Produced by Donald Lainson
KEZIAH COFFIN
by Joseph C. Lincoln
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.-- IN WHICH KEZIAH HEARS OF TWO PROPOSALS AND THE BEGINNING OF A THIRD
II.-- IN WHICH KEZIAH UNEARTHS A PROWLER
III.-- IN WHICH KEZIAH ASSUMES A GUARDIANSHIP
IV.-- IN WHICH KEZIAH'S PARSON DECIDES TO RUN IT BLINDFOLD
V.-- IN WHICH THE PARSON CRUISES IN STRANGE WATERS
VI.-- IN WHICH OLD FRIENDS MEET
VII.-- IN WHICH CAPTAIN NAT PICKS UP A DERELICT
VIII.-- IN WHICH THE PARSON AND MR. PEPPER DECLARE THEIR INDEPENDENCE
IX.-- IN WHICH MISS DANIELS DETERMINES TO FIND OUT
X.-- IN WHICH KEZIAH'S TROUBLES MULTIPLY
XI.-- IN WHICH CAPEN EBEN RECEIVES A CALLER
XII.-- IN WHICH CAPTAIN EBEN MAKES PORT
XIII.-- IN WHICH KEZIAH BREAKS THE NEWS
XIV.-- IN WHICH THE SEA MIST SAILS
XV.-- IN WHICH TRUMET TALKS OF CAPTAIN NAT
XVI-- IN WHICH THE MINISTER BOARDS THE SAN JOSE
XVII.-- IN WHICH EBENEZER CAPEN IS SURPRISED
XVIII.--IN WHICH KEZIAH DECIDES TO FIGHT
XIX.-- IN WHICH A RECEPTION IS CALLED OFF
XX.-- IN WHICH THE MINISTER RECEIVES A LETTER
XXI.-- IN WHICH MR. STONE WASHES HIS HANDS
XXII.-- IN WHICH KEZIAH'S PARSON PREACHES ONCE MORE
KEZIAH COFFIN
by Joseph C. Lincoln
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH KEZIAH HEARS TWO PROPOSALS AND THE BEGINNING OF A THIRD
Trumet in a fog; a fog blown in during the night by the wind from the
wide Atlantic. So wet and heavy that one might taste the salt in it.
So thick that houses along the main road were but dim shapes behind
its gray drapery, and only the gates and fences of the front yards
were plainly in evidence to the passers-by. The beach plum and bayberry
bushes on the dunes were spangled with beady drops. The pole on Cannon
Hill, where the beacon was hoisted when the packet from Boston dropped
anchor in the bay, was shiny and slippery. The new weathervane, a
gilded whale, presented to the “Regular” church by Captain Zebedee Mayo,
retired whaler, swam in a sea of cloud. The lichened eaves of the little
“Come-Outer” chapel dripped at sedate intervals. The brick walk leading
to the door of Captain Elkanah Daniels's fine residence held undignified
puddles in its hollows. And, through the damp stillness, the muttered
growl of the surf, three miles away at the foot of the sandy bluffs by
the lighthouse, sounded ominously.
Directly opposite Captain Elkanah's front gate, on the other side of the
main road, stood the little story-and-a-half house, also the captain's
property, which for fourteen years had been tenanted by Mrs. Keziah
Coffin and her brother, Solomon Hall, the shoemaker. But Solomon had,
the month before, given up his fight with debt and illness and was
sleeping quietly in Trumet's most populous center, the graveyard. And
Keziah, left alone, had decided that the rent and living expenses were
more than her precarious earnings as a seamstress would warrant, and,
having bargained with the furniture dealer in Wellmouth for the sale of
her household effects, was now busy getting them ready for the morrow,
when the dealer's wagon was to call. She was going to Boston, where a
distant and condescending rich relative had interested himself to the
extent of finding her a place as sewing woman in a large tailoring
establishment.
