P. S. You might give out that the boy is an adopted child of mine and
call him Amos Judd, after father.
These words threw a needed light on the situation. He shook hands with
the two visitors and greeted them cordially, then, approaching the boy
who was absorbed in the movements of some turkeys that were strolling
about the yard, he bent over and held out his hand, saying, with a
pleasant smile:
“And you, sir, are very welcome. I think we can take good care of you.”
But the child looked inquiringly from the hand up to its owner’s face.
“Mr. Judd wishes to take your hand,” said the General, then adding, by
way of explanation, “He never shook hands before. But these customs he
will soon acquire.” The small hand was laid in the large one and moved
up and down after the manner of the country.
“Don’t they shake hands in India?” asked Mr. Judd, as if it were
something of a joke. “How do you let another man know you’re glad to
see him?”
“Oh, yes, we shake hands sometimes. The English taught us that. But
it is not usual with persons of his rank. It will be easily learned,
however.”
After a word or two more they took their seats in the wagon, the boy
at his own request getting in front with the driver. They soon came
in sight of the Judd residence, a large, white, square, New England
farmhouse of the best type, standing on rising ground several hundred
feet from the road, at the end of a long avenue of maples. Clustered
about it were some magnificent elms. As they entered the avenue the
driver, whose curiosity could be restrained no longer, turned and said
to the boy:
“Did you ever see Mr. Judd before?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know ’twas him?”
“By his face.”
He looked down with a sharp glance, but the boy’s expression was
serious, even melancholy.
“Ever been in this town before?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Judd know you was comin’?”
“No.”
“Then what in thunder made you s’pose he was in Deacon Barlow’s?”
“In thunder?”
“What made you think he was in that house?”
The boy looked off over the landscape and hesitated before answering.
“I knew he was to be there.”
“Oh, then he expected you?”
“No.”
Joe laughed. “That’s sort of mixed, ain’t it? Mr. Judd was there
to meet you when he didn’t know you were comin’. Kinder met you by
appointment when there wasn’t any.” This was said in a sarcastic
manner, and he added:
“You was pretty sot on stoppin’ and I’d like to know how you come to
be so pop sure he was inside.”
The dark eyes looked up at him in gentle astonishment. This gave way to
a gleam of anger, as they detected a mocking expression, and the lips
parted as if to speak. But there seemed to be a change of mind, for he
said nothing, looking away toward the distant hills in contemptuous
silence. The driver, as a free and independent American, was irritated
by this attempted superiority in a foreigner, and especially in such a
young one, but there was no time to retaliate.
Mrs. Judd, a large, sandy-haired, strong-featured woman, gave the
guests a cordial welcome. The outlandish trunks found their way
upstairs, instructions were given the driver to call in an hour, and
Mrs. Judd, with the servant, hastened preparations for a dinner, as the
travellers, she learned, had eaten nothing since early morning.
When these were going on Mr. Judd and the three guests went into the
parlor, which, like many others in New England, was a triumph of
severity. Although fanatically clean, it possessed the usual stuffy
smell that is inevitable where fresh air and sunlight are habitually
excluded. There were four windows, none of which were open. All the
blinds were closed. In this dim light, some hair ornaments, wax
flowers, a marriage certificate and a few family photographs of
assiduous and unrelenting aspect seemed waiting, in hostile patience,
until the next funeral or other congenial ceremony should disturb their
sepulchral peace. While the men seated themselves about the table, the
boy climbed upon a long horse-hair sofa, whence he regarded them with
a bored but dignified patience. The General, before seating himself,
had taken from his waist an old-fashioned money-belt, which he laid
upon the table. From this he extracted a surprising number of gold and
silver coins and arranged them in little stacks. Mr. Judd’s curiosity
was further increased when he took from other portions of the belt
a number of English bank-notes, which he smoothed out and also laid
before his host.
“There are twelve thousand pounds in these notes,” he said, “and about
two thousand in sovereigns, with a few hundred in American money.”
“Fourteen thousand pounds,” said Mr. Judd, making a rough calculation,
“that’s about seventy thousand dollars.”
The General nodded toward the boy. “It belongs to him. Your brother,
Mr. Morton Judd, perhaps told you we left in great haste, and this is
all of the available property we had time to convert into money. The
rest will be sent you later. That is, whatever we can secure of it.”
Now Mr. Judd had never been fond of responsibility. It was in fact his
chief reason for remaining on the farm while his younger brother went
out into the world for larger game. Moreover, seventy thousand dollars,
to one brought up as he had been, seemed an absurdly large amount of
money to feed and clothe a single boy.
“But what am I to do with it? Save it up and give him the interest?”
“Yes, or whatever you and Mr. Morton Judd may decide upon.”
While Mr. Judd was drawing his hand across his forehead to smooth out
the wrinkles he felt were coming, the General brought forth from an
inner pocket a small silk bag. Untying the cord he carefully emptied
upon the table a handful of precious stones. Mr. Judd was no expert
in such things, but they were certainly very pretty to look at and,
moreover, they seemed very large.
