' I didn't know what he
might do to my raft. Before I got up to him he was sailin' like all
possessed, an' when you came I run away for fear you'd want me to wade
in after him."
Aunt Nancy's eyes opened wide in astonishment at this marvellous story,
and while she felt convinced it was false, she would not accuse him of
telling a lie without having something in the way of evidence against
him.
"At least I know you fought with Jack because he wouldn't promise to go
away," she said after quite a long pause.
Louis's guardian tried to prevent this last remark by a look, but was
unsuccessful, and Bill replied boldly,--
"There ain't any use sayin' I didn't, 'cause it's true; but us fellers
only was doin' what we had a right."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why, we've got a license from the s'lectmen to do all the chores 'round
this neighborhood, an' had to pay a mighty big price for it. Do you
s'pose we'll let any other fellers come in an' take the bread an' butter
outer our mouths after we've scraped the cash together to pay the town
tax for that kind of business?"
This statement was rather more than even Aunt Nancy could credit, and
she said quite sharply,--
"William Dean, I won't have you standing there telling such wrong
stories! You must think I'm a natural born idiot to listen."
"It's the truth all the same, and if Hunchie don't clear out he won't
get along very easy. Good by, Aunt Nancy, I s'pose I'll see you at camp
meetin', for all the old maids will be there."
Bill did not linger in the lane after this last remark, but went quickly
out into the highway, leaving the little woman literally gasping with
surprise and indignation.
"It's no disgrace to be an old maid," she said when it was once more
possible for her to speak; "but I won't have an impudent boy like
William Dean throwing it in my face as if it was something to be
ashamed about."
"I wouldn't pay any 'tention to him," Jack replied consolingly. "You're
nicer than any woman _I_ ever saw, an' he'd be only too glad if you was
as much of a friend to him as you are to me."
Aunt Nancy leaned over and kissed the little cripple on the forehead as
she said in a low tone,--
"You are a good boy, Jack dear, and would be a great comfort to me if we
were never to part until the good God calls me home."