The fog hung like a wet blanket over the house and its small yard, where
a few venerable pear trees, too conservative in their old age to venture
a bud even though it was almost May, stood bare and forlorn. The day was
dismal. The dismantled dining room, its tables and chairs pushed into a
corner, and its faded ingrain carpet partially stripped from the floor,
was dismal, likewise. Considering all things, one might have expected
Keziah herself to be even more dismal. But, to all outward appearances,
she was not. A large portion of her thirty-nine years of life had been
passed under a wet blanket, so to speak, and she had not permitted
the depressing covering to shut out more sunshine than was absolutely
necessary. “If you can't get cream, you might as well learn to love your
sasser of skim milk,” said practical Keziah.
She was on her knees, her calico dress sleeves, patched and darned, but
absolutely clean, rolled back, uncovering a pair of plump, strong arms,
a saucer of tacks before her, and a tack hammer with a claw head in
her hand. She was taking up the carpet. Grace Van Horne, Captain Eben
Hammond's ward, who had called to see if there was anything she might do
to help, was removing towels, tablecloths, and the like from the drawers
in a tall “high-boy,” folding them and placing them in an old and
battered trunk. The pair had been discussing the subject which all
Trumet had discussed for three weeks, namely, the “calling” to the
pastorate of the “Regular” church of the Rev. John Ellery, the young
divinity student, who was to take the place of old Parson Langley,
minister in the parish for over thirty years. Discussion in the village
had now reached a critical point, for the Reverend John was expected
by almost any coach. In those days, the days of the late fifties, the
railroad down the Cape extended only as far as Sandwich; passengers made
the rest of their journey by stage. Many came direct from the city by
the packet, the little schooner, but Mr. Ellery had written that he
should probably come on the coach.
“They say he's very nice-looking,” remarked Miss Van Horne soberly,
but with a MISCHIEVOUS glance under her dark lashes at Keziah. The lady
addressed paused long enough to transfer several tacks from the floor to
the saucer, and then made answer.
“Humph!” she observed. “A good many years ago I saw a theater show up
to Boston. Don't be shocked; those circumstances we hear so much tell
of--the kind you can't control--have kept me from goin' to theaters
much, even if I wanted to. But I did see this entertainment, and a fool
one 'twas, too, all singin' instead of talkin'--op'ra, I believe they
called it. Well, as I started to say, one of the leadin' folks in it was
the Old Harry himself, and HE was pretty good-lookin'.”
Grace laughed, even though she had been somewhat shocked.
“Why, Aunt Keziah!” she exclaimed--those who knew Keziah Coffin
best usually called her aunt, though real nephews and nieces she had
none--“why, Aunt Keziah! What do you mean by comparing the--the person
you just mentioned with a MINISTER!”
“Oh, I wasn't comparin' 'em; I'll leave that for you Come-Outers to do.
Drat this carpet! Seems's if I never saw such long tacks; I do believe
whoever put 'em down drove 'em clean through the center of the earth and
let the Chinymen clinch 'em on t'other side. I haul up a chunk of the
cellar floor with every one. Ah, hum!” with a sigh, “I cal'late
they ain't any more anxious to leave home than I am. But, far's the
minister's concerned, didn't I hear of your Uncle Eben sayin' in prayer
meetin' only a fortni't or so ago that all hands who wa'n't Come-Outers
were own children to Satan? Mr. Ellery must take after his father some.
Surprisin', ain't it, what a family the old critter's got.”
The girl laughed again. For one brought up, since her seventh year,
in the strictest of Come-Outer families, she laughed a good deal. Many
Come-Outers considered it wicked to laugh. Yet Grace did it, and hers
was a laugh pleasant to hear and distinctly pleasant to see. It made her
prettier than ever, a fact which, if she was aware of it, should have
been an additional preventive, for to be pretty smacks of vanity.
Perhaps she wasn't aware of it.
“What do you think Uncle Eben would say if he heard that?” she asked.
“Say I took after my father, too, I presume likely. Does your uncle know
you come here to see me so often? And call me 'aunt' and all that?”
“Of course he does. Aunt Keziah, you mustn't think Uncle Eben doesn't
see the good in people simply because they don't believe as he does.