“These,” continued the General, “are of considerable value, the rubies
particularly, which, as you will see, are of unusual size.”
He spoke with enthusiasm, and held up one or two of them to the light.
Mr. Judd sadly acknowledged that they were very handsome, and threw a
hostile glance at the gleaming, many-colored, fiery-eyed mass before
him. “How much do they represent, the whole lot?”
The General looked inquiringly at his companion. The Prince shook his
head. “It is impossible to say, but we can give a rough estimate.”
Then taking them one by one, rubies, diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and
sapphires, they made a list, putting the value of each in the currency
of their own country, and figured up the total amount in English pounds.
“As near as it is possible to estimate,” said the Prince, “their value
is about one hundred and sixty thousand pounds.”
[Illustration: “How much do they represent, the whole lot”]
“One hundred and sixty thousand pounds!” exclaimed Mr. Judd. “Eight
hundred thousand dollars!” and with a frown he pushed his chair from
the table. The General misunderstood the movement, and said: “But, sir,
there are few finer jewels in India, or even in the world!”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mr. Judd. “I’m not doubting their worth.
It’s only kind of sudden,” and he drew his hands across his eyes, as
if to shut out the dazzling mass that flashed balefully up at him from
the table. For a New England farmer, Josiah Judd was a prosperous man.
In fact he was the richest man in Daleford. But if all his earthly
possessions were converted into cash they would never realize a tenth
part of the unwelcome treasure that now lay before him. He was,
therefore, somewhat startled at being deluged, as it were, out of a
clear sky, with the responsibility of nearly a million dollars. The
guests also mentioned some pearls of extraordinary value in one of the
trunks.
“Well,” he said, with an air of resignation, “I s’pose there’s no
dodgin’ it, and I’ll have to do the best I can till I hear from Morton.
After the boy goes back to India of course I sha’n’t have the care of
it.”
The General glanced toward the sofa to be sure he was not overheard,
then answered, in a low voice: “It will be better for him and will save
the shedding of blood if he never returns.”
But the boy heard nothing in that room. He was slumbering peacefully,
with his head against the high back of the sofa, and his spirit, if
one could judge from the smile upon his lips, was once more in his own
land, among his own people. Perhaps playing with another little boy
in an Oriental garden, a garden of fountains and gorgeous flowers, of
queer-shaped plants with heavy foliage, a quiet, dreamy garden, where
the white walls of the palace beside it were supported by innumerable
columns, with elephants’ heads for capitals: where, below a marble
terrace, the broad Ganges shimmered beneath a golden sun.
Maybe the drowsy air of this ancestral garden with its perfume of
familiar flowers made his sleep more heavy, or was it the thrum of
gentle fingers upon a mandolin in a distant corner of the garden,
mingling with a woman’s voice?
Whatever the cause, it produced a shock, this being summoned back to
America, to exile, and to the hair-cloth sofa by the voice of Mrs.
Judd announcing dinner; for the step was long and the change was
sudden from the princely pleasure garden to the Puritan parlor, and
every nerve and fibre of his Oriental heart revolted at the outrage.
There was a war-like gleam in the melancholy eyes as he joined the
little procession that moved toward the dining-room. As they sat at
table, the three guests with Mrs. Judd, who poured the tea, he frowned
with hostile eyes upon the steak, the boiled potatoes, the large
wedge-shaped piece of yellow cheese, the pickles, and the apple-pie. He
was empty and very hungry, but he did not eat. He ignored the example
of the General and the Prince, who drank the strong, green tea, and
swallowed the saleratus biscuits as if their hearts’ desires at last
were gratified. He scowled upon Mrs. Judd when she tried to learn
what he disliked the least. But her husband, swaying to and fro in
a rocking-chair near the window, had no perception of the gathering
cloud, and persisted in questioning his visitors in regard to India,
the customs of the people, and finally of their own home life. Mrs.
Judd had noticed the black eyebrows and restless lips were becoming
more threatening as the many questions were answered; that the
two-pronged fork of horn and steel was used solely as an offensive
weapon to stab his potatoes and his pie.
At last the tempest came. The glass of water he had raised with a
trembling hand to his lips was hurled upon the platter of steak, and
smashed into a dozen pieces. With a swift movement of his arms, as if
to clear the deck, he pushed the pickles among the potatoes and swept
his pie upon the floor. Then, after a futile effort to push his chair
from the table, he swung his legs about and let himself down from the
side. With a face flushed with passion, he spoke rapidly in a language
of which no word was familiar to his host or hostess, and ended by
pointing dramatically at Mr. Judd, the little brown finger quivering
with uncontrollable fury. It appeared to the astonished occupant of the
rocking-chair that the curse of Allah was being hurled upon the house
of Judd. Standing for a moment in silence and glowering upon them all
in turn, the boy swung about with a defiant gesture, stalked through
the open door and out of the house.
Josiah Judd, whose heart was already sinking under the responsibility
of the crown jewels of a kingdom, experienced a sickening collapse in
the presence of the Oriental thunderbolt that had just exploded on his
peaceful New England hearthstone. His jaw fell, he ceased rocking, and
turned his eyes in painful inquiry upon his guests.
