UNCLE RUBEN LEARNS SOMETHING.
While Uncle Ruben was wandering about from one room to another, taking a
mental inventory of the different articles they contained, and trying to
figure up how much ready cash they ought to bring under the auctioneer’s
hammer, Jonathan Brown, who was one of the selectmen, stopped his horse
in front of the barn, and hailed the house.
“Mornin’, neighbor Edwards,” he exclaimed, as Uncle Ruben appeared at
the door. “’Pears to me you look sorter blue, don’t you?”
“I’m so blue it’ll rub off,” replied Uncle Ruben, as he walked out to
the fence and rested his arm on the top rail. “Silas cheated me fearful.
I let him have too much money on that mortgage, an’ I shan’t get it back
into a good many dollars. Then there’s that there boy, George—”
“Yes, I seen him a little while back,” said Mr. Brown, facing about in
his wagon and looking up the road in the direction in which George had
disappeared. “He had a big bundle on his back, an’ when I asked him if
he had found work anywhere, he said he hadn’t, an’, what was more, he
wasn’t goin’ to look for any. Where do you reckon he’s goin’?”
“Up into the hills, to live like a wild Injun,” replied Uncle Ruben, in
a tone of disgust. “But I told him that that wasn’t no respectable way
to live, an’ that I wouldn’t never consent to it.”
“I wouldn’t, neither,” said Mr. Brown.
“I offered to give him a good home, an’ all he could eat and wear, if he
would work for me till he was twenty-one; an’ do you s’pose he would do
it? No, he wouldn’t,” continued Uncle Ruben. “He jest as good as told me
that he didn’t ask no odds of me nor anybody else. Now, Jonathan, don’t
you think that, seein’ as how I shall lose twenty-five, and mebbe fifty
dollars of the money I loaned my brother Silas on this property—don’t
you r’ally think that that there boy had oughter make it up to me?
Couldn’t I force him to do it?”
Mr. Brown scratched his head vigorously, and assumed an air of profound
wisdom as he replied:
“I disremember jest now what the law has to say on that p’int; but I’ll
look it up.”
“An’ don’t you think, Jonathan, that the boy was a fool to refuse a good
home when I offered it to him?”
“Well,” replied Mr. Brown, slowly, “to be honest with you, Ruben, I
don’t know who was the biggest fool—you or George.”
“I know what you mean by them words, Jonathan, but I don’t take no
offense at ’em. I know that there ain’t no other man about here who
would be willin’ to take him into his house; but somehow I couldn’t
forgit that he’s my brother’s son. He hain’t got no livin’ relations
except me, as one may say—seein’ that his mother is dead an’ his father
locked up in prison—an’ so I thought I had oughter do something for
him.”
“That shows your goodness of heart,” said Mr. Brown, who was well enough
acquainted with his friend Ruben to know that the latter never would
have offered George a home under his roof if he had not believed that he
could make something by it. “But it’s my opinion that that there nephew
of yourn will be shut up in prison, same as his father is, before many
days more have passed over his head.”
“Sho!” exclaimed Uncle Ruben, who was greatly astonished. “You don’t
tell me! What’s he been a-doin’ of?”
“I don’t say that he’s been a-doin’ of anything,” said Mr. Brown. “I’m
only givin’ you my opinion; an’ it’s the opinion of more’n one man in
town, too. Now jest listen to me while I tell you. You know that there
was a heap of stealin’ goin’ on about here a while back, don’t you?”
Yes, Uncle Ruben knew all about it. He knew that burglaries had been of
so frequent occurrence that the village merchants had clubbed together
and hired a couple of night watchmen to patrol the streets.
“Well,” continued Mr. Brown, “you remember that while all them stores
were bein’ broke into an’ robbed, our hen-roosts an’ spring-houses
didn’t escape, don’t you?”
Uncle Ruben remembered it perfectly, and he thought of it now with no
little bitterness of heart.
He had missed more than one tub of butter from his spring-house, and
nearly all his fine Plymouth Rock chickens had disappeared, and left no
trace behind.
“All that was mighty curious, seein’ that we couldn’t find no track of
the robbers; but something that happened arterward was still more
curious. When George’s mother was took sick, an’ he had to stay to home
an’ look out for her, there wasn’t no more stealin’ done. You remember
that, too, don’t you?”
Uncle Ruben fairly jumped from the ground, so great was the surprise
occasioned by these words.
“You—you don’t mean to say that George had a hand in robbin’ them stores
an’ hen-roosts, do you?” he asked, as soon as he had recovered the use
of his tongue.
“I don’t mean to say nothing,” was Mr. Brown’s reply. “I’m only jest
a-tellin’ of you.”
“Well! _well!_ That bangs me,” said Uncle Ruben, looking reflectively at
the ground. “I never thought that of George; but then—”
The speaker paused, but his silence spoke volumes. It was plain that the
selectman understood what he meant by it, for he said, with some
earnestness:
“That’s jest what I thought, an’ jest what I said. A boy whose father is
a thief will bear watchin’. Now see here, Ruben. It’s a mighty
disagreeable thing to talk about, but I jest want to tell you. In less’n
a week arter the doors of the prison closed behind your brother, George
an’ his mother began livin’ on the fat of the land. Why, I have seen him
in Chandler’s store, more’n once, spendin’ money for oranges an’ lemons
an’ canned peaches—things that never come into my house, ’cause I can’t
afford ’em—an I’d like to know where he got that money.”
