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Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LITTLE SCHOOL-MA'AM
Dan balked only twice on the journey, but even this moderate rebellion so annoyed Uncle John that he declared he would walk back rather than ride behind this "mulish antiquity" again.
When they came to the Thompson dwelling it at first sight seemed deserted. A knock on the front door failed to produce any response.
"Perhaps they're away from home," suggested Louise.
"There's a path around to the back," said Uncle John. "Let's explore in that direction."
They made their way leisurely toward the rear and had almost passed the house, when a deep roar broke the stillness. It was succeeded by another, and another, like the bellowing of a mad bull, and the intruders stopped short and Louise clung to her uncle in sudden panic.
"Be still, Will! Stop, I say – stop!"
A sharp crack, as of a lash, accompanied the words, and a moan or two was followed by absolute silence.
Uncle John and Louise looked at one another with startled eyes.
"He must be worse," said the old gentleman, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.
With one accord they started softly to retrace their steps when a new sound halted them again. It was a clear, fresh young voice singing a plaintive ditty in a nonchalant, careless tone.
"That's Ethel, I'm sure," exclaimed Louise, grasping her uncle's arm.
"Well, what shall we do?" he demanded.
"Mr. – the crazy man seems quiet now," she whispered. "Let us find the girl, if we can."
So again they traversed the path and this time came to the pretty garden behind the house. Ethel was tending a flower bed. She wore her gingham dress and a sunbonnet, and, kneeling in the path, stretched out her slim brown arm to uproot the weeds. But the crunching of the gravel aroused her attention, and, observing her visitors, she sprang up and hastened toward them.
Louise introduced her uncle and herself in her most pleasant and gracious way, and the school teacher led them to a garden bench and begged them to be seated.
"The day is lovely," she said, "and I always find my garden more cheerful than the house. Grandfather's illness makes the house unpleasant for strangers, too."
Louise was surprised at this frank reference, and Uncle John coughed to hide his embarrassment.
"I – I hope the invalid is – is improving," he said, doubtful whether he should say anything on the delicate subject or not.
"He is always the same, sir," was the quiet response. "I suppose they have told you that grandfather is a madman? Our great trouble is well known in this neighborhood."
"He is not dangerous. I suppose?" hazarded Uncle John, remembering the brutal bellowing.
"Oh, not at all. He is fully paralyzed from his waist down, poor grandfather, and can do no harm to anyone. But often his outbreaks are unpleasant to listen to," continued the girl, deprecatingly, as if suddenly conscious that they had overheard the recent uproar.
"Has he been – this way – for long?" inquired Louise.
"His mind has been erratic and unbalanced since I can remember,"
answered Ethel, calmly, "but he first became violent at the time Captain
Wegg died, some three years ago. Grandfather was very fond of the
Captain, and happened to be with him at the time of his sudden death.
The shock drove him mad."
"Was he paralyzed before that time?" asked Louise, earnestly.
"No; but the paralysis followed almost immediately. The doctor says that a blood vessel which burst in the brain is responsible for both afflictions."
The pause that followed was growing awkward when Uncle John said, with an evident effort to change the subject:
"This is a fine old homestead."
"It is, indeed," responded Ethel, brightly, "and it enjoys the distinction of being one of the first houses built in the foothills. My great-grandfather was really the first settler in these parts and originally located his cabin where the mill now stands. 'Little Bill Thompson,' he was called, for he was a small, wiry man – very different from grandfather, who in his prime was a powerful man of over six feet. Little Bill Hill and Little Bill Creek were named after this pioneer great-grandsire, who was quite successful raising flocks of sheep on the plateau. Before he died he built this house, preferring the location to his first one."
"The garden is beautiful," said Louise, enthusiastically. "And do you teach in the little brick school-house across the way?"
"Yes. Grandfather built it years ago, without dreaming I would ever teach there. Now the county supports the school and pays me my salary."
"How long have you taught?"
"For two years. It is necessary, now that grandfather is disabled. He has a small income remaining, however, and with what I earn we get along very nicely."
"It was very good of you to assist in getting our house ready for us," said Louise. "We might have found things in sorry condition but for your kindness."
"Oh, I enjoyed the work, I assure you," replied Ethel. "As it is my vacation, it was a real pleasure to me to have something to do. But I fear my arrangement of your pretty furniture was very ungraceful."