There was an awkward silence. The General and the Prince had risen
to their feet as if in apology to the hostess, but she had accepted
the outburst with unruffled calmness. Her kind, restful, homely face
showed no annoyance. Rising quietly from the table she followed the
stormy guest and found him around in front of the house, sitting upon
the granite doorstep, his chin in his hands, frowning fiercely upon
the quaint old flower-garden before him. He got up as she approached
and stood a few feet away, regarding her with a hostile scowl. Seating
herself upon the step she said, with a pleasant smile:
“Of course you are tired, sonny, we all understand that, and you are
unhappy to-day, but it won’t be for long.”
These assuring words failed of their purpose, and he eyed her sidewise,
and with suspicion. He was too old a bird to be fooled so easily. A
few sprigs were torn from the box border within his reach as if the
conversation bored him.
“I had a boy once,” continued Mrs. Judd. “I understand boys, and know
just how you feel. We shall be good friends, I’m sure.”
After a pause devoted to serious reflection, he inquired:
“Did your boy like you?”
“Oh, yes.”
He came nearer and stood in front of her. Then, slowly and with the
precision with which he always delivered himself when speaking English,
he said:
“My mother was different from you, and her clothes were more beautiful,
but if one boy liked you another might. I might. Would you like to see
my mother’s portrait?”
Mrs. Judd said she would like very much to see it, and he began
fumbling about and seemed to be tickling himself near the buckle of
his belt. But, as it proved, he was ascertaining the whereabouts of
a locket, which he finally fished up by means of a gold chain about
his neck. The chain was of such a length that the locket, instead of
reposing near the heart of the wearer, hung a little below the centre
of the stomach. When it finally emerged above his collar, he placed the
warm miniature in her hand, saying:
“That is my mother.”
It was a dark face, surmounted by a jewelled head-dress of a style
that Mrs. Judd had never seen, even in pictures. After looking more
carefully at the miniature and then up into the eyes that were watching
hers, she found the same square forehead and sensitive mouth, and the
same dark melancholy, heavily fringed eyes, by far the most beautiful
she had ever seen. The picture in her hand was a truthful portrait of
himself. As she looked from the portrait into the face before her she
felt it was perhaps fortunate this mother was ignorant of the changes
that already had turned the current of his life. With a brown hand
on each of her knees he was looking into her eyes with the anxious
gaze of a hungry soul, seeking for sympathy, and too proud to ask it.
But Mrs. Judd understood. She laid a hand upon his shoulder with an
expression upon her honest face that rendered words unnecessary. He
blinked and swallowed in a mighty effort to suppress what he evidently
considered an undignified and compromising sentiment. But in vain.
Sinking upon his knees he buried his face in her lap and gave way to
the most vehement, uncontrollable grief. The small frame shook with
sobs, while her apron grew wet with tears. He took his sorrow with
the same passionate recklessness that characterized his anger at the
dinner-table. Mrs. Judd rested her hand upon the short black hair and
tried to summon words of solace for a grief that seemed to threaten the
integrity of his earthly body. She could only stroke his head and tell
him not to be unhappy; that all would end well; that he should soon
return home.
In the midst of these efforts the voice of Mr. Judd came around the
corner calling out that the wagon was here. The boy jumped to his
feet as if he had received a shock. Drawing the sleeve of his jacket
across his tear-stained face, he summoned an expression of severity
and indifference that under other circumstances would have forced a
smile from his newly acquired friend. The soldier was himself again;
the warrior was on parade. As they walked together around the house to
the dining-room, he beside her with a resolute step and chin in the
air, she wondered what manner of training could have taught him at the
age of seven to suppress all boyish emotions, and put on at will the
dignity of a Roman Senator.
The General and the Prince were awaiting them. With many compliments
they thanked the host and hostess for their hospitality, and regretted
the necessity that took them away in such unfortunate haste; it was a
flying trip and their absence must not be lengthened by an hour, as
these were troublous times in their part of India. As they moved toward
the wagon Mrs. Judd held her husband back, believing there might be a
parting at which strangers would not be welcome. But the parting, like
all else, was dignified and ceremonious. She could not see the boy’s
face, for he stood with his back toward her, but as far as she could
judge he also was calm and self-possessed. She noticed, however, that
the General had to swallow, with a sudden gulp, a large portion of what
appeared to be a carefully constructed sentence.
They drove in silence down the long avenue beneath the maples, and the
driver, perhaps to put them at their ease, said something about getting
along faster in this light wagon than with the stage, but both his
passengers seemed in a silent mood and made no answer. As they turned
into the main road the General, who was on the side nearest the house,
looked back. At the farther end of the avenue stood the boy in the same
position, still watching them. The old soldier brought his hand to his
hat and down again in a military salute that was evidently familiar
to the little person at the farther end of the driveway, for it was
promptly acknowledged, and although a farewell to the last ties between
himself and his country, was returned with head erect, as from one
veteran to another.