He's as sweet and kind as--”
“Who? Eben Hammond? Land sakes, child, don't I know it? Cap'n Eben's the
salt of the earth. I'm a Regular and always have been, but I'd be glad
if my own society was seasoned with a few like him. 'Twould taste better
to me of a Sunday.” She paused, and then added quizzically: “What d'you
s'pose Cap'n Elkanah and the rest of our parish committee would say if
they heard THAT?”
“Goodness knows! Still, I'm glad to hear you say it. And uncle says you
are as good a woman as ever lived. He thinks you're misled, of course,
but that some day you'll see the error of your ways.”
“Humph! I'll have to hurry up if I want to see 'em without spectacles.
See my errors! Land sakes! much as I can do to see the heads of these
tacks. Takin' up carpets is as hard a test of a body's eyesight as 'tis
of their religion.”
Her companion put down the tablecloth she was folding and looked
earnestly at the other woman. To an undiscerning eye the latter would
have looked much as she always did--plump and matronly, with brown hair
drawn back from the forehead and parted in the middle; keen brown eyes
with a humorous twinkle in them--this was the Keziah Coffin the later
generation of Trumet knew so well.
But Grace Van Horne, who called her aunt and came to see her so
frequently, while her brother was alive and during the month following
his death, could see the changes which the month had wrought. She saw
the little wrinkles about the eyes and the lines of care about the
mouth, the tired look of the whole plucky, workaday New England figure.
She shook her head.
“Religion!” she repeated. “I do believe, Aunt Keziah, that you've got
the very best religion of anybody I know. I don't care if you don't
belong to our church. When I see how patient you've been and how
cheerful through all your troubles, it--”
Mrs. Coffin waved the hammer deprecatingly. “There! there!” she
interrupted. “I guess it's a good thing I'm goin' away. Here's you and I
praisin' up each other's beliefs, just as if that wasn't a crime here
in Trumet. Sometimes when I see how the two societies in this little
one-horse place row with each other, I declare if it doesn't look as if
they'd crossed out the first word of 'Love your neighbor' and wrote in
'Fight,' instead. Yet I'm a pretty good Regular, too, and when it comes
to whoopin' and carryin' on like the Come-Outers, I--Well! well!
never mind; don't begin to bristle up. I won't say another word about
religion. Let's pick the new minister to pieces. ANY kind of a Christian
can do that.”
But the new minister was destined to remain undissected that morning,
in that house at least. Grace was serious now and she voiced the matter
which had been uppermost in her mind since she left home.
“Aunt Keziah,” she said, “why do you go away? What makes you? Is it
absolutely necessary?”
“Why do I go? Why, for the same reason that the feller that was hove
overboard left the ship--cause I can't stay. You've got to have vittles
and clothes, even in Trumet, and a place to put your head in nights.
Long's Sol was alive and could do his cobblin' we managed to get along
somehow. What I could earn sewin' helped, and we lived simple. But when
he was taken down and died, the doctor's bills and the undertaker's used
up what little money I had put by, and the sewin' alone wouldn't keep
a healthy canary in bird seed. Dear land knows I hate to leave the old
house I've lived in for fourteen years and the town I was born in, but
I've got to, for all I see. Thank mercy, I can pay Cap'n Elkanah his
last month's rent and go with a clear conscience. I won't owe anybody,
that's a comfort, and nobody will owe me; though I could stand that, I
guess,” she added, prying at the carpet edge.
“I don't care!” The girl's dark eyes flashed indignantly. “I think it's
too bad of Cap'n Elkanah to turn you out when--”
“Don't talk that way. He ain't turnin' me out. He ain't lettin' houses
for his health and he'll need the money to buy his daughter's summer
rigs. She ain't had a new dress for a month, pretty near, and here's
a young and good-lookin' parson heavin' in sight. Maybe Cap'n Elkanah
would think a minister was high-toned enough even for Annabel to marry.”
“He's only twenty-three, they say,” remarked Grace, a trifle
maliciously. “Perhaps she'll adopt him.”
Annabel was the only child of Captain Elkanah Daniels, who owned the
finest house in town. She was the belle of Trumet, and had been for a
good many years.
