'ZEKE PETTINGILL'S FARM
Quincy had intended to drive to his brother-in-law's house, but Alice
preferred to walk as the distance was so short. The Hawkins House was on
Mason Street. A short walk brought them to Mason Square. In plain view
were the Town Hall and the Chessman Free Public Library.
“I always thought it was foolishness to name these streets after me,”
said Quincy, as they stood on the corner of Sawyer Street. “There's
Adams Street back of the Town Hall and Quincy Street on the other side.”
“I don't agree with you,” said Alice. “I would rather have a street
named after me than a monument erected to my memory.”
At Putnam Square they turned to the left into Pettingill Street and soon
reached her brother's house. Huldah saw them coming and ran down the
path to meet them.
“Why, when did you come, and where are your things? You are surely going
to stay with us.”
“Our headquarters are at the Hawkins House,” said Quincy. “We have been
in town but a few hours and you have the first visit.”
“I am so disappointed you aren't to be with us,” and Huldah's face
showed the feeling she had expressed.
“You won't be when I give you our reasons,” Quincy replied. “Mrs. Putnam
died in this house, and Alice has such a vivid recollection of her last
day on earth--”
“I understand,” said Huldah, “but you must come and see us every day.”
“Where's Ezekiel?” asked Alice.
“Getting in his last load of hay--about sixty tons this year. We only
had thirty a year ago.”
“Where's my namesake--Quincy Adams Pettingill?”
“He goes every day to see his grandpa and grandma. Abner will be here
with him soon.”
When they reached the piazza, Quincy took a good view of the farm.
What a contrast to the condition it had been in, when occupied by the
Putnams! Then everything had been neglected--now garden, field,
and orchard showed a high state of cultivation, and the house and
outbuildings were in good repair and freshly painted. Inside, the
careful attention of a competent housekeeper was apparent. Huldah
Pettingill was a finer looking woman than Huldah Mason had been, but
Quincy had never forgotten how pretty she looked the day she lay in bed
with the plaster cast on her broken arm--the result of the accident for
which he had taken the blame belonging to another.
They had just sat down in the little parlour when cries of “Mamma” were
heard outside and four year old Quincy Adams Pettingill burst into the
room followed closely by Abner Stiles.
“He don't mind me no more'n a woodchuck would,” said Abner--then his
eyes fell on Quincy, who rose to greet him.
“Why, if it ain't”--but words failed him as Quincy gave his hand a
hearty grasp.
“This is the first time I ever shook hands with a guv'nor,” said Abner.
“I didn't know you was going to shake hands all round the night of the
show an' I went home.” He looked at his right hand, rubbed it softly
with his left, and then remarked: “I sha'n't wash that hand for a couple
o' days if I can help it.”
His hearers laughed, for his words were accentuated by the old-time grin
that had pleased Obadiah Strout on some occasions, but on others had
raised his ire to an explosive point.
“Are father and mother at home?” asked Huldah.
“Yes, both on 'em. Susie Barker's been helpin' her to-day, and the
Dekin's wife thinks o' keepin' her reg'lar.”
“I'll have them come to supper,” said Huldah. “Abner, hitch up the black
mare into the low phaeton and bring them up here. Don't tell them who's
here, but tell them that I say they must come.”
“Well, I declare!” All looked up and saw Ezekiel standing in the
doorway. He wore overalls and thick boots, his sleeves were rolled
up, showing his brawny arms with muscles like whip-cords. His face was
brown, but his beard was neatly trimmed, and his eyes bright. He was
a picture of robust, healthy manhood, and showed what he was,--a
hard-working, independent New England farmer. Alice sprang into his arms
and received a resounding smack. One hand grasped Quincy's while the
other encircled his dainty wife's waist, and he drew her towards him.
“You have a fine farm,” said Quincy.
“About as good as they make them,” 'Zeke replied. “I've a good market
for all I can raise. Strout and Maxwell buy a great deal of garden
truck, and I sell considerable to Mrs. Hawkins direct. What I have left
we eat or give away.”
Alice had taken young Quincy on her lap. He became communicative. “I've
got a grandpa and grandma and Uncle Abner.”
“Abner isn't your uncle,” said Alice. “I'm your Aunt Alice, and that is
your Uncle Quincy.”
Ezekiel laughed. “You can't convince him but that Abner's his uncle.
Abner comes after him every afternoon and takes him down to the Deacon's
house and that gives Huldy a good chance to do my mending.”
The sound of carriage wheels indicated new arrivals, and Huldah went to
the door to meet her father and mother.
“Have you got callers?” asked Mrs. Mason. “I don't think I'll go in. I
didn't dress up, but came just as I was.”
“And I never saw you looking better,” said Quincy, stepping into the
entry to meet them.
