JIM SAWYER'S FUNERAL.
Quincy obeyed the call to supper with alacrity. Possibly he thought he
would be the first one at the table, but Cobb's twins were in their
places when he entered the room. 'Zekiel came in next, and Quincy's
quick eye discerned that there was a look of quiet contentment on his
face which had not been there before.
Uncle Ike came down with Alice, and for the first time since her arrival
she sat beside Quincy. For some reason or other the conversation lagged.
Quincy surmised that 'Zekiel was too happy with his own thoughts to wish
to talk, and Uncle Ike rarely conversed during meal time. He said he
could not talk and eat at the same time, and as meal time was for eating
he proposed to give his attention to that exclusively.
Quincy ventured a few commonplace remarks to Alice, to which she replied
pleasantly. He was at a loss for a topic, when he remembered his last
visit to Mrs. Putnam's and recalled his promise to bring Alice to see
her some day.
He spoke of visiting Mrs. Putnam, and Alice's face immediately shone
with pleasure. "Dear old Aunt Heppy! I must go and see her as soon as I
can."
"If you can find no better escort than myself, I trust you will command
my services, unless," said Quincy, "your brother thinks it unsafe to
trust you with me."
"He won't be likely to let you drive, Alice," responded 'Zekiel dryly,
"so I don't think there will be any danger."
Quincy knew by this remark that Huldy had told 'Zekiel the facts of the
case, but he maintained his composure and said, "Any time you wish to
go, Miss Pettengill, I am at your service."
As they arose from the table 'Zekiel said to his uncle, "I am coming up
in your room to-night, Uncle Ike, to see you."
Quincy knew by this that the pleasant chat in the dining-room beside the
fireplace was to be omitted that evening, so he went up to his own room
and read until it was time to retire.
Quincy was up early next morning. He knew his uncle could not live long,
but he wished to take the trained nurse to Eastborough Centre, so he
might have the best of care during the short time left to him on earth.
He found 'Zekiel at the breakfast table, and beyond a few commonplace
remarks the meal was eaten in silence.
"Are you going to Eastborough Centre to-day, Mr. Sawyer?" asked 'Zekiel.
"Yes," said Quincy; "I intended to go just as soon as one of the boys
could get the team ready."
"I'll speak to Jim about it," said 'Zekiel. "If you will step into the
parlor, Mr. Sawyer, I would like to have a few minutes' talk with you."
'Zekiel went out into the barn and Quincy walked into the parlor, where
he found a bright fire burning on the hearth. He threw himself into an
easy-chair and awaited 'Zekiel's return. What was up? Could 'Zekiel and
Huldy have parted, and was 'Zekiel glad of it? Quincy, as the saying is,
passed a "bad quarter of an hour," for he did not like suspense. The
truth, however bitter or unpalatable, was better than uncertainty.
'Zekiel entered the room and took a seat opposite to Quincy. He bent
forward and placed his hands upon his knees.
"Mr. Sawyer," said he, "I am a man of few words, so I will come right
to the point. Huldy Mason and me are engaged to be married."
Quincy was equal to the occasion. He arose, stepped forward, and
extended his hand. 'Zekiel rose also and grasped it unhesitatingly.
Quincy said, "Accept my most sincere congratulations, Mr. Pettengill. I
have known Miss Mason but a short time, but any man ought to be proud of
her and happy in her love."
"Thank you, Mr. Sawyer," said 'Zekiel; "I agree with you in both the
particulars you've mentioned, but both of us have what we consider good
reasons for not having our engagement known in the village just at
present, and to keep it a secret we need the assistance of a mutual
friend."
"If I might aspire to that honor," said Quincy, "my time and services
are at your disposal."
"That's what I told Huldy," said 'Zekiel, "but she was afraid that you
would be vexed at what the gossips said about you and her; she's mad as
a hornet herself, and she wants to teach them a lesson."
"Personally," said Quincy, "I don't care what the gossips say, but I was
both sorry and indignant that they should have referred to Miss Mason in
the way they did."