Keziah laughed.
“Well,” she said, “anyhow I've got to go. Maybe I'll like Boston first
rate, you can't tell. Or maybe I won't. Ah, hum! 'twouldn't be the first
thing I've had to do that I didn't like.”
Her friend looked at her.
“Aunt,” she said, “I want to make a proposal to you, and you mustn't be
cross about it.”
“A proposal! Sakes alive! What'll I say? 'This is so sudden!' That's
what Becky Ryder, up to the west part of the town, said when Jim Baker,
the tin peddler, happened to ask her if she'd ever thought of gettin'
married. 'O James! this is so sudden!' says Becky. Jim said afterwards
that the suddenest thing about it was the way he cleared out of that
house. And he never called there afterwards.”
Grace smiled, but quickly grew grave.
“Now, auntie,” she said, “please listen. I'm in earnest. It seems to me
that you might do quite well at dressmaking here in town, if you had
a little--well, ready money to help you at the start. I've got a few
hundred dollars in the bank, presents from uncle, and my father's
insurance money. I should love to lend it to you, and I know uncle
would--”
Mrs. Coffin interrupted her.
“Cat's foot!” she exclaimed. “I hope I haven't got where I need to
borrow money yet a while. Thank you just as much, deary, but long's I've
got two hands and a mouth, I'll make the two keep t'other reasonably
full, I wouldn't wonder. No, I shan't think of it, so don't say another
word. NO.”
The negative was so decided that Grace was silenced. Her disappointment
showed in her face, however, and Keziah hastened to change the subject.
“How do you know,” she observed, “but what my goin' to Boston may be the
best thing that ever happened to me? You can't tell. No use despairin',
Annabel ain't given up hope yet; why should I? Hey? Ain't that somebody
comin'?”
Her companion sprang to her feet and ran to the window. Then she broke
into a smothered laugh.
“Why, it's Kyan Pepper!” she exclaimed. “He must be coming to see you,
Aunt Keziah. And he's got on his very best Sunday clothes. Gracious! I
must be going. I didn't know you expected callers.”
Keziah dropped the tack hammer and stood up.
“Kyan!” she repeated. “What in the world is that old idiot comin' here
for? To talk about the minister, I s'pose. How on earth did Laviny ever
come to let him out alone?”
Mr. Pepper, Mr. Abishai Pepper, locally called “Kyan” (Cayenne) Pepper
because of his red hair and thin red side whiskers, was one of Trumet's
“characters,” and in his case the character was weak. He was born in the
village and, when a youngster, had, like every other boy of good family
in the community, cherished ambitions for a seafaring life. His sister,
Lavinia, ten years older than he, who, after the death of their parents,
had undertaken the job of “bringing up” her brother, did not sympathize
with these ambitions. Consequently, when Kyan ran away she followed him
to Boston, stalked aboard the vessel where he had shipped, and collared
him, literally and figuratively. One of the mates venturing to offer
objection, Lavinia turned upon him and gave him a piece of her mind, to
the immense delight of the crew and the loungers on the wharf. Then she
returned with the vagrant to Trumet. Old Captain Higgins, who skippered
the packet in those days, swore that Lavinia never stopped lecturing her
brother from the time they left Boston until they dropped anchor behind
the breakwater.
“I give you my word that 'twas pretty nigh a stark calm, but there was
such a steady stream of language pourin' out of the Pepper stateroom
that the draught kept the sails filled all the way home,” asserted
Captain Higgins.
That was Kyan's sole venture, so far as sailoring was concerned, but he
ran away again when he was twenty-five. This time he returned of his
own accord, bringing a wife with him, one Evelyn Gott of Ostable. Evelyn
could talk a bit herself, and her first interview with Lavinia ended
with the latter's leaving the house in a rage, swearing never to set
foot in it again. This oath she broke the day of her sister-in-law's
funeral. Then she appeared, after the ceremony, her baggage on the wagon
with her. The bereaved one, who was sitting on the front stoop of his
dwelling with, so people say, a most resigned expression on his meek
countenance, looked up and saw her.
