Signed, Simon Petty
IT was a week later that Ruth was in her room with Hetty sitting
before her on the window seat. The house was very still. Bertie's
howls did not cleave the air. The swish, swish of Mrs. Mayfield's
silken petticoats was no longer heard; even Mademoiselle's high-pitched
voluble French did not pierce the silence.
"I am very glad they didn't decide to take me, Hetty," said Ruth. "I'd
much rather not go. Oh my, isn't it lovely to get rid of Bertie? Don't
you feel glad that you don't have to stay down in your cave? Now that I
haven't those hateful verbs to learn, I shall have time to sew for you,
Hetty. I've hardly dared to more than take you out to look at you for a
week, for although Uncle Sidney said I was not to give you up, Bertie
would have come and taken you without the asking if you were within
reach."
Hetty's smiling face seemed response enough to these confidences.
"Oh, Hetty," Ruth went on, "I am so glad that Mademoiselle is to be
gone three whole days. For three whole days, we shall have everything
to ourselves. I can take you down to the nursery when I have my meals
and it will be so cozy, almost like being at home again. I wonder what
they are doing there this minute. I haven't been very lucky yet in
finding a whole lot of money to take us back, have I? I wonder when I
shall go."
That morning Mrs. Mayfield in sudden alarm because of a cold Bertie had
taken, insisted upon bearing him away to Lakewood for a week while Mr.
Mayfield should be gone upon a business trip. Mademoiselle, feeling
that this was a good opportunity to take a holiday, pleaded an ill
friend and would be gone for three days.
"I simply cannot be bothered with two children in a hotel," Mrs.
Mayfield had said to her husband, "and I don't believe Ruth would care
a particle about going."
But Ruth's uncle consulted her before he settled the matter. He sought
her out and asked:
"Do you want to go to Lakewood with your Aunt Lillie and Bertie, or
would you rather stay here with the servants and Mademoiselle?"
Ruth hesitated for a moment. "I'd much rather stay here," she replied,
"if—"
"If what?" asked her uncle.
"If Mademoiselle were not going to be here, too."
Mr. Mayfield laughed. "That's frank at least. Well, she is not to be
here all the time. She is going away for three days. I shouldn't wonder
if she stretched the time longer, and there will be only Katie to look
after you. Mrs. Mayfield will take Minnie with her. The cook and Martin
will have the house to see to. Can you stand a whole week in such
company?"
"Oh, yes, for I'll have Hetty, you know."
"I may be back in two or three days myself."
"Then I should surely like to stay."
"Bless the child," murmured Mr. Mayfield. "I think then since you do
not really care to go that we will leave you here," he added.
It was certainly an easy way to arrange affairs, for Katie was steady
and conscientious. She could be relied upon to take good care of the
little girl, and Mr. Mayfield promised himself a free afternoon when
he would take his niece to a matinee and give her a little of the
attention which he felt he had been rather chary of.
The quiet house was the result of all this, and Ruth was actually less
lonely than when the coming and going of visitors, whom she never saw,
the bustle of entertainments in which she had no part, and the noisy
clamor of Bertie stirred the household.
"I think I'll take you down in the nursery now," she said to Hetty.
"It's nice and warm there where the sunshine comes in the windows. I'll
begin your new frock. Think of it, I have hardly looked at my box of
pieces since I came. They will remind me of home so much. I shouldn't
mind pulling out the stitches from old coats or doing anything, if
I could only sit by Aunt Hester and hear Billy whistling in the
wood-shed. There's that striped pocket; I'll use that."
Ruth unrolled the pocket. Something hard was in the bottom of it. She
drew it out. She had forgotten the little wad of paper she had put
there so long before. She pulled out the crumpled mass and began to
smooth out the wrinkles. Something was written on the paper. She tried
to read it, but the writing was too cramped and illegible for her
childish powers. She could, however, make out the signature which was
in quite different handwriting. The letters, big and black, were easily
read.
"S-i-m-o-n—P-e-t-t-y," she spelled out. "I wonder what this is," she
exclaimed. "I remember now I found it in the lining of the old coat. I
think I will ask Martin if he can read it."
She folded the paper and stowed it away in her box of pieces, then,
with Hetty carefully poised on her hand and the box under her arm, she
went down to the nursery where she devoted the rest of the afternoon to
the making of a striped pink frock for her doll.
At five o'clock it was quite dark. The lights in the hall were lighted
and Katie came to turn them on in the nursery. Later, Martin appeared
with Ruth's supper on a tray. At the sight of the lonely little figure,
his dignity unbent.
"Lonely here, miss, by yourself?" he said.
"Oh, I am not so lonesome as if I didn't have Hetty, but I would like
another little girl to play with. I wish you were a little girl,
Martin."
Martin chuckled as he set down the tray.
