Part 10 (1/2)

The Patriarch's fine old face was aglow with pleasure as he finally understood. Letter writing was beyond him now, a thing of the past, so upon the slate he scrawled:

”You write.”

Madison shook his head; and again with gentle patience explained that perhaps it would be better if the letter came from some one holding an official position in the village, rather than from one who, even in an abstract way, would be unknown to her--the postmaster, for instance.

And the Patriarch, patting Madison's sleeve gratefully, agreed.

Out in the garden behind the cottage, where for the first time in sixty seasons the work must be done by other hands, Hiram Higgins, the volunteer for the moment, was busy at his ”spell.”

Madison stepped to the door and called him in.

”Mr. Higgins,” he said, ”the Patriarch has just told me that he has a grand-niece living in New York, and he wants you to write to her and ask her to come to him.”

”Be that so!” exclaimed Mr. Higgins, gazing earnestly at the Patriarch.

”Well, 'tain't no surprise to me--always calc'lated he must have folks somewheres. An' I'm right glad now he needs 'em he's made up his mind to have 'em come. Wants me to write, does he?”

”He can't write any more himself,” said Madison. ”He seems to think that you, as the postmaster, as well as the town police official, are the proper person to do it--and I quite agree with him.”

”So I be,” declared Mr. Higgins importantly. ”I'll write it on the town paper, an' comin' from the postmaster there won't be no doubt in her mind that it's any of them bunco games or the lurin' of young women away such as I've read about, for I reckon perhaps she ain't never heerd of him before--never knew _him_ to write a letter, an' I calc'late to see most everything that goes out.”

Mr. Higgins picked up the slate and wrote the word ”grand-niece?” upon it in enormous characters; then, amplifying his interrogation by many gestures of his hands, deft from long practice, he held the slate up to the Patriarch.

The Patriarch nodded, and Hiram Higgins nodded back encouragingly.

”Where be her address?” Mr. Higgins inquired of Madison.

Madison stepped to the bookshelves out of view of the Patriarch around the fireplace, but in full view of Mr. Higgins, and, reaching down the Bible from the topmost shelf, extracted from inside its cover the aged, yellow slip of paper that he had deposited there when he had entered the cottage that morning, and on which was inscribed Helena's name and address in a stiff, old-fas.h.i.+oned, angular hand resembling the Patriarch's--an effect that Madison had stayed up half the night to produce.

”I guess this must be it,” he said. ”He said it was here--we'll make sure though”--and he handed it to the Patriarch.

Long and painfully the Patriarch studied it, anxiously deciphering the words that he had never seen before, anxious to know all and whatever this might tell him about his niece--then again he nodded his head and expressed his grat.i.tude by, patting Madison's sleeve.

Madison's smile modestly disavowed any thanks, as he pa.s.sed the slip to Mr. Higgins.

”Reckon that be it,” Mr. Higgins agreed. ”An' now, I guess I'll go right back to town an' write it--I allow that the sooner we get her down here the better. Folks'll be glad to hear this--the women folks was figurin'

on takin' spells an' helpin' out in the house same as the men in the garden--'pears now there won't be no need of it.”

Madison accompanied Mr. Higgins outside and helped him to harness up.

”Look here, Mr. Madison,” said Hiram Higgins, as he made ready to go and climbed into the democrat, ”would you allow that the Patriarch's goin'

blind was goin' to interfere any with his power of curin' folks? It'll be a powerful blow to the town if it does.”

”Why, of course not!” said Madison decisively. ”Certainly not! Indeed, I wouldn't be surprised if it enhanced his power--it's purely mental, you know. They say that the loss of any one or more of the senses generally tends to make the others only the more acute--it's the--er--law of compensation.”

”Glad to hear you say so,” said Mr. Higgins, with a sigh of relief, ”'cause I got another letter to write 'sides this one for the Patriarch.

It come last night, an' I was figurin' on speakin' to you about it.” Mr.

Higgins dropped the reins on the dashboard, and dove into first one pocket and then another. ”Shucks!” said he disgustedly. ”Now if I ain't gone an' left it to home after all. But I dunno as it makes much difference. It was from a fellow up your way by the name of Michael Coogan, an' was addressed to the postmaster. 'Pears he read a piece in the papers about the Patriarch which he sent along with the letter.