_Jonas Tries to Make Amends._
It is hard to tell what Jonas Keeler’s feelings were as he paced back
and forth in his narrow cabin, his eyes flashing, his hands clenched
and his lips framing to himself words that he dared not utter aloud. He
was disappointed--sorely disappointed because Mr. Nickerson, who knew
that he wanted money, that he thought of nothing else, had presumed to
present him a book for a keepsake. Sometimes he felt so angry at him
that he had half a mind to go out, find the old man and throw him over
the bars. His wife said nothing for some minutes, but seeing that Jonas
was getting madder instead of better natured, she ventured to put in a
word or two.
“Father, you didn’t do right in talking to the old man the way you
did,” said she, hardly knowing how her words would be received.
“The old fool!” hissed Jonas, throwing his hat into one corner and
burying both of his hands in his hair. “What did he want to give me a
book for when he knows how badly I need money? I am sorry that I was so
good natured with him afterward.”
“But father, there was something in the book,” continued Mrs. Keeler, a
sudden idea occurring to her.
Jonas stopped quickly and faced her, a queer expression on his face.
“There may have been something in the book that told you where his
money was. That is if he has got any money; which I don’t believe.”
Jonas began to see the matter in a different light now. He pulled a
chair close to his wife’s side and sat down in it.
“Do you think there was money in the book?” he almost whispered.
“No, I don’t. You threw the book with force enough to tear it all to
pieces; but there may have been a paper or something else in the leaves
which told where his money was hidden. But between you and me, I would
not put the least faith in it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because the old gentleman is not in his right mind. You have talked
about money, money and nothing but money ever since he has been here,
and you have finally got him in the way of believing that he has some.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. The old fellow talks plainly enough
sometimes, and then again he rattles on and you can’t make head or tail
of what he says. But I wonder if there was anything in that book? If
there was anything there, it must have been put in years ago, when the
old man was right in his top story.”
“It would not do any harm for you to find out. You can tell him that
you did not mean anything by what you had said--”
“That depends upon whether I do or not,” said Jonas hastily. “I will
wait until I see what is in that book first. If there is a plan in
there which tells where to go to find the money, but you say he hasn’t
got any, why then I will be kinder good natured with him; but if there
is nothing there, he can just keep out of my house; and that’s all
there is about it.”
Jonas thought that by this time Mr. Nickerson had gone to bed, so he
went out and started toward a little lean-to, it could scarcely have
been called any thing better, which was the place where the old man
slept. There were leaks in the roof and sundry cracks through which the
severe winds could seek entrance, but that was not the kind of sleeping
place Jonas had in the cabin. There everything was tight, and there
were a few articles of furniture scattered around, such as a table and
chairs and a wash stand. In place of a shake-down he had a regular
bed-stead and the blankets and quilts on it were abundant to keep him
warm in the coldest weather. It was dark in the lean-to, but Jonas knew
the way. He groped his way up to the shake-down but there was nobody
in it. In fact the bed had not been slept in at all.
“By George! I reckon the old fool took me at my word,” said Jonas, as
he turned toward the door. “I did not think the fellow had so much
pluck. I wonder where he is!”
He bent his steps this time toward the lean-to which Nat called his
room. It was a little better than Mr. Nickerson’s and but a very little
better. It was tight but there was no furniture in it; the dirt floor
did duty as chairs and washstand. Whenever Nat got up in the morning
and desired to perform his ablutions, there was the branch handy, and
it was but little trouble to go down there. It was dark in here, too,
but a slight feeling among the bed clothes showed Jonas that somebody
had been there. The pillow was gone, and so were the quilts that Nat
usually spread over him.
“This beats my time all hollow,” said Jonas, pulling off his hat and
wiping his forehead. “If he should go out among the neighbors--but
then he can’t have gone that far. Nat is going to make him up a bed
somewhere.”
Jonas’s next trip was to the barn, and there he found Mr. Nickerson
stretched out on a rude bed which Nat had made for him, and a lighted
lantern throwing a dim light over the scene. Jonas first impulse was
to find out what had become of that book. It was there, lying on the
pillow close beside Mr. Nickerson’s head. Nat was seated on the floor a
little ways from him, but he did not say anything when Jonas came in.
“Hello!” said the new-comer, with an attempt to appear cheerful. “What
you laying down out here for? Why don’t you get up and go to your own
room?”
“You have told me once that I need not come into your house any more,”
said the old man, in his usual whining tone, “and I am going to take
you at your word. I shall never go into your house again.”