"Well," said 'Zekiel, "we have hatched up a sort of a plot, and if you
will help us, all three of us will have some fun out of it."
"Well," inquired Quincy, "what's my share in the fun?"
"It's this," said 'Zekiel, "you know you used to take Huldy out to ride
with you. To help out our plan, would you be willing to do it again?"
"Certainly," replied Quincy. "Miss Mason has been confined to her room
so long I think she ought to have some fresh air."
"That's true," remarked 'Zekiel; "she's lost considerable flesh staying
in so long; but if I took her out to ride they would jump at conclusions
right off and say Huldy and 'Zekiel have made up, and they will guess
we are going to make a match of it. Then, again," 'Zekiel continued,
"Huldy says she's bound to have it out with the one that started the
stories. There's no use mincing matters between us, because you know as
well as I do who is at the bottom of all this tittle-tattle. Since I
refused to join hands with him to try and drive you out of town, he has
talked about me almost as bad as he has about you. 'So,' says Huldy to
me, 'you know he is the only teacher of music in Eastborough. I want to
take music lessons very much, and so I have got to have him for
teacher.' Then she said, ''Zekiel, you leave the rest of it to me, and
we will all have some fun before we get through.' I expect she is going
to flirt with him, for it comes as nat'ral to her as it does to most
women."
Quincy did not think it polite to assent to this last remark and changed
the subject by remarking, "This is a beautiful day. I am going to drive
the nurse over to Eastborough; perhaps Miss Mason would like to
accompany us. That is, if you can trust her with me."
"Oh, that's all right," said 'Zekiel; "Huldy had to pay pretty dearly
for getting mad at the wrong time. Besides, I don't think she will want
to drive horse again for a while."
Mandy rapped on the parlor door and called out that the team was ready.
Quincy assured 'Zekiel that he understood his part and would play it to
the best of his ability.
When he arrived at Deacon Mason's house he found the latter just coming
out of the front gate. As Quincy leaped from the team the Deacon came
forward and shook hands with him. "You are just the man I want to see,"
he remarked. "I've paid our doctor, but I want to know what the bill is
for the Boston doctor and the nurse."
"I don't know yet," said Quincy, "but there will be nothing for you to
pay. It is my duty to settle that bill myself."
"No," said the Deacon firmly. "She is my daughter, and it is my place as
her father to pay such bills, until she has a husband to pay them for
her."
Quincy said, "Deacon Mason, when I took your daughter out to ride it was
my duty to return her to her home without injury. I did not do so, and I
trust that you will allow me to atone for my neglect. Remember, sir, you
have lost her services for several weeks, and the board of the nurse has
been an expense to you."
"I prefer," rejoined the Deacon, "that the bill should be sent to me."
"Well," said Quincy, to close the discussion, "I will ask him to send
you one;" mentally resolving, when it was sent, it would be a receipted
one.
Quincy received a hearty welcome from Mrs. Mason, who said the nurse had
her things packed and was all ready to go. He then told Mrs. Mason that
he had a message for Miss Mason from Mr. 'Zekiel Pettengill, and Mrs.
Mason said she would send Huldy to the parlor at once. Huldy greeted
Quincy with a happy face and without any show of confusion.
"I had a long talk with Mr. Pettengill," said Quincy, "and he has
induced me to become a conspirator. The first act in our comedy is to
ask you if you will ride over to Eastborough Centre this morning with
the nurse and myself, and get a little fresh air?"
"I should be delighted," said Huldy, "if you can wait long enough for me
to dress."
"That's what I came early for," remarked Quincy. "How long will it take
you?"
"Fifteen minutes," said Huldy.
"It is now half-past seven," remarked Quincy, looking at his watch. "You
mean you will be ready by quarter of nine?"
"No," said Huldy, with a flash of her eyes, "I am no city lady. I am a
plain, country girl, and I mean just one-quarter of an hour. You can
time me, Mr. Sawyer;" and she ran gayly out of the room.
Quincy looked out of the window and saw that Hiram had put the nurse's
heavy valise on the front seat of the carryall. The nurse herself was
standing by the side of the team, evidently uncertain which seat to
take. Quincy was quickly at her side.
