Volume IV Part 8 (2/2)
Ducklow.
”Why ain't she to home? These women are forever a-gaddin'! I wish Reuben's trunk was in Jericho!”
Thinking of the trunk reminded him of one in the garret, filled with old papers of all sorts,--newspapers, letters, bills of sale, children's writing-books,--acc.u.mulations of the past quarter of a century. Neither fire nor burglar nor ransacking youngster had ever molested those ancient records during all those five-and-twenty years. A bright thought struck him.
”I'll slip the bonds down into that worthless heap o' rubbish, where no one 'ull ever think o' lookin' for 'em, and resk 'em.”
Having a.s.sured himself that Taddy was standing by the wagon, he paid a hasty visit to the trunk in the garret, and concealed the envelope, still bound in its band of tape, among the papers. He then drove away, giving Taddy a final charge to beware of setting anything afire.
He had driven about half a mile, when he met a peddler. There was nothing unusual or alarming in such a circ.u.mstance, surely; but, as Ducklow kept on, it troubled him.
”He'll stop to the house, now, most likely, and want to trade. Findin'
n.o.body but Taddy, there's no knowin' what he'll be tempted to do. But I ain't a-goin' to worry. I'll defy anybody to find them bonds. Besides, she may be home by this time. I guess she'll hear of the fire-alarm and hurry home: it'll be jest like her. She'll be there, and trade with the peddler!” thought Ducklow, uneasily. Then a frightful fancy possessed him. ”She has threatened two or three times to sell that old trunkful of papers. He'll offer a big price for 'em, and ten to one she'll let him have 'em. Why _didn't_ I think on't? What a stupid blunderbuss I be!”
As Ducklow thought of it, he felt almost certain that Mrs. Ducklow had returned home, and that she was bargaining with the peddler at that moment. He fancied her smilingly receiving bright tin-ware for the old papers; and he could see the tape-tied envelope going into the bag with the rest. The result was that he turned about and whipped his old mare home again in terrific haste, to catch the departing peddler.
Arriving, he found the house as he had left it, and Taddy occupied in making a kite-frame.
”Did that peddler stop here?”
”I hain't seen no peddler.”
”And hain't yer Ma Ducklow been home, nuther?”
”No.”
And, with a guilty look, Taddy put the kite-frame behind him.
Ducklow considered. The peddler had turned up a cross-street: he would probably turn down again and stop at the house, after all: Mrs. Ducklow might by that time be at home: then the sale of old papers would be very likely to take place. Ducklow thought of leaving word that he did not wish any old papers in the house to be sold, but feared lest the request might excite Taddy's suspicions.
”I don't see no way but for me to take the bonds with me,” thought he, with an inward groan.
He accordingly went to the garret, took the envelope out of the trunk, and placed it in the breast-pocket of his overcoat, to which he pinned it, to prevent it by any chance from getting out. He used six large, strong pins for the purpose, and was afterwards sorry he did not use seven.
”There's suthin' losin' out o' yer pocket!” bawled Taddy, as he was once more mounting the wagon.
Quick as lightning, Ducklow clapped his hand to his breast. In doing so he loosed his hold of the wagon-box and fell, raking his s.h.i.+n badly on the wheel.
”Yer side-pocket! It's one o' yer mittens!” said Taddy.
”You rascal! How you scared me!”
Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up his trousers-leg to look at the bruised part.
”Got anything in your boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?” asked Taddy, innocently.
”Yes,--a barked s.h.i.+n!--all on your account, too! Go and put that straw back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye let me hear ye speak of my boot-leg again, or I'll boot-leg ye!”
So saying, Ducklow departed.
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