“He used to sell fish an’ berries, you know,” Uncle Ruben ventured to
remark.
“Do you s’pose he made all his money in that way?” inquired Mr. Brown.
“Don’t you reckon he made more out of something else—butter an’
chickens, for instance—an’ that this fish an’ berry business was jest a
blind? I do; an’ I ain’t the only one who thinks so, neither. An’ I’ll
tell you another thing. You can make up your mind to hear of stealin’
an’ plunderin’ about this village before a week has passed away. Sich
doin’s wasn’t never heard of till George built that shanty of his’n up
there in the hills. There wasn’t none of it goin’ on while he was to
home here, ’tendin’ to his mother; but now that he has took to the
woods, it’ll begin ag’in. You wait an’ see.”
So saying, Mr. Brown touched his sleepy old horse with the long hickory
switch which he always carried instead of a whip, and drove off, leaving
Uncle Ruben to his meditations.
The latter did not look like a man whose only nephew had just been
accused of being a thief. He did not appear to be either sorry or vexed,
and, in fact, he wasn’t.
The expression of his countenance showed that he was surprised, and the
sinister smile that lingered about his lips, and the gleeful way in
which he rubbed his hands together, seemed to indicate that he was
delighted, as well.
“Much obliged to you for your visit, Mr. Brown,” said he, as he mounted
the steps that led to the porch. “So George was the one that stole my
Plymouth Rocks, an’ cut up all them other shines, was he? I’m glad I
found it out afore I spoke to the selectmen about havin’ him bound out
to me, for now I can save the cost of havin’ the papers drawn up. I’ll
go home an’ speak to Polly Ann, an’ then I’ll ride up to the lake an’
have another talk with George. I guess he will listen to me this time.”
Having made sure that all the doors and windows were securely fastened,
Uncle Ruben mounted his horse and set out for home.
At the end of a quarter of an hour, the fast-walking clay-bank carried
him through an open gate and past the back door of a thrifty farmhouse.
On the porch stood his wife, who looked surprised, and gave a somewhat
incoherent reply to his cheerful greeting.
On ordinary occasions, Uncle Ruben was not an agreeable person to have
about the house. He was always sullen and morose, unless he had been
fortunate in some way, and then he had a smile and a pleasant word for
everybody.
“Your father is in luck to-day, Sally,” said Mrs. Edwards, as she went
into the kitchen to assist her daughter with the dinner that was ready
to be served up. “I know when he has made a good trade as well as he
knows it himself.”
“Well, then,” replied Sally, joyously, “he must give me money enough to
buy one of them new hats I seen down in the village t’other day. I can
tell him that much.”
Having put the clay-bank in his stall and performed his ablutions at the
horse-trough in the barn-yard, Uncle Ruben came in and announced that he
was ready for dinner.
While he was seated at the table, he talked about almost every subject
except the one that was uppermost in his mind—to tell the truth, he
stood a little in awe of his wife, and dreaded the explosion which he
knew would follow when he spoke of his nephew, and told of the
arrangements he had decided to make with him—and it was not until he had
got up from his chair and put on his hat that he said to her:
“By the way, Polly Ann, I guess you might as well do a little something
t’wards fixin’ up that bed in the garret, for I shall most likely bring
a boy home with me to-night.”
“Who is he?” demanded Mrs. Edwards, rather sharply.
Bound boys—and Uncle Ruben never had any other—were her pet aversion.
“George,” said her husband.
“Not your nephew, George Edwards?” exclaimed Polly Ann, in shrill tones.
Uncle Ruben nodded, and moved nearer to the door.
“Well, if that don’t beat anything I ever heard of, I wouldn’t say so.
Ruben Elias Edwards, have you gone an’ took leave of your seven senses?
Don’t you know—”
“Yes, I know all about it,” interrupted Uncle Ruben. “I know that by
bringin’ him here I can save enough money durin’ the next six years to
buy you an’ Sally all the nice dresses an’ hats you want.”
Sally’s face grew radiant, but her mother was not deceived. She had
listened to just such promises before, and knew how much they were
worth. She settled back in her chair, with a determined look on her
face, and Uncle Ruben, knowing what was coming, hastened to the barn to
saddle his horse.
When he rode by the porch the storm was at its height. His wife was
crying and scolding at an alarming rate, and her shrill tones rang in
his ears long after he had passed through the gate.
“Women is curious things,” said Uncle Ruben to himself, as he urged the
clay-bank forward at his best pace. “I knowed Polly Ann would raise a
harrycane when I told her about George; but, in course, I couldn’t help
that. She’ll do as I told her, all the same, ’cause I am the head boss
in that house. When I once make up my mind to a thing, it has got to go
through.”
This was probably true, so far as his wife and daughter were concerned,
for they were dependent upon him; but George wasn’t, and when Uncle
Ruben came to deal with that young gentleman, he found that he had
undertaken more than he could accomplish.