"You can sit in here, Miss Miller," said Quincy, pointing to one of the
rear seats; and when she was seated Quincy told Hiram to put the valise
on the seat beside her. He had no idea of having Huldy take a back seat.
True to her promise, Huldy made her toilet in the appointed time, and
taking her seat beside Quincy, he took up the reins. Turning to Hiram he
asked, "If I drive by Hill's grocery and take the road to the left, will
it bring me round to the main road to Eastborough Centre again?"
"Yaas," said Hiram, "you take the road where Mis' Hawkins's boardin'
house is on the corner. You remember that big yellow house. You know I
told you Mandy's mother kept it."
"All right," said Quincy, and off they went.
Quincy gave a side glance at Huldy. He discovered she was throwing a
side glance at him. They both smiled, but said nothing. He drove around
the big tree that stood in the centre of the square in front of the
grocery, which brought the team quite close to the store platform. No
one was in sight, but just as he reached Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house
the door opened and Obadiah Strout came out. Huldy placed her hand on
Quincy's arm.
"Please hold up a minute, Mr. Sawyer."
Quincy brought the horse to a standstill with a jerk and looked straight
ahead.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Strout," said Huldy. "Did you get the letter I
sent up by Hiram last evening about my taking music lessons?"
"Yes," said Mr. Strout, "and I was coming down this morning to settle on
the best time for you taking them."
"Could you come to-morrow afternoon from two to three?" asked Huldy.
Strout took a well-worn memorandum book from his pocket and consulted
it. "Three to four would be the best I could do," said he, "for I have a
lesson from half-past one to half-past two."
"That will do just as well," replied Huldy. "Three to four to-morrow
afternoon. Isn't this a beautiful day, Mr. Strout? I am taking a little
drive for my health;" and she nodded smilingly to Strout, who had
recognized Quincy as her companion.
"That's all, Mr. Sawyer," said Huldy, and they drove on.
"By thunder," said Strout, "they say the hair of a dog is good for his
bite. Just as soon as she got well, off she goes riding again with the
same feller who tipped the team over and broke her arm. I guess 'Zeke
Pettengill's chances ain't worth much now. It beats all how 'Zeke can
let that feller board in his house, but I suppose he does it to let us
folks see that he don't care. Well, Huldy Mason is a bright little girl,
and I always liked her. That city chap don't mean to marry her, and if I
don't make the best of my chances when I get to teaching her music, my
name ain't Obadiah Strout, which I guess it is." And he walked across
the square to Hill's grocery to smoke his morning cigar.
On the way to Eastborough Centre Quincy wondered what he would do with
Huldy when he arrived there. He did not care to take her to the
Poorhouse, and particularly he did not wish her to see his uncle. Quincy
was proud, but he was also sensible, and he decided upon a course of
action that would prevent any one from saying that his pride had made
him do a foolish act.
As they neared the Poorhouse Quincy turned to Huldy and said, "The Jim
Sawyer who has been at the Eastborough Poorhouse for the last five years
is my father's brother and my uncle. His story is a very sad one. I will
tell it to you some day. He is in the last stages of consumption, and I
am taking Miss Miller over to care for him while he lives."
Huldy nodded, and nothing more was said until they reached the
Poorhouse. Quincy jumped out and called to Sam, who was close at hand,
to hold the horse. Sam looked at him with a peculiar expression that
Quincy did not stop to fathom, but running up the short flight of steps
entered the room that served as the office for the Poorhouse. Mr. Waters
was there writing at his desk. He turned as Quincy entered.
"How is my uncle?" asked Quincy.
"He is better off than us poor mortals," replied Mr. Waters with a
long-drawn countenance.
"What do you mean?" asked Quincy. "Is he dead?"
"Yes," said Mr. Waters, "he died about four o'clock this mornin'. Sam
sat up with him till midnight, and I stayed with him the balance of the
time."
"I am so sorry I was not here," said Quincy.