“Shaw!” said Jonas, with a sorry effort at a laugh. “You didn’t pay any
attention to what I said, do you? If I had brought your tobacco you
would be all right now; but I was bothered so with a heap of things
that happened while I was down town, that I forgot all about it. I
didn’t mean nothing. Is this the book you were going to give me for a
keepsake!”
“Oh, yes, that’s the one.”
“What does it say in it?” continued Jonas; and Nat could see that he
was turning over the leaves very carefully.
“I wanted you to read it all, every word of it, and perhaps it would
have done you some good.”
“Well, get up and go into the house. The old woman has got some hot tea
left for you, and you will sleep better there than you will here. Have
you got a programme, or whatever you call it, so that I can find where
your money is hidden!”
“No, there is nothing of the kind there,” said Mr. Nickerson, with
a movement which showed plainly that he wished Jonas would go away.
“There is nothing but reading in the book.”
Jonas was getting angry again. Nat could see that by the looks of his
face.
“Are you sure there is nothing in it?” he asked, in a voice which
trembled in spite of himself.
“Not a thing. You can examine it and see for yourself. I shall not last
long--”
“I don’t want to hear no such talk as that. You will last longer than I
will, I bet you. Nat, have you got any of this book stowed away about
your good clothes?”
“No, sir, I have not,” answered Nat, rising to his feet. “You can
search me and see.”
Nat was perfectly safe in making this proposition. We said he had put
those two leaves into his pocket; so he did; but he had taken pains
to conceal them since. In a remote corner of the barn were some corn
huskings which Caleb had left there as he was working at the grain to
be taken to the mill. Underneath that pile were the two leaves that
Jonas wanted to find.
“That’s the way you always serve me when you think I have got anything
you want,” said Nat boldly. “You took a quarter away from me that I
had left after buying my shoes, and I haven’t seen it since.”
“Of course I did. It was the properest thing that I should have the
handling of all your money; but any more such talk as that will bring
the switch down on your shoulders in good shape. You hear me? There’s
nothing but reading in this book, you say old man?”
“That’s all, and you would not have it when I offered it to you. I gave
you a thousand dollars which you promised--”
“Aw! shut up about that,” said Jonas, rising to his feet; for in order
to hold conversation with Mr. Nickerson he had kneeled down by his
side. “There’s nothing in here that tells about the money?”
“No, no, there is nothing of that kind, I have not got any money. I am
a poor, feeble old man and shall not last long--”
“I will bet you won’t,” roared Jonas, livid with rage and shaking his
fist in the old man’s face. “You won’t get a bite of anything to eat
until you tell me where that money is; you hear me?”
“I don’t expect it; I never have expected it. I shall die before
morning--”
Jonas did not wait to hear any more, nor did he say anything further
about Mr. Nickerson getting up and going to his own room. He did stop
long enough to throw the book at Nat, but Nat was on the alert and the
missive did not touch him. It ruined the book so far as reading was
concerned. The remaining leaves were torn out of it and scattered all
over the floor, and it was useless for anybody to think of putting them
together again.
“Thank goodness, he has gone at last,” said Mr. Nickerson, with a long
drawn sigh of relief. “I expected he would come here.”
“So did I; and I took my leaves and hid them under this pile of corn,”
said Nat. “Now I wish there was something else that I could do for you.”
“There is nothing, nothing. I shall not be here much longer to bother
him, but he will think of me when I am gone. Nat, you must try to get
that money. Don’t you let anybody see that paper. Hide it carefully so
that no one can find it. Good night. I want to sleep now. Come in in
the morning and see me.”
“I will do it,” said Nat getting upon his feet and shaking the old man
cordially by the hand. “I shall not wait until morning, either. You may
want something or other during the night.”
Nat went away feeling heavy hearted over what had just occurred.
Something, he did not know what told him that the old man would never
live to see the sun rise again. He felt guilty in going away from him,
but Mr. Nickerson had requested it and he did not see what else there
was to be done.
“I won’t take my clothes off at all when I lie down,” said Nat, going
into his lean-to and shutting the door behind him. “And to think that I
am rich and going to be rich through his death! I wish the old man was
in perfect health and was going off with me. I would make his life be
as peaceable as I knew how.”
