JOE’S TREASURY.
JOE BRAZYBONE was walking slowly up the village street, on his way
home. He seemed deep in thought, and his round shoulders were bowed
forward, as if beneath a heavy weight. The few boys who were hanging
about called after him, but he paid no attention to them. Usually, they
were able to rouse him to frenzy by the song that one of their number
had composed, and it was their delight to see him turn and chase them,
with uncouth gestures of malediction.
“Sculpin Brazybone,
Hit him on his crazy-bone;
Knocked out his wits, and
Scared him into fits, and
Warn’t nothin’ left of him
Only jest a lazybone!”
But to-day the insulting chant fell on unheeding ears, which was
disappointing. Joe shambled along till he reached the low, brown
cottage, where he and his sister-in-law wrangled their lives along. He
looked up and around before entering the house, scanning sea and sky
with sharp, weather-wise eyes.
“It’s getting time for her!” he muttered to himself. “Soft sky, and
everythin’ turnin’ green along by; time she was back here, to see
things growin’. She never could stand it there in summer, not Isly
couldn’t.”
Reaching the poor little room which was his castle and his defence
against all storms, Joe sat for a time in meditation; then he rose,
and, after carefully reconnoitring the premises, and deciding that
Ma’am Brazybone was nowhere about, he went on tiptoe to a cupboard in
the wall, and examined its contents. One by one he drew out several
objects, and, after looking them over with anxious scrutiny, proceeded
to arrange them in orderly lines on his bed, which served for table,
also. A look of honest pride spread over his homely face, as he gazed
at these objects; he took from a drawer an old rag of red handkerchief,
and slowly and methodically wiped off every one, spying for a particle
of dust. It was a motley array. A pair of silver-bowed spectacles; a
bracelet of carnelian beads; a brass thimble and a horn snuff-box; a
brooch of the mineral called goldstone, set in tarnished, coppery gold;
a piece of red coral, smoothed and polished; an ancient parasol, of
faded green silk; these were the contents of Joe’s treasury. He gloated
over them, lifting first one and then another; he murmured praise of
them to the four walls that were his only hearers.
“Them’s pretty beads!” he said, slipping the string over his great red
wrist, and rubbing the smooth balls with delight. “Lovely, them is! I
remember of Pop Brazybone’s bringin’ ’em home to little Sister Marthy,
as if ’twas yesterday. She was tickled ’most to death, warn’t she?
Poor little Marthy! She warn’t rugged enough to grow up. Old Joe had
the ruggedness, and the ugliness, too; she was well-favoured, little
Marthy was; not anythin’ to speak of like Isly, but well-favoured for
Brazybones. Wouldn’t Isly look handsome in them! she’d be more than
handsome, she’d be pretty! And she’s goin’ to have ’em, too. Isly don’t
know it yet, but she’s goin’ to have old Joe’s handsome things, when
she comes back, to wear like a lady, and put city folks to their shames.
“This sunshade, now! wal, I feel some dubious about this sunshade. ’Tis
tasty, real tasty, but I kind o’ feel that Isly wouldn’t want to carry
that; unless she was goin’ to meetin’. Yes, she might take it with her
to meetin’.” He nodded, relieved.
“The specs I’ll have to keep, I calc’late; no need for them on Isly’s
eyes, that’s bright as sunshine. Old Joe’ll put ’em on himself, mebbe,
some day, and he might look better for ’em.”
He put the spectacles on his nose, and, finding a bit of cracked
looking-glass in a corner, gazed for a moment at his reflection; then
he shook his head.
“Nothin’ seems to make much difference in your looks, Joe. Look a
leetle wuss in ’em than what you do out of ’em. Wal, now, how long do
you suppose Mother Brazybone can stand seein’ them featurs every day,
right along? ’Tis a caution, how she bears up as she doos; but she’s
terrible rugged, Mother Brazybone is. I don’t expect I’ll git red on
her this long time.
“Now here!” He held up the goldstone brooch, and looked at it with
reverence.