"It wouldn't have done any good," said Waters. "He didn't know what was
going on after two o'clock, and you couldn't have been of any use if
you'd been here. If 't had been daytime I should have sent over for you.
He only spoke once after I went upstairs and that was to say that you
would see to buryin' him."
"Yes," said Quincy, "I will take charge of the remains."
"Well," remarked Mr. Waters, "I called in the town undertaker and he has
got him all ready."
"When does the next train leave for Boston?" asked Quincy, taking out
his watch.
"In just twenty minutes," Waters replied, looking up at the clock.
"I will be back from Boston at the earliest possible moment," said
Quincy; and before the astonished Waters could recover himself, the
young man had left the room.
Quincy jumped into the team, grasped the reins, and started off at full
speed for Eastborough Centre.
"My uncle died this morning," said he, turning to Huldy, "I must go to
Boston at once to make the necessary arrangements for his funeral He is
to be buried at Amesbury with his wife and children, so please get word
to Mr. Pettengill that I shall not be home for several days. I will get
some one at the hotel to drive you home, Miss Mason. Only stern
necessity compels me to leave you in this way."
"You will do nothing of the sort," said Huldy. "I am perfectly confident
that I am able to drive this team home all by myself."
"I never can consent to it," said Quincy. "If anything happened to you,
your father and--" Huldy glanced at him. "I mean," said Quincy, "I
should never forgive myself, and your father would never forgive me.
Your arm is still weak, I know."
"My arm is just as good as ever," said Huldy. "The doctor told me it
wouldn't break in that place again. Besides, Mr. Sawyer," she said, as
the hotel came in sight, "I shall drive back just the same way we came,
and there are no hills or sharp corners, you know." She laughed heartily
and added, "I shall enjoy it very much, it is part of the comedy."
"Well," said Quincy in an undertone, "rebellious young woman, do as you
will, and bear the consequences. I will turn the team around so that you
won't have any trouble, and Hiram can take it down to Mr. Pettengill's
and deliver my message. Good-by," and he shook hands with her.
"We will get out here, Miss Miller," said he, and he helped the nurse to
alight. Grasping the heavy valise, he started at a brisk pace for the
station, and Miss Miller was obliged to run in order to keep up with
him. They boarded the train and took their seats. The train was ahead of
time and waited for a few minutes at the station.
Quincy did not know as he sped towards Boston on his sad errand that
Miss Lindy Putnam was in the second car behind him, bound to the same
place. Nor did he know for several days that Abner Stiles, who drove her
to the station, had seen Huldy driving towards Mason's Corner. Nor did
he know that Strout had told Abner of his seeing Huldy and Sawyer
together. Nor did he know that Abner whipped up his horse in a vain
attempt to overtake Huldy on her return to Mason's Corner. She, too, had
whipped up her horse and had reached home, and was in the house, calling
for Hiram, just as Abner turned into the square by Hill's grocery.
Quincy made the necessary purchases, and with the city, undertaker
returned to Eastborough Centre by the noon train. The body was placed in
a leaden casket and Quincy and the undertaker with their sad burden
returned to Boston by the five o'clock express.
His mother and sisters were still in New York, but he passed the evening
with his father, who approved of all he had done and what he proposed
doing.
Quincy went to Amesbury and purchased a small lot in the cemetery. After
a day's search he discovered the place of burial of his uncle's wife and
children. They were disinterred, and the four bodies were placed in the
little lot.
On his return to Boston he made arrangements for two plain marble stones
for his uncle and aunt, and two smaller ones for his little cousins,
whom he had never seen.
The directions that he left with the monument maker and the undertaker
at Amesbury were followed to the letter. If one should pass by that
little lot he would see on one marble slab these words:
Eunice Raymond Sawyer,
Aged 29 yrs., 6 mos.
On the little slab at her feet the simple words:
Mary, Aged 4 yrs., 2 mos.
At its side another little stone bearing only these words:
Ray, Aged 6 yrs., 8 mos.
Adhering strictly to his uncle's request, the other large stone bore no
name, but on it were engraved these words:
In Heaven we Know our Own.