“My land! Laviny,” he exclaimed, turning pale. “Where'd you come from?”
“Never mind WHERE I come from,” observed his sister promptly. “You just
be thankful I've come. If ever a body needed some one to take care of
'em, it's you. You can tote my things right in,” she added, turning to
her grinning driver, “and you, 'Bishy, go right in with 'em. The idea
of your settin' outside takin' it easy when your poor wife ain't been
buried more'n an hour!”
“But--but--Laviny,” protested poor Kyan, speaking the truth unwittingly,
“I couldn't take it easy AFORE she was buried, could I?”
“Go right in,” was the answer. “March!”
Abishai marched, and had marched under his sister's orders ever since.
She kept house for him, and did it well, but her one fear was that some
female might again capture him, and she watched him with an eagle
eye. He was the town assessor and tax collector, but when he visited
dwellings containing single women or widows, Lavinia always accompanied
him, “to help him in his figgerin',” she said.
Consequently, when he appeared, unchaperoned, on the walk leading to the
side door of the Coffin homestead, Keziah and her friend were surprised.
“He's dressed to kill,” whispered Grace, at the window. “Even his tall
hat; and in this fog! I do believe he's coming courting, Aunt Keziah.”
“Humph!” was the ungracious answer. “He's come to say good-by, I s'pose,
and to find out where I'm goin' and how much pay I'm goin' to get and if
my rent's settled, and a few other little things that ain't any of
his business. Laviny put him up to it, you see. She'll be along pretty
quick. Well, I'll fix him so he won't talk much. He can help us take
down that stovepipe. I said 'twas a job for a man, and a half one's
better than none--Why, how d'ye do, 'Bishy? Come right in. Pretty thick
outside, isn't it?”
Mr. Pepper entered diffidently.
“Er--er--how d'ye do, Keziah?” he stammered. “I thought I'd just run in
a minute and--”
“Yes, yes. Glad to see you. Take off your hat. My sakes! it's pretty
wet. How did Laviny come to let you--I mean how'd you come to wear a
beaver such a mornin's this?”
Kyan removed the silk hat and inspected its limp grandeur ruefully.
“I--I--” he began. “Well, the fact is, I come out by myself. You see,
Laviny's gone up to Sarah B.'s to talk church doin's. I--I--well, I kind
of wanted to speak with you about somethin', Keziah, so--Oh! I didn't
see you, Gracie. Good mornin'.”
He didn't seem overjoyed to see Miss Van Horne, as it was. In fact,
he reddened perceptibly and backed toward the door. The girl, her eyes
twinkling, took up her jacket and hat.
“Oh! I'm not going to stop, Mr. Pepper,” she said. “I was only helping
Aunt Keziah a little, that's all. I must run on now.”
“Run on--nonsense!” declared Keziah decisively. “You're goin' to stay
right here and help us get that stovepipe down. And 'Bishy'll help, too.
Won't you, 'Bish?”
The stovepipe was attached to the “air-tight” in the dining room.
It--the pipe--rose perpendicularly for a few feet and then extended
horizontally, over the high-boy, until it entered the wall. Kyan looked
at it and then at his “Sunday clothes.”
“Why, I'd be glad to, of course,” he declared with dubious enthusiasm.
“But I don't know's I'll have time. Perhaps I'd better come later and do
it. Laviny, she--”
“Oh, Laviny can spare you for a few minutes, I guess; 'specially as she
don't know you're out. Better take your coat off, hadn't you? Grace,
fetch one of those chairs for Ky--for 'Bishy to stand in.”
Grace obediently brought the chair. It happened to be the one with a
rickety leg, but its owner was helping the reluctant Abishai remove the
long-tailed blue coat which had been his wedding garment and had adorned
his person on occasions of ceremony ever since. She did not notice the
chair.
“It's real good of you to offer to help,” she said. “Grace and I didn't
hardly dast to try it alone. That pipe's been up so long that I wouldn't
wonder if 'twas chock-full of soot. If you're careful, though, I don't
believe you'll get any on you. Never mind the floor; I'm goin' to wash
that before I leave.”
