I
At the station of Bingham Cross Roads four passengers got off the
train. One, a woman with bundles, who was evidently familiar with her
surroundings, walked rapidly away through the hot September sunshine
toward the little village in the distance.
The other three stood on the platform and looked about, as if taking
their bearings. They were foreigners of an unfamiliar species. Their
fellow-passengers in the car had discussed them with an interest
not entirely free from suspicion, and their finally getting out at
such an unimportant station as Bingham Cross Roads caused a surprise
which, although reasonably under control, was still too strong for
concealment. From the windows of the car at least a dozen pairs of
eyes were watching them. The two men and the little boy who composed
this group were of dark complexion, with clean-cut, regular features.
The oldest, a man of sixty years or more, had a military bearing, and
was, if one could judge from appearances, a person of authority in his
own country, wherever that might be. Although the younger man seemed to
resemble him, it was in such a general way that he might be either his
son or no relation whatever.
But the little boy had excited a yet greater interest than his
companions. Although but six or seven years old, he comported himself
with as much dignity and reserve as the gentleman with the silver hair.
This gave the impression, and without apparent intention on his part,
that he also was an important personage. His dark eyes were strikingly
beautiful and, like those of his seniors, were distinctly foreign in
design.
When the train moved away the three travellers approached the man
with one suspender, who filled the position of station agent,
baggage-master, switchman, telegraph operator and freight clerk,
and inquired if there was a conveyance to the village of Daleford.
He pointed to a wagon at the farther end of the platform; that was
the Daleford stage. In answer to further questions they learned that
the next train back again, toward New York, left at six-thirty; that
Daleford was seven miles away; that they could spend an hour in that
village and catch the train without hurrying.
The only baggage on the platform consisted of two peculiar-looking
trunks, or rather boxes, which the multifarious official knew to be
theirs, as no similar articles had ever been manufactured in America.
They were covered with designs laid on in metal, all elaborately
engraved, and it was not suspected along the route that these profuse
and tarnished ornaments were of solid silver. This luggage was
strapped behind the stage, two venerable horses were awakened and the
travellers started off. Joe, the driver, a youth with large ears and
a long neck, soon gave his passengers some excellent opportunities
to explain themselves, which they neglected. Aside from a few simple
questions about Daleford and Mr. Josiah Judd, to whose house they were
going, the conversation was in a language of which he had no knowledge.
The first two miles of their route lay along the Connecticut valley,
after which they climbed to higher ground. The boy seemed interested in
the size of the elms, the smell of the tobacco fields, the wild grapes,
and the various things that any boy might notice who had never seen
their like before.
The day was warm, and the road dusty, and when they entered Daleford
the boy, with the old gentleman’s arm about him, had been asleep for
several miles. Coming into the village at one end, they drove down the
main street, beneath double rows of elms that met above their heads in
lofty arches, the wide common on their right. The strangers expressed
their admiration at the size and beauty of these trees. Moreover the
cool shade was restful and refreshing. No signs of human life were
visible either in the street or about the white houses that faced the
common, and this with the unbroken silence gave an impression that the
inhabitants, if they existed, were either absent or asleep.
The driver stopped for a moment at the post-office which occupied a
corner in the only store, and gave the mail-bag to the post-mistress,
a pale young woman with eye-glasses and a wealth of artificial hair;
then, after rumbling through the village for half a mile, they found
themselves again in the country.
The last house on the right, with its massive portico of Doric columns,
seemingly of white marble, had the appearance of a Grecian temple.
But these appearances were deceptive, the building being a private
residence and the material of native pine.
As they approached this mendacious exterior the little boy said
something in the foreign language to his companions, whereupon they
told the driver to stop at the door, as Mr. Judd was inside.
“That ain’t Mr. Judd’s house,” he answered. “His is nearly a mile
farther on, around that hill,” and he gave the horses a gentle blow to
emphasize the information. But the boy repeated his statement, whatever
it was, and the younger man said, with some decision:
“Mr. Judd is inside. Stop here.”
As the driver drew up before the house he remarked, with a sarcastic
smile:
“If Mr. Judd lives here, he’s moved in since mornin’.”
But the remark made no visible impression. They all got out, and
while the two men approached the front door by an old-fashioned brick
walk, the boy strolled leisurely through the grassy yard beside the
house. The driver was speculating within himself as to what kind of a
pig-headed notion made them persist in stopping at Deacon Barlow’s,
when, to his surprise, Mr. Judd emerged from a doorway at the side and
advanced with long strides toward the diminutive figure in his path.
Mr. Judd was a man about sixty years of age, tall, thin and
high-shouldered. His long, bony face bore no suggestions of beauty,
but there was honesty in every line. The black clothes which hung
loosely upon his figure made him seem even taller and thinner than he
really was. The boy looked him pleasantly in the face and, when he had
approached sufficiently near, said, in a clear, childish voice, slowly
and with laborious precision:
“Josiah Judd, the General Subahdàr Divodas Gadi and the Prince Rájanya
Kásim Mir Dewân Musnud desire to speak with you.”
Mr. Judd stopped short, the bushy eyebrows rising high in astonishment.
His mouth opened, but no sound came forth. The foreign appearance of
the speaker, his familiar manner of addressing one so much older than
himself, together with a demeanor that showed no signs of disrespect,
and above all, his allusion to the presence of titled strangers
caused the American to suspect, for a few seconds, that he was the
victim of some mental irregularity. He pushed the straw hat from his
forehead, and looked more carefully. The youthful stranger observed
this bewilderment, and he was evidently surprised that such a simple
statement should be received in so peculiar a manner. But Mr. Judd
recovered his composure, lowered the bushy eyebrows, and drawing his
hand across his mouth as if to get it into shape again, asked:
“Who did you say wanted to see me, sonny?”
A small hand was ceremoniously waved toward the two strangers who were
now approaching along the Doric portico. Coming up to Mr. Judd they
saluted him with a stately deference that was seldom witnessed in
Daleford, and the General handed him a letter, asking if he were not
Mr. Josiah Judd.
“Yes, sir, that’s my name,” and as he took the letter, returned their
salutations politely, but in a lesser degree. He was not yet sure that
the scene was a real one. The letter, however, was not only real,
but he recognized at once the handwriting of his brother Morton, who
had been in India the last dozen years. Morton Judd was a successful
merchant and had enjoyed for some years considerable financial and
political importance in a certain portion of that country.
DEAR JOSIAH: This letter will be handed you by two trustworthy
gentlemen whose names it is safer not to write. They will explain all
you wish to know regarding the boy they leave in your charge. Please
take care of this boy at least for a time and treat him as your own
son. I am writing this at short notice and in great haste. You have
probably read of the revolution here that has upset everything. This
boy’s life, together with the lives of many others, depends upon the
secrecy with which we keep the knowledge of his whereabouts from
those now in power.
Will write you more fully of all this in a few days. Give my love to
Sarah, and I hope you are all well. Hannah and I are in excellent
health. Your affectionate brother,