"We haven't altered a single thing," declared Louise. "You must have found it a tedious task, unpacking and getting everything in shape."
"Tom and Nora were good help, because they are fond of me and seem to understand my wishes; and Peggy McNutt brought me some men to do the lifting and rough work," explained Ethel.
"Have you known Hucks and his wife long?" asked Uncle John.
"Since I can remember, sir. They came here many years ago, with Captain
Wegg."
"And has Thomas always smiled?" Louise inquired.
"Always," was the laughing reply. "It's an odd expression – isn't it? – to dwell forever on a man's face. But Tom is never angry, or hurt or excited by anything, so there is no reason he should not smile. At the time of Captain Wegg's death and poor grandfather's terrible affliction, Old Hucks kept right on smiling, the same as ever; and perhaps his pleasant face helped to cheer us all."
Louise drew a long breath.
"Then the smile is a mask," she said, "and is assumed to conceal the man's real feelings."
"I do not think so," Ethel answered, thoughtfully. "The smile is habitual, and dominates any other expression his features might be capable of; but that it is assumed I do not believe. Thomas is a simple-minded, honest-hearted old fellow, and to face the world smilingly is a part of his religion. I am sure he has nothing to conceal, and his devotion to his blind wife is very beautiful."
"But Nora – how long has she been blind?"
"Perhaps all her life; I cannot tell how long. Yet it is wonderful how perfectly she finds her way without the aid of sight. Captain Wegg used to say she was the best housekeeper he ever knew."
"Did not his wife keep house for him, when she was alive?"
"I do not remember her."
"They say she was most unhappy."
Ethel dropped her eyes and did not reply.
"How about Cap'n Wegg?" asked Uncle John. "Did you like him? You see, we're mighty curious about the family, because we've acquired their old home, and are bound to be interested in the people that used to live there."
"That is natural," remarked the little school teacher, with a sigh. "Captain Wegg was always kind to me; but the neighbors as a rule thought him moody and bad-tempered." After a pause she added: "He was not as kind to his son as to me. But I think his life was an unhappy one, and we have no right to reprove his memory too severely for his faults."
"What made him unhappy?" asked Louise, quickly.
Ethel smiled into her eager face.
"No one has solved that problem, they say. The Captain was as silent as he was morose."
The detective instinct was alive in Louise. She hazarded a startling query:
"Who killed Captain Wegg?" she demanded, suddenly.
Another smile preceded the reply.
"A dreadful foe called heart disease. But come; let me show you my garden. There are no such roses as these for miles around."
Louise was confident she had made progress. Ethel had admitted several things that lent countenance to the suspicions already aroused; but perhaps this simple country girl had never imagined the tragedy that had been enacted at her very door.
She cordially urged Ethel Thompson to spend a day with them at the farm, and Uncle John, who was pleased with the modesty and frankness of the fair-haired little school teacher, earnestly seconded the invitation.
Then he thought of going home, and the thought reminded him of Dan.
"Do you know," he inquired, "where I could buy a decent horse?"
The girl looked thoughtful a moment; then glanced up with a bright smile.
"Will you buy one off me?" she asked.
"Willingly, my dear, if you've an animal to sell."
"It's – it's our Joe. He was grandfather's favorite colt when his trouble came upon him. We have no use for him now, for I always ride or drive my pony. And grandmother says he's eating his head off to no purpose; so we'd like to sell him. If you will come to the barn I'll introduce you to him."
Joe proved on inspection to be an excellent horse, if appearances were to be trusted, and Ethel assured Mr. Merrick that the steed was both gentle and intelligent.
"Do you use that surrey?" inquired Uncle John, pointing to a neat vehicle that seemed to be nearly new.
"Very seldom, sir. Grandmother would like to sell it with the horse."
"It's exactly what I need," declared Mr. Merrick. "How much for Joe and his harness, and the surrey?"
"I'll go and ask what grandmother wants."
She returned after a few minutes, stating a figure that made Uncle John lift his brows with a comical expression.
"A hundred dollars! Do you take me for a brigand, little girl? I know what horses are worth, for I've bought plenty of 'em. Your Joe seems sound as a dollar, and he's just in his prime. A hundred and fifty is dirt cheap for him, and the surrey will be worth at least seventy-five. Put in the harness at twenty-five, and I'll give you two-fifty for the outfit, and not a cent more or less. Eh?"