“I'm glad to see you again, Mr. Sawyer,” and the Deacon's grasp was a
firm one. “I didn't get up to the Town Hall that night, for I didn't
feel first-rate and Sophia didn't want to go alone, but Abner told me
what you did and said, and I reckon added a little on his own account.”
Abner appeared in the doorway. “I've put up the mare, Mr. Pettingill.
Want me for anything more, Dekin?”
“You can go home and help Susie,” said Mrs. Mason.
When Abner had gone, the Deacon chuckled and said, “Nothing could please
Abner better than to take supper with Susie and pass the evening in her
company. He's more'n forty and she's only twenty, but such hitch-ups
ain't uncommon nowadays.”
“That is what they call a December and May marriage,” remarked Alice.
“Not quite as bad as that,” said the Deacon. “I should say about October
and March.”
It was a jolly company that sat down to a well-filled table that
evening. Quincy's first coming to town, and his exciting experiences
during his four months' residence at Mason's Corner, formed the
principal topics of conversation, and Alice appreciated more fully than
ever her husband's persistency, which had shown itself as strongly in
doing good to others as it had in manifesting love for herself.
When they reached the Hawkins House Mrs. Hawkins was on the watch for
them.
“There's a young man here to see you, Mr. Sawyer. He came on the train
to Cottonton and my man Andrew brought him over. I told him you wouldn't
be home till late and I sent him off to bed. Was that all right?”
“I can tell better,” said Quincy, “when I find out who he is and what he
wants.”
“He said his name was Gerry or Ferry or something like that. He's kind
of bashful, I 'magine.”
“It's Merry,” Quincy exclaimed. “Something has turned up at the State
House, but it will keep till morning.”
As they were ascending the stairs, Mrs. Hawkins called out, “Oh, Mr.
Sawyer, there was a letter came for you. It's up in your room.”
It was from Maude. “Let us see what that volatile sister of mine has to
say. Something very important or she wouldn't write.” As he opened the
note sheet, he turned to his wife. “Shall I read it aloud?”
“I should love to hear it.”
Quincy read:
* * * * * * *
“MY ABSENT RELATIVE: You will be delighted to hear that I have found
Captain Hornaby's missing coat and wallet. I was out in the new boat
when I saw something on the bottom of the pond. You know the water is
as clear as glass. It wasn't very deep and I fished the coat up with
an oar. I gave it to father and he examined the wallet with apparently
great interest. Perhaps he thought there was some money in it, but there
wasn't. There were some visiting cards bearing the name Col. Arthur
Spencer, but nary a red. Father is trying to find out who the Colonel
is. I think father loaned the Captain some money--don't you? Now that
we have a real live boat, no more slippery canoes for me. I hope you and
Alice are having a fine time--of course you will on your old stamping
ground.
“I don't find any fault, because I'm so young and of so little
importance, but it seems funny that nobody ever invited me to visit
Fernborough. Please don't consider this a bid for an invite, for I won't
come. Your neglected sister,
“MAUDE.”
* * * * * * *
“Is it possible?” cried Alice, “that Maude has never been here?”
“It is a lamentable fact.”
“She won't come now.”
“I'll fetch her,--hand-cuffed, if necessary.”
Quincy was up early to learn Merry's errand. A request had come from the
Governor of Colorado for the extradition of a Pole named Ivan Wolaski,
who was accused of being concerned in a dynamite explosion in a Colorado
mine.
“Have you looked into the case, Harry?”
“Somewhat. I think it is part of a political feud.”
Quincy made preparation for an immediate departure.
“Mrs. Hawkins, I must go to Boston at once with Mr. Merry. Will you have
Andrew get a team ready for me? I will leave it at the Eagle Hotel. I
know the way home.”
“You ought to,” said she. “You've druv it times enough.”
“What will you do with yourself all day, Alice? I must go to the State
House on business, but I'll be back by six o'clock.”
“If I were home I'd have my horse saddled and have a ride out to the
Arboretum or Chestnut Hill.”
“They've no saddle horses here, unfortunately. I'll tell you what to do.
After dinner go down to Mandy Maxwell's and see her and the children,
and have a talk with Uncle Ike. I'll be there in time for supper, tell
Mandy.”
When Quincy went down stairs he found that Mrs. Hawkins had gone out to
the stable to give Andrew directions about the team.
Quincy said in a low tone: “Mrs. Hawkins, have you some spare stalls in
your stable that I can use while here?”
“You can have the old barn all to yourself. It's a leetle further from
the house, but it's in first-rate order.”
As they drove towards Eastborough Centre, Quincy pointed out the objects
of interest to Mr. Merry, who thought Fernborough a beautiful town.
“Come down next Saturday afternoon, Harry, and stay over Sunday. Bring
down any important letters. Perhaps my sister Maude will come back with
me.”