Reluctantly, slowly, the unwilling Mr. Pepper suffered himself to be led
to the chair. He mounted it and gingerly took hold of the pipe.
“Better loosen it at the stove hole first,” advised Keziah. “What was it
you wanted to see me about, 'Bish?”
“Oh, nothin', nothin',” was the hasty response. “Nothin' of any
account--that is to say--”
He turned redder than ever and wrenched at the pipe. It loosened at its
lower end and the wires holding it in suspension shook.
“I guess,” observed the lady of the house, “that you'd better move that
chest of drawers out so's you can get behind it. Grace, you help me.
There! that's better. Now move your chair.”
Kyan stepped from the chair and moved the latter to a position between
the high-boy and the wall. Then he remounted and gripped the pipe in the
middle of its horizontal section.
“Seems to stick in the chimney there, don't it?” queried Keziah. “Wiggle
it back and forth; that ought to loosen it. What was it you wanted to
say, 'Bish?”
Apparently, Mr. Pepper had nothing to say. The crimson tide had reached
his ears, which, always noticeable because of their size and spread,
were now lit up like a schooner's sails at sunset. His hands trembled on
the pipe.
“Nothin', nothin', I tell you,” he faltered. “I--I just run in to say
how d'ye do, that's all.”
“Really, I think I'd better be going,” said Grace, glancing from Kyan's
embarrassed face to that of the unsuspecting Mrs. Coffin. “I'm afraid
I'm in the way.”
“No, no!” shouted the occupant of the chair. “No, no, you ain't!”
“But I'm afraid I am. And they'll be expecting me at home. Aunt Keziah,
I--”
“Don't be in such a hurry,” interrupted Keziah. “Does stick in the
chimney, don't it? Tell you what you can do, Grace; you can go in the
woodshed and fetch the hammer that's in the table drawer. Hurry up,
that's a good girl.”
Kyan protested that he did not need the hammer, but his protest was
unheeded. With one more glance at the couple, Grace departed from the
kitchen, biting her lips. She shut the door carefully behind her. Mr.
Pepper labored frantically with the pipe.
“No use to shake it any more till you get the hammer,” advised Keziah.
“Might's well talk while you're waitin'. What was it you wanted to tell
me?”
Abishai drew one hand across his forehead, leaving a decorative smooch
of blacking on his perspiring countenance. He choked, swallowed, and
then, with a look at the closed door, seemed to reach a desperate
resolve.
“Keziah,” he whispered hurriedly, “you've known me quite a spell, ain't
you?”
“Known you? Known you ever since you were born, pretty nigh. What of
it?”
“Yes, yes. And I've known you, you know. Fact is, we've known each
other.”
“Hear the man! Land sakes! don't everybody in Trumet know everybody
else? What ARE you drivin' at?”
“Keziah, you're a single woman.”
His companion let go of the chair, which she had been holding in place,
and stepped back.
“I'm a single woman?” she repeated sharply. “What do you mean by that?
Did--did anybody say I wasn't?”
“No, no! 'Course not. But you're a widow, so you BE single, you know,
and--”
“Well? Did you think I was twins? Get down off there this minute. You've
gone crazy. I thought so when I saw that beaver. Either that or you've
been drinkin'. Grace! What DOES make her so long gettin' that hammer?”
Finding the hammer did seem to take a long time. There was no sound from
the kitchen. Kyan, steadying himself with one hand on the pipe, waved
the other wildly.
“S-s-sh! s-sh-h!” he hissed. “Hush! be still! Don't get her in here.
Keziah, you're single and so am I. You ain't got nobody to take care of
you and I ain't, neither--that is, I don't want to be took care of--I
mean, I've been took care of too much.”
Mrs. Coffin took another step in the direction of the kitchen.
“He IS loony!” she exclaimed under her breath. “I--”
“No, no! I ain't loony. I want to make a proposal to you. I want to see
if you won't marry me. I'm sick of Laviny. Let's you and me settle down
together. I could have some peace then. And I think a whole lot of you,
too,” he added, apparently as an afterthought.