"No, indeed," said Ethel. "We could not get more than a hundred dollars from anyone else around here."
"Because your neighbors are countrymen, and can't afford a proper investment. So when they buy at all they only give about half what a thing is actually worth. But I'll be honest with you. The price I offer is a good deal less than I'd have to pay in the city – Hutchinson would charge me five hundred, at least – and I need just what you've got to sell. What do you say, Miss Ethel?"
"The price is one hundred dollars, Mr. Merrick."
"I won't pay it. Let me talk with your grandmother."
"She does not see anyone, sir."
Louise looked up sharply, scenting another clue.
"Isn't she well, dear?" she asked in smooth tones.
"She looks after grandfather, and helps Aunt Lucy with the housework."
"Well, come, Louise; we'll go home," said Uncle John, sadly. "I'd hoped to be able to drive this fine fellow back, but Dan'll have to groan an' balk all the way to the farm."
Ethel smiled.
"Better buy at my price, Mr. Merrick," she suggested.
"Tell you what I'll do," he said, pausing. "I'll split the difference.
Take two hundred and well call it a bargain."
"But I cannot do that, sir."
"It will help pay you for the hard work of fixing up the house," he rejoined, pleadingly. "Your bill wasn't half enough."
"My bill?" wonderingly.
"The one I paid McNutt for your services."
"I made no charge, sir. I could not accept anything for a bit of assistance to a neighbor."
"Oh! Then McNutt got it, did he?"
"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Merrick. I told Peggy I would not accept payment."
"H-m. Never mind. We're not going to quarrel, little neighbor. May I hitch Joe to the surrey?"
"If you like. I'll help you."
Uncle John led Joe from his stall and together they harnessed the horse to the surrey. The girl knew better than the man how to buckle the straps properly, while Louise stood by helplessly and watched the performance.
Then Uncle John went for old Dan, whom he led, rickety buggy and all, into the Thompson stable.
"I'll send Hucks over to get him, although we might as well knock him in the head," he said as he unharnessed the ancient steed. "Now then, Louise, hop in."
"You'll be sure to come over Thursday, for the day, Miss Thompson?" asked Louise, taking Joe's reins from her uncle's hands.
"I'll not forget such a delightful engagement, be sure."
Uncle John had his pocketbook out, and now he wadded up some bills and thrust them into the little school teacher's hand.
"Drive ahead, Louise," he called. "Good morning, my dear. See you on
Thursday."
As the vehicle rolled out of the yard and turned into the highway, Ethel unrolled the bills with trembling fingers.
"If he has dared – !" she began, but paused abruptly with a smile of content.
The rich man had given her exactly one hundred dollars.
CHAPTER IX.
THE LIVES OF THE SAINTS
On Wednesday afternoon McNutt drove the sad-eyed sorrel mare over to the Wegg farm again. He had been racking his brain for a way to get more money out of the nabob, for the idea had become a veritable passion with him and now occupied all his thoughts.
That very morning an inspiration had come to him. Among other occupations he had at one time adopted that of a book-agent, and by dint of persistent energy had sold numerous copies of "Radford's Lives of the Saints" to the surrounding farmers. They had cost him ninety cents a copy and he had sold them at three dollars each, netting a fine profit in return for his labor. The books were printed upon cheap paper, fearfully illustrated with blurred cuts, but the covers were bound in bright red with gold lettering. Through misunderstandings three of these copies had come back to him, the subscribers refusing to accept them; and so thorough had been his canvassing that there remained no other available customers for the saintly works. So Peggy had kept them on a shelf in his "office" for several years, and now, when his eye chanced to light upon them, he gave a snort of triumph and pounced upon them eagerly. Mr. Merrick was a newcomer. Without doubt he could be induced to buy a copy of Radford's Lives.
An hour later McNutt was on his mission, the three copies, which had been carefully dusted, reclining on the buggy seat beside him. Arrived at the Wegg farm, he drove up to the stile and alighted.
Louise was reading in the hammock, and merely glanced at the little man, who solemnly stumped around to the back door with the three red volumes tucked underneath his arm. He had brought them all along to make his errand "look like business."