“That’s a fine piece of joolery, that is. When I go up to Bellton,
how’d it be if I took that piece of joolery along for Isly? She’d think
a sight of it; ma’am did, I know. How’d it be if I jest handed it in at
the door, keerless like, and said to that whopper-jawed piece of putty
with buttons on to him, ‘You give that to young Lady Heron,’ I says,
‘and you tell her the man as brought it is at the door,’ I says, ‘and
she’s only got to say the word and there’ll be more like it.’ Why—there
is more like it, ain’t there? Where’s them ear-bobs?”
He turned over each article with laborious care, searching for what
might lie under them. Finding nothing, he went to the cupboard, and
ransacked it, his face growing more and more troubled. The sweat broke
out on his forehead, and he mopped it with the rag of handkerchief;
he felt in every corner; he looked under the bed, thinking that the
earrings might have fallen and rolled out of sight; but no earrings
were to be seen.
He was still searching painfully, when the sound of footsteps was heard
in the outer room. A suspicion darted into Joe’s mind, and clung there
like a snake. With shaking hands he put his treasures back in the
cupboard, heaping them carelessly, instead of ranging them in order, as
he loved to do. He turned the key, noticing for the first time what a
common pattern it was, and how easily any other key in the house might
fit the lock; then, putting it in his pocket, he went into the outer
room, closing the door behind him.
Mrs. Brazybone was standing with her back to him, taking off her
bonnet leisurely, and humming a psalm tune as she did so; she had
been at a “singing tea-party,” and had enjoyed herself immensely. Her
brother-in-law took her by the shoulders and whirled her round to face
him; his eyes were blazing, the muscles on his temples stood out like
brown cords, and his jaws worked for a moment before the words would
come.
“You—you—” he stammered, “you critter, you’ve got my ear-bobs! Who give
you leave to ransack my cupboard and take my joolery?”
For a moment Mrs. Brazybone was at a loss; but the next moment she
spoke, with good assurance.
“Was you thinkin’ of wearin’ ’em yourself, Joe? I’m sure I’d never
have tetched ’em, if I’d ha’ thought you wanted to put ’em in your own
handsome ears.”
“You critter!” said Joe again, shaking her great shoulders, till her
chin waggled to and fro. “Take them bobs out, hear? Ain’t you satisfied
with the rest of what you are, ’thout addin’ thief on to it? Will you
take ’em out, or shall I take ’em out for ye?”
Mrs. Brazybone thought rapidly; her eyes brightened for a moment with
lust of battle, but she felt Joe’s hands like iron on her shoulders,
and decided for peace. Her voice took on a tone of whining bluster.
“Well, Joseph Brazybone! if I ever thought to hear your brother’s
widder called a thief in _this_ world! Poor Jabez! I’m glad he ain’t
here; ’t would break his heart to hear me spoke so of.”
Joe snorted, but she saw no relenting in his eyes, so she began slowly
to take out the earrings.
“They’re terrible paltry bobs,” she said. “I should think you’d be glad
to see ’em worn by a respectable lady, Joseph, ’stead of takin’ on this
way!” and she sniffed, as she handed the precious ornaments to their
owner.
“Respectable!” roared Joe, who had kept an anxious silence while the
earrings were being removed, but with them safe in his hands now felt
that he could give the rein to his feelings.
“_You_ respectable, you half-fruz jelly-fish? You’ve never ben
_threatened_ with bein’ respectable! Don’t you be afraid, Mother
Brazybone, nobody’ll ever say that of ye! But now, see here! you let my
belongings alone, do ye hear? from henceforth now and forever, so help
ye; or I’ll trim yer ears to match yer nose, and then the hull island
’ud fly away in the air to get out of the sight of ye.”
He retired with his rescued treasures, and Mrs. Brazybone congratulated
herself on getting off so easily. She had counted on restoring the
gauds before Joe came back from fishing, and had been regretting all
the afternoon that she had not taken the brooch as well; now she
reflected that “a passel o’ words didn’t do one a might o’ hurt,”
and remembered with a thrill of pride how many eyes had been fixed
admiringly on the dangling ornaments. She promised herself to be more
careful next time; but the next time she opened the cupboard with her
door-key, the treasury was empty.