Keziah's face was red now, and growing redder every instant.
“Kyan Pepper!” she cried in amazed incredulity. “Kyan Pepper, do you--”
“Hurry up!” pleaded Abishai, in agitated impatience. “Say yes quick.
She'll be back in a minute.”
“Say YES! Why, you--”
“Don't stop to argue, Keziah. I've got 'most fifteen hundred dollars in
the bank. Laviny keeps the pass book in her bureau, but you could get it
from her. I own my house. I'm a man of good character. You're poor,
but I don't let that stand in the way. Anyhow, you're a first-rate
housekeeper. And I really do think an awful lot of you.”
Mrs. Coffin stepped no farther in the direction of the kitchen. Instead,
she strode toward the rickety chair and its occupant. Kyan grasped the
pipe with both hands.
“You poor--miserable--impudent--” began the lady.
“Why, Keziah, don't you WANT to?” He spoke as if the possibility of
a refusal had never entered his mind. “I cal'lated you'd be glad.
You wouldn't have to go away then, nor--My soul and body! some one's
knockin' at the door! AND THIS DUMMED PIPE'S FETCHED LOOSE!”
The last sentence was a smothered shriek. Keziah heeded not. Neither
did she heed the knock at the door. Her hands were opening and closing
convulsively.
“Be glad!” she repeated. “Glad to marry a good-for-nothin' sand-peep
like you! You sassy--GET down off that chair and out of this house! Get
down this minute!”
“I can't! This stovepipe's loose, I tell you! Be reason'ble, Keziah.
Do--don't you touch me! I'll fall if you do. Pl-e-ase, Keziah!--O Lordy!
I knew it. LAVINY!”
The door opened. On the threshold, arms akimbo and lips set tight, stood
Lavinia Pepper. Her brother's knees gave way; in their collapse they
struck the chair back; the rickety leg wabbled. Kyan grasped at the pipe
to save himself and, the next moment, chair, sections of stovepipe, and
Mr. Pepper disappeared with a mighty crash behind the high-boy. A cloud
of soot arose and obscured the view.
Keziah, too indignant even to laugh, glared at the wreck. In the doorway
of the kitchen Grace Van Horne, hammer in hand, leaned against the jamb,
her handkerchief at her mouth and tears in her eyes. Lavinia, majestic
and rigid, dominated the scene. From behind the high-boy came coughs,
sneezes, and emphatic ejaculations.
Miss Pepper was the first to speak.
“Abishai Pepper,” she commanded, “come out of that this minute.”
Her answer was a tremendous sneeze. Then from the dusky cloud by the
wall sounded a voice feebly protesting.
“Now, Laviny,” began poor Kyan, “I never in my life--”
“Do you hear me? Come out of that!”
There was a sound of scrambling. More soot floated in the air. Then
around the corner of the high-boy appeared Mr. Pepper, crawling on his
hands and knees. His hair was streaked with black; his shirt front and
collar and shirt sleeves were spotted and smeared with black; and from
his blackened cheeks his red whiskers flamed like the last glowing
embers in a fire-scarred ruin.
“Laviny,” he panted, “I never was so surprised and upsot in all my life
afore.”
This was too much for Grace. She collapsed in a chair and laughed
hysterically. Even the wrathful Keziah smiled. But Lavinia did not
smile. For that matter, neither did her brother.
“Hum!” sneered Miss Pepper. “Upsot! Yes, I see you're upsot. Get up, and
try to look as much like a Christian as you can!”
Kyan rose from his knees to his feet and rubbed his back. He glanced
reproachfully at Grace, then fearfully at his sister.
“I was just tryin' to help Keziah take down her stovepipe,” he
explained. “You see, she didn't have no man to--”
“Yes, I see. Well, I judge you got it down. Now you go out to the sink
and wash your face. Heavens and earth! Look at them clothes!”
“I do hope you didn't hurt yourself, Abishai,” said the sympathetic
Keziah. Then, as remembrance of what had led to the upset came to her,
she added: “Though I will say 'twas your own fault and nobody else's.”