"Where's the nabob?" he asked blind Nora.
"What's that, Mr. McNutt?" she inquired, as if puzzled. She knew his voice, as she did that of nearly everyone with whom she had ever been brought in contact.
"Why, the nabob; the boss; Mr. Merrick."
"Oh. He's in the barn with Tom, I guess."
McNutt entered the barn. Uncle John was seated upon an overturned pail watching Old Hucks oil Joe's harness. The agent approached him with a deferential bow.
"Sir," said he, "you'll 'scuse my comin' agin so soon to be a-botherin'; but I hev here three copies of Radford's famis wucks on the Lives o' the Saints, in a edishun dee looks – "
"A what?"
"A edishun dee looks, which means extry fine. It's a great book an' they's all out'n print 'cept these three, which I hain't no doubt many folks would be glad to give their weight in gold fer, an' some over."
"Stand out of the light, McNutt."
The agent shifted his position.
"Them books, sir – "
"Oh, take 'em away."
"What!"
"I don't read novels."
McNutt scratched his head, perplexed at the rebuff. His "dee looks" speech had usually resulted in a sale. An idea flashed across his brain – perhaps evolved by the scratching.
"The young lady, sir – "
"Oh, the girls are loaded with books," growled the nabob.
The agent became desperate.
"But the young lady in the hammick, sir, as I jest now left, says to tell ye she wants one o' these books mighty bad, an' hopes you'll buy it for her eddificationing."
"Oh; she does, eh?"
"Mighty bad, sir."
Uncle John watched Thomas polish a buckle.
"Is it a moral work?" he asked.
"Nuthin' could be moraler, sir. All 'bout the lives o' – "
"How much is it?"
"Comes pretty high, sir. Three dollars. But it's – "
"Here. Take your money and get out. You're interrupting me."
"Very sorry, sir. Much obleeged, sir. Where'll I leave the book?"
"Throw it in the manger."
McNutt selected a volume that had a broken corner and laid it carefully on the edge of the oat-bin. Then he put his money in his pocket and turned away.
"Morn'n' to ye, Mr. Merrick."
"Stop a bit," said Uncle John, suddenly.
The agent stopped.
"I believe I paid you ten dollars for Miss Ethel Thompson's services. Is that correct?"
"Ye – yes, Mr. Merrick."
McNutt's heart was in his shoes and he looked guiltily at his accuser, the pale blue eyes bulging fearfully.
"Very well; see that she gets it."
"Of course, Mr. Merrick."
"And at once. You may go."
McNutt stumped from the barn. He felt that a dreadful catastrophe had overtaken him. Scarcely could he restrain the impulse to sob aloud. Ten dollars! – Ten dollars gone to the dogs as the result of his visit to the nabob that morning! To lose ten dollars in order to gain three was very bad business policy. McNutt reflected bitterly that he would have been better off had he stayed at home. He ought to have been contented with what he had already made, and the severe manner the nabob had used in addressing him told the agent plainly that he need not expect further pickings from this source.
In the midst of his despair the comforting thought that Ethel would surely refuse the money came to sustain him; so he recovered somewhat his former spirits. As he turned the corner of the house he observed Louise still reading in the hammock.
In some ways McNutt was a genius. He did not neglect opportunities.
"Here's my las' chance at these idjits," he muttered, "an' I'll learn thet nabob what it costs, to make Marsh McNutt stand out'n his light."
Then he hastened over to the hammock.
"'Scuse me, miss," said he, in his most ingratiating voice. "Is yer uncle 'round anywheres?"
"Isn't he in the barn?" asked the girl, looking up.
"Can't find him, high ner low. But he ordered a book of me t'other day – 'Radford's Lives o' the Saints' – an' perhaps you'll take it an' pay me the money, so's I kin go home."
Louise gazed at the man musingly. He was one of the people she intended to pump for information concerning the mystery of Captain Wegg, and she must be gracious to him in order to win his good-will and induce him to speak freely. With this thought in mind she drew out her purse and asked:
"How much were you to be paid for the book?"
"Three dollars, miss."
"Here is the money, then. Tell me – your name is McNutt, isn't it? – how long have you lived in this place?"
"All my life, miss. Thank 'e, miss. Good day to ye, miss."