"I can't say I quite echo your wish, miss. Cook made you a little cake
just for yourself and she said I was to tell you the cream toast was
special good. Is there anything else you would care for, miss? Oysters
or a bit of cold ham?"
Ruth surveyed the tempting supper prepared for her: cream toast,
broiled chicken, a small pot of cocoa, a fresh sponge cake scalloped
and with a hole in the middle into which hole Martin had stuck a bunch
of violets. Amber jelly and some fruit completed the bill of fare.
Wouldn't Billy's eyes open if he could see all this served on beautiful
cut glass and china? The thought of Billy reminded Ruth of the paper
she had found in the pocket.
"There is only one thing I want, Martin," she said. "I wish you would
read something for me."
She brought out the piece of paper and unfolded it before Martin. He
screwed up his eyes, put his head to one side and scrutinized the paper
carefully, turning it over to look at the reverse side.
"I can make out the Simon Petty," said Ruth by way of encouragement.
Martin nodded. "Yes, miss, that's plain enough. 'Tain't a very good
plain fist, the rest of it, but as I make out, it's a receipt signed
'Simon Petty.'"
"What's a receipt?" asked Ruth quickly.
"It's to tell that some money has been paid. This here," he pointed to
the paper, "seems to say that Francis Blackberry, or some such name,
has paid Petty five thousand dollars—payment in full of money advanced.
It reads like that."
"Couldn't it be Francis Brackenbury? Are you sure it's Blackberry?"
said Ruth eagerly.
"Come to look at it I guess it might be Brackenbury, but it's such
twistified sort of writing it's hard to tell, but I guess you are right
and it's Brackenbury."
"He did pay it, he did," said Ruth excitedly. "Aunt Hester said so."
"You know the parties, then? How did you happen to get hold of this?"
"I found it in an old overcoat pocket. Aunt Hester ripped up the coat
and I was picking out the Indians, the stitches, you know, and I forgot
and stuck this in the pocket after I found it way down in a corner of
the coat between the cloth and the lining. I was going to make a frock
for Hetty out of the pocket. Oh, Martin, do you suppose it is worth
anything?"
Martin scratched his head. "I ain't much of a lawyer, but it might be
worth keeping, or it may be an old paper that nobody cares anything
about. It might save a heap of trouble in case this here Blackberry
died and Simon Petty was mean enough to claim his debt."
"Not Blackberry, Martin," said Ruth reproachfully.
"Well, never mind the name. You know sometimes when a man dies there's
claimants comes forward for money that's been paid, and if he's a
married man and his relic ain't got any receipt to show, why it makes
trouble."
"What's a relic? It has something to do with war, hasn't it?"
"There is war relics, but this kind is a man's widow, the wife he
leaves behind him."
"Suppose he doesn't leave any."
"Then he has heirs, sons or daughters, maybe."
"Major Brackenbury had a daughter and she's my Aunt Hester."
"You'd better send this to her, then. It might save paying out five
thousand dollars a second time."
"Is five thousand dollars much money?"
"It would buy a pretty good house in some places. But your supper is
getting cold, miss."
"Oh, well, I'll eat it. Thank you ever so much, Martin, for telling me
all about the receipt. Tell Maria I am much obliged for the cake; it
is so brown and lovely, and thank whoever put the dear little bunch of
violets in the middle. You may go now, Martin."
She spoke in the little superior way in which Mrs. Mayfield gave her
orders, and Martin smiled.
"It's a little lady," he said to the cook. "She didn't forget the
'Thank you' to send you, and was as pleased as Punch at the cake and
flowers. She's a high and mighty way, too, when she needs it, and
that's what a lady should have."
Much as Ruth enjoyed her supper, she would have given more thought
to it, if she had not been so concerned about the receipt. She would
send it to Miss Hester, or—no—if she could only know whether it meant
that they could really go back to the big house, or that it would
give enough to Miss Hester to allow of her taking Ruth back into her
home, how quickly would the child hasten there. It would be a fine
opportunity just now. If only Dr. Peaslee were here for her to consult.
He had told her before she left Springdale that if ever she needed
advice or help to write to him.
"I'll do it," she said. "I'll write to him this very evening and get
Martin to mail the letter for me."
She set to work as soon as her supper was over and managed a tolerably
fair page to send to the doctor. The spelling was not so good as the
handwriting, for the latter was something upon which Ruth prided
herself.
"Dear Doctor," she wrote, "I found a reseat sined Simon Petty I am
going to send it to you but if you are coming to the sitty soon praps
I'd better keep it till you come. I am very well and so is Hetty. We
had supper together and there were vilets in the cake. If you had been
here, I would have given you some. Hetty sends her love to you. Your
loving friend,"
"RUTH HENRIETTA BRACKENBURY."