Lavinia whirled on her.
“His own fault, was it?” she repeated, her voice shrill and trembling.
“Thank you very much, marm. I cal'late 'twas his own fault comin'
here, too, wa'n't it? Nobody led him on, I s'pose. Nobody put him up to
riggin' out in his best bib and tucker and sneakin' here the minute I
was out of the house. No, nobody did! Of COURSE not!”
“No, nobody did,” said Keziah briskly. “And you may know what you're
hintin' at, but I don't.”
“Dear me! Ain't we innocent! We've got plenty of money, WE have.
Widowers with property ain't no attraction to US. Everybody knows
that--oh, yes! And they never talk of such a thing--oh, no! Folks don't
say that--that--Well,” with a snarl in the direction of the kitchen,
“are you anywheres nigh clean yet? Get your coat and hat on and come
home with me.”
She jerked her brother into the blue coat, jammed the tall hat down upon
his head, and, seizing him by the arm, stalked to the door.
“Good day, marm,” she said. “I do hope the next widower you get to take
down your stovepipe--yes, indeed! ha! ha!--I hope you'll have better
luck with him. Though I don't know who 'twould be; there ain't no more
idiots in town that I know of. Good day, and thank you kindly for your
attentions to our family.”
She pulled the door open and was on the step; but Mrs. Coffin did not
intend to let her go in just that way.
“Laviny Pepper,” she declared, her eyes snapping, “I don't know what
you're talkin' about, but if you dare to mean that I want any of your
money, or your brother's money, you're mistaken--'cause I don't. And I
don't want your brother either--Lord help him, poor thing! And I tell
you right now that there's nobody that does; though some kind-hearted
folks have said 'twould be a Christian act to poison him, so's to put
him out of his misery. There! Good mornin' to you.”
She slammed the door. Lavinia was speechless. As for her brother, but
one remark of his reached Grace, who was watching from the window.
“Laviny,” pleaded Kyan, “just let me explain.”
At nine o'clock that night he was still “explaining.”
Keziah turned from the door she had closed behind her visitor.
“Well!” she ejaculated. “WELL!”
Her friend did not look at her. She was still gazing out of the window.
Occasionally she seemed to choke.
Keziah eyed her suspiciously.
“Humph!” she mused. “'Twas funny, wasn't it?”
“Oh, dreadfully!” was the hurried answer.
“Yes. Seems to me you took an awful long time findin' that hammer.”
“It was away back in the drawer. I didn't see it at first.”
“Hum! Grace Van Horne, if I thought you heard what that--that THING said
to me, I'd--I'd--Good land of mercy! somebody ELSE is comin'.”
Steps, measured, dignified steps, sounded on the walk. From without came
a “Hum--ha!” a portentous combination of cough and grunt. Grace dodged
back from the window and hastily began donning her hat and jacket.
“It's Cap'n Elkanah,” she whispered. “I must go. This seems to be your
busy morning, Aunt Keziah. I”--here she choked again--“really, I didn't
know you were so popular.”
Keziah opened the door. Captain Elkanah Daniels, prosperous, pompous,
and unbending, crossed the threshold. Richest man in the village,
retired shipowner, pillar of the Regular church and leading member of
its parish committee, Captain Elkanah looked the part. He removed
his hat, cleared his throat behind his black stock, and spoke with
impressive deliberation.
“Good morning, Keziah. Ah--er--morning, Grace.” Even in the tone given
to a perfunctory salutation like this, the captain differentiated
between Regular and Come-Outer. “Keziah, I--hum, ha!--rather expected to
find you alone.”
“I was just going, Cap'n Daniels,” explained the girl. The captain bowed
and continued.
“Keziah,” he said, “Keziah, I came to see you on a somewhat important
matter. I have a proposal I wish to make you.”
He must have been surprised at the effect of his words. Keziah's face
was a picture, a crimson picture of paralyzed amazement. As for Miss Van
Horne, that young lady gave vent to what her friend described afterwards
as a “squeal,” and bolted out of the door and into the grateful
seclusion of the fog.