He placed the book in the hammock beside her.
"Don't go, please." said the girl. "I'd like you to tell me something about Captain Wegg, and of his poor wife who died, and – "
"Nuther time, miss, I'll be glad to. Ye'll find me in my orfice, any time. Jest now I'm in the dumdest hurry ye ever knew. Good day to ye, miss," he repeated, and stumped quickly to the buggy awaiting him. Next moment he had seized the reins and was urging the sorrel mare along the stony lane at her best pace.
Louise was both astonished and disappointed, but after a little thought she looked after the departing agent with a shrewd smile.
"He's afraid to talk," she murmured, "and that only confirms my suspicions that he knows more than he cares to tell."
Meantime McNutt was doing his best to get away from the premises before the discovery was made that he had sold two "Lives of the Saints" to one family. That there might be future consequences to follow his deception never occurred to him; only the immediate necessity for escape occupied his mind.
Nor were his fears altogether groundless. Turning his head from time to time for a glance behind, he had seen Mr. Merrick come from the barn with a red book in his hand and approach the hammock, whereupon the young lady arose and exhibited a second book. Then they both dropped the books and ran into the lane and began shouting for him to stop – the man's voice sounding especially indignant and imperative.
But McNutt chose to be deaf. He did not look around again, and was congratulating himself that he would soon be out of earshot when a sudden apparition ahead caused the mare to halt abruptly. It also caused the cold chills to run down the agent's back. Beth and Patsy had stepped into the lane from a field, being on their way home from their daily walk.
"They're calling to you, sir," said Patsy to the agent. "Didn't you hear them?"
"I – I'm a little deaf, miss," stammered McNutt, who recognized the young ladies as Mr. Merrick's nieces.
"I think they wish you to go back," remarked Beth, thoughtfully watching the frantic waves of Uncle John's chubby arms and Louise's energetic beckonings. They were too far off to be heard plainly, but their actions might surely be understood.
McNutt with reluctance looked over his shoulder, and a second shudder went through him.
"I hain't got time to go back," he said, as an inspiration came to him; "but I guess you kin do jest as well. This book here," picking up the last of the three from the seat, "I offered to sell yer uncle fer five dollars; but he wanted it fer four. I ain't no haggler, you understan', so I jest driv away. Now Mr. Merrick has changed his mind an' is willin' to give five fer it; but there ain't nuthin' small about me. Ef you gals'll jest give me the four dollars ye kin take the book to yer uncle, with my compliments; an' I won't hev t' go back. I'm in a drea'ful hurry."
Patsy laughed at the little man's excited manner.
"Fortunately I have some money with me," she said; "but you may as well take the five dollars, for unless Uncle had been willing to pay it he would not have called you back."
"I think so, myself, miss," he rejoined, taking the money and handing her the volume.
Uncle John and Louise, glaring at the distant group, saw the third red book change hands, and in answer to their renewed cries and gestures Patsy waved the "Lives of the Saints" at them reassuringly and came on at a brisk walk, followed by Beth.
McNutt slapped the sorrel with the ends of the reins so energetically that the mare broke into a trot, and before the girls had come within speaking distance of their uncle, the agent was well out of sight and exulting in the possession of eleven dollars to pay for his morning's work. Even if Ethel accepted that ten, he reflected, he would still be a dollar ahead. But he was sure she would tell him to keep it; and he'd "jest like to see thet air nabob git a penny back agin."
Meantime Uncle John's wrath, which was always an effervescent quality with the little gentleman, had changed to wonder when he saw his nieces approaching with the third red-and-gold book. Louise was leaning against the rail fence and laughing hysterically, and suddenly a merry smile appeared and spread over her uncle's round face as he said:
"Did you ever hear of such an audacious swindle in all your born days?"
"What will you do, Uncle?" asked the girl, wiping the tears of merriment from her eyes. "Have the man arrested?"
"Of course not, my dear. It's worth the money just to learn what talents the fellow possesses. Tell me, Patsy," he continued, as the other nieces joined them, "what did you pay for your book?"
"Five dollars. Uncle. He said – "
"Never mind what he said, my dear. It's all right. I wanted it to add to my collection. So far I've got three 'Lives of the Saints' – and I'm thankful they're not cats, or there'd be nine lives for me to accumulate."