Mr. Merry accepted the invitation with polite outward thanks, but with
an inward sense of intense gratification. Love is blind. If he had
reflected, he would have come to the conclusion that the daughter of
the Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer, the millionaire, was not for him, an
unfledged lawyer with a mother to support.
When they reached Eastborough Centre, Quincy found he was too late for
the train. He had nearly an hour at his disposal. His first visit was to
the Eagle Hotel, where he put up the horse. Mr. Parsons, the proprietor,
was greatly pleased to meet him.
“You haven't forgotten how we railroaded Strout out of office, have
you?”
“That was long ago,” said Quincy. “Strout and I are good friends now.
He's one of my partners in the Fernborough store.'
“So I've been told.”
Quincy took Mr. Parsons aside and had an animated conversation with him.
“I can get you just what you want, Guv'nor. Kind and gentle but some go
in them when needed.”
“Send them to the Hawkins House and don't forget the saddles.”
They crossed the square to the telegraph office, where Quincy sent this
message.
“Miss MAUDE SAWYER,
“Wideview, Redford, Mass.
“Meet me at State House by two o'clock. Leave your trunk at station.
Something important.
“QUINCY.”
As they were leaving the office Quincy met Tobias Smith, father of
Abbott and Ellis Smith, and Wallace Stackpole.
“Glad to see you, Guv'nor,” said 'Bias. “You remember Mr. Stackpole that
we gave Strout's job of tax-collector to--he's held it ever since. We're
mighty glad Strout lives in Fernborough. We don't have circuses at town
meetings now he's gone.”
Quincy's next visit was to the office of the _Fernborough Gazette_,
which was published in Eastborough, as the editor and proprietor, Mr.
Sylvester Chisholm, Mr. Strout's brother-in-law, could not get printers
in Fernborough, and, being an Eastborough-born boy, his paper had a
large circulation in that town and in Westvale, its principal village.
Quincy obtained some copies of the paper containing his speech at the
Town Hall. On looking it over he was astonished to find it reported
_verbatim_.
“How did you manage it, Mr. Chisholm? My address was extemporaneous.”
Sylvester smiled. “Well, the fact is, Mr. Sawyer, while I was working on
the _Eastborough Express_, when you were here five years ago, I studied
short-hand, and it came in handy that night.”
The train was express to Boston and Quincy was in his chair in the
Executive Chamber by half-past eleven. After a careful examination
of the case of Ivan Wolaski, he decided to refuse the request for
extradition, and the Governor of Colorado was so notified in a
communication which from moral, legal, political, and humanitarian
points of view was unanswerable. It was nearly two o'clock when the last
official letter was signed.
The door was opened by the messenger. Quincy expected Maude to enter,
but it was Mr. Acton, the energetic opponent of the “peaceful picketing”
law.
“I heard, Mr. Governor, that you were here, and I thought it only fair
to inform you that we shall apply for injunctions just the same as if
that bill you signed had not become a law, and, in that way, test its
constitutionality.”
“You have a legal right to do that,” said the governor, “but I question
your moral right.”
“How so?” asked Mr. Acton.
“Supposing I had applied for an injunction to prevent you and a score of
others from trying to influence me to veto the bill?”
“That would have been foolish. No judge would have granted it.”
“And why not?” said the governor sternly. “Were not all of you engaged
in 'peaceful picketing'? Why should not the working man have the same
right to persuade his fellows that you exerted to influence me?”
Mr. Acton had not exhausted his argument: “But the probable destruction
of property and possible loss of life?”
“Matters fully covered by law,” the Governor replied. “They are under
the jurisdiction of the police, the sheriff, and, if need be, the
militia.”
Mr. Acton, despite the argument advanced, “was of the same opinion
still.”
Quincy rang for the messenger, who appeared.
“I am going now. Does any one wish to see me?”
“There's a young lady outside. She's been waiting some time.”
Quincy looked at his watch. It was quarter past two.
“Admit her, at once.”
Maude began the conversation. “I received your astonishing telegram,
Quincy, and was here _on time_,” and she emphasized the final words.
“What does it mean? Is Alice sick?”
Quincy took the cue. “Not exactly sick, but she wants to see you very
much, and I felt so sure you would come to please her, that I ignored
your refusal to accept an invitation from me. Come, we'll have lunch at
Young's, and then a carriage to the station,--is your trunk there?”
Maude nodded. She felt that Quincy had played a trick on her and she was
in a rebellious mood.
She ate her lunch in silence. Not a word was spoken during the drive to
the station. When the train was under way Quincy remarked, casually, “I
invited Mr. Merry to come down next Saturday and stay over Sunday.”
From that moment until they reached Eastborough Centre, Quincy could not
have desired a more talkative or vivacious companion. As they stepped
upon the platform, Mr. Parsons came up.
“They're there, safe and sound. I went up with them myself, so's to be
sure.”