"P. S. dont tell Aunt Hester about the reseat till we know more about
it. She might be orfully disappointed if it should turn out not to be
good. Wouldn't it be nice if it would get us all back in the big house."
It was rather a vague letter, but might have had its effect if the
doctor had been at home when it arrived. He had gone to a convention,
however, and, as he expected to return in a couple of days, he had
ordered his mail to be held at home for him.
Ruth waited one, two, three days; then she took alarm. Suppose the
letter had been lost. She knew such things did sometimes occur.
"I am glad I didn't send the receipt," she said to herself.
The child was growing very lonely. Her longing for love and
companionship was waxing greater and greater.
There was no sign of Mr. Mayfield's immediate return. He had sent a
brief note to Martin saying that he was still detained by business.
Mademoiselle was lingering, making the most of her holiday and the
days seemed very long to Ruth. She went to drive in state sometimes,
or Katie took her for a walk, but it was cold weather to be sitting in
squares where she fain would have tarried in the summertime.
And so the longing to see Aunt Hester and Billy, Lucia and Annie, Dr.
Peaslee and all her well tried friends grew stronger each day. And
at the end of the week, she had made her plans and had revealed them
to Martin who, solemn and stiff enough in his office as butler, had
nevertheless, a warm heart and did his best to cheer the loneliness of
the little girl.
"How much does it cost to go to Springdale?" she asked him one
afternoon.
"I don't exactly know, miss," was the reply. "But I can easy find out.
I'll look it up this evening. I've got to go out before supper."
And so, when he brought up Ruth's supper to the nursery, Martin told
her that a ticket would cost "a matter of four dollars."
Ruth counted out her store. "I have that much," she said, "and a little
over. Oh, Martin, couldn't you put me on the train for Springdale?"
"Why, why, what's this, miss?"
"You know about that receipt. I wrote to Dr. Peaslee and he hasn't
answered the letter, so I'm afraid he didn't get it, and I have been
thinking how dreadful it would be if I should mail the receipt and it
should get lost, so it seems to me I had better take it."
She paused a moment, then said wistfully: "And besides, Martin, I do
so want to see Aunt Hester and Billy and all of them. I feel as if I
couldn't stand it. You know if the receipt is all right I should go
back anyhow. I don't believe any one here would miss me very much and I
know they miss me there."
"Dear me, miss," said Martin, "I'm sure I should miss you mighty much."
"Thank you, Martin. You always say kind things and I wish you lived in
Springdale instead of here."
"I can't say I wish that, but I shouldn't mind going there for a visit
of a day. I've an old friend from England who has a shop there and I've
promised to go to see him for many a long day."
"Oh, I wish you would go; I think it is very nice that you have a
friend there. I wonder if I know him. What is his name, Martin?"
"John Fox, miss, and he keeps a green grocer shop."
"I think I know just who he is," said Ruth, in a pleased tone. "You
see, Martin, I am really here only on a visit; I said that always, and
that if ever something fine should happen I would go straight back to
Aunt Hester. Maybe this receipt is just like finding money, and oh, how
I should love to surprise them and be the one to take the receipt to
Aunt Hester."
Martin stood with the carafe of water in his hand. He seemed to be
thinking deeply.
"Do you think uncle would mind very much?" Ruth asked. "I know Aunt
Lillie wouldn't, and when I 'splained about the receipt, it would be
all right, wouldn't it, Martin?"
"I think so, miss. I'll have to think it over. I could get off for a
couple days as well as not," he said half to himself. "James would see
to things, I suppose. I'll speak to Katie when I go down," he said to
Ruth. "I think perhaps Mr. Mayfield wouldn't mind if I took you there
myself and brought you back."
"Oh, but—" Ruth began to say that maybe she would not come back, but
she thought better of it. So she hastened to say: "I think you are as
good as you can be, Martin."
In a little while Katie came up saying: "Martin tells me you and him is
going on a lark. Well, I don't blame you, and I don't believe but what
your uncle would like you to have a little change. What shall you want
to take with you? I'll pack enough to last you for two or three days."
"I shall want to take Hetty," said Ruth.
"Of course. You'll be going to-morrow, Martin says, for Mr. Mayfield
likely comes bank the first of the week."
"Oh, Katie, Katie, I am so happy. To-morrow, to-morrow I shall see them
all. I want to go to bed very early so that morning will come soon."
"We'll go up and get you packed, then," said Katie, "and you'll have a
good time, I'm sure. Faith, it's stupid enough for a child like you to
be shut off from comrades of your own age. She'd never take the trouble
to be findin' playmates foe you," she added, contemptuously.
Ruth knew well enough who the she meant, but she made no comment. What
was Aunt Lillie to her now that she was to see Aunt Hester? She went to
sleep and once laughed out loud because she dreamed that Stray, dressed
up in Martin's livery, was taking her to see Dr. Peaslee.