Nat’s brain was so upset with all that had happened that he could not
think very readily, but he did not ponder upon anything so much as he
did upon what the old gentleman had said to Jonas: “I shall die before
morning.” That was bringing the matter pretty close to him, and he
resolved that he would not go to sleep at all; but his work with the
potatoes had wearied him, and almost before he knew it he was in the
land of dreams. He awoke with a start and it was broad day-light. To
roll off his shake-down, seize his hat and make his way to the barn
was the work of a very few minutes. Everything seemed quiet and still
there. With cautious haste he opened the door and saw Mr. Nickerson
lying on his shake-down just as he left him the night before. He wanted
to say something to him but he did not dare. He drew a step closer and
one look was enough. With frantic speed he ran to the house, pushed
open the door and seized Jonas by the shoulder.
“Wake up, here,” he said, in a trembling voice. “The old man has
bothered you for the last time. He is dead.”
Jonas was a sound sleeper and it was a hard task to awaken him; but
there was something so thrilling in Nat’s words that he was on his feet
in an instant. He looked at the boy as though he did not know what he
meant.
“Mr. Nickerson lies dead down in your barn,” said Nat, earnestly. “He
told you last night that he would die before morning, and sure enough
he has.”
“Why-I-You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Jonas, his eyes wide with
excitement.
“Don’t stop to talk, Jonas,” said Mrs. Keeler nervously. “Did you see
him, Nat?”
“I have just come from there.”
“Then go along and see if you can do something,” urged his wife. “Maybe
he ain’t dead.”
Jonas had by this time hurriedly put his clothes on, and he led the
way to the barn with top speed, stopping only to call Caleb on the
way. Everything was as Nat had left it the night before. There was
“Baxter’s Saints’ Rest” with the leaves all torn out of it, lying by
the dead man’s head, and it seemed as though the old man had not moved
a finger since Nat bade him good night.
“Well, sir, he has gone up,” said Jonas; and Nat looked to see some
little twinge of remorse in his tones. But there was not a particle
that he could see, not even an expression of regret.
“Yes, he is gone, and now what remains for us to do? We can’t let him
lie here,” said Nat, as he looked at the withered form of the old man.
“Say, Nat, don’t you say any thing about his being out here where the
neighbors can hear it,” said Jonas, with a scowl, pulling Nat up close
to him and whispering the words in his ear. “If you do, remember that
switch.”
“I am not at all afraid of your whipping me,” said Nat, wrenching his
arm out of Jonas’s grasp. “You have done that for the last time. You
had better make arrangements to do something with Mr. Nickerson’s
body, if you are going to.”
Jonas stood and looked at Nat as if he could scarcely believe his ears.
The rebellion, which he had been working up for so long, had come
suddenly and promptly, too, and the man was afraid of it. What was Nat
going to do? There was but one thing that came up in Jonas’ mind and
that was money. It dawned upon him that Mr. Nickerson had possibly
taken the boy into his confidence and Jonas saw that if such were the
case he must keep quiet in order to find out what it was.
“I don’t mean to harm you, Natty,” said he, but his looks certainly
belied him, “but you can see for yourself how the neighbors will talk
if they find out that the old man had been sleeping in my barn.”
“I understand all about that,” said Nat. “You need not fear of my
saying any thing. You had better shut up Caleb’s mouth if you want the
thing kept secret.”
Jonas evidently thought so too. He took Caleb off on one side and
held a very earnest conversation with him, and after this, with Mrs.
Keeler’s help, who came down to the barn as soon as she was fairly
dressed, they made out to carry the old man’s body up to the house
and lay it on Jonas’s bed. Nobody passed along the road while they
were doing it. When the neighbors came there they would think that Mr.
Nickerson had died in that room; they would not think of the barn at
all. When this much had been done Nat was sent off post haste on a mule
for the doctor, and Caleb was commanded to go around to those who lived
close by and tell them of the bereavement that had come upon the house
of Jonas Keeler during the night. After that Jonas seated himself upon
a chair in the cabin, folded his arms, dropped his chin upon his breast
and waited for the neighbors to come.
After that each one had his particular duties to perform, though the
neighbors did the most of it. Jonas was too weak and dispirited to do
any thing, even to doing the chores, and left it all to Caleb, who
went about wondering if the old man’s taking off was going to work
any change in his circumstances. Nat’s first care was to find the two
leaves that were pasted together and hide them where there was no
possibility of any body’s hunting them out. Then he settled down to
think about his future. Mr. Nickerson was gone, and what had he to keep
him longer under Jonas’s roof? He had seventy-five dollars in money,
he had kept a strict account of that, and what was there to hinder him
from going down to Manchester and making an effort to enrich himself?
It required long study, but by the time the funeral was over Nat had
decided upon his course.