Part 19 (1/2)
It was Sat.u.r.day and a busy time for the housekeeper. She had neither leisure nor inclination to argue with a fretful patient, so went away and left him to himself. But she found his desire for Katharine's society an excellent thing. As she had said of Deacon Meakin, ”it kep'
her out of mischief” to act as nurse to the injured farmer, and he now delighted in her. The stories of her old life in the Southern city were almost like the fairy-tales she retold from printed books; and her little provincialisms of speech amused him as much as his country dialect did her. She had soon dropped into the habit of taking his meal-trays to him and strictly enforced his eating a ”right smart” of all the nourishments provided.
At noon of this Sat.u.r.day she was perched upon the edge of his cot, daintily feeding him with bits of food she had cut up, when there was a clatter of feet upon the stairs, and, breathless as usual, Montgomery rushed in, announcing, without even a nod to Moses:
”I-it-it's true! Mis' Turner's seen it in her w-w-wood-shed! Widow Sprigg wasn't m-m-mis-took!”
”Say 'mistaken,' Montgomery Sturtevant, and say it slow,” corrected Katharine, severely, yet immediately turning an inquiring look toward Uncle Moses. Thus far her efforts to improve her playmate's speech had been a safe secret between the two. They hoped to keep it such until the lad could speak a ”whole piece” without stammering.
But the hired man had not observed her remark, or, if he had, probably considered it but one of her naturally dictatorial sort.
”A reg'lar tramp, Monty?” he asked, eagerly.
”R-r-r-regular. Mis' Turner'd put her p-p-pies out to cool on the wood-shed r-r-roof an' they was six seven of 'em, an', sir, w-w-w-when she went t-t-t-to take 'em in one was g-one! Yes, sir! An' she seen somethin' b-b-b-lack scooting cross lots, l-l-li-lic-lick--ety c-c-c-ut!”
”Monty, if I were you, I wouldn't try to say 'lickety-cut,' till--”
again reproved the girl-teacher, still forgetful of secrecy. And again Mr. Jones ignored her, asking the boy:
”Where was Bob, son of Mrs. Turner, about that time?”
”F-f-fudge! I don't know. Somewhere's r-r-round, m-maybe. But it wasn't him. 'Twas a b-b-bigger, b-b-be-beard-d-er feller'n him.”
”You said 'six seven' pies. If she didn't know how many she made how'd she know she lost any?”
”Well, sir! An' there was old Mr. Witherspoon, d-dr-driv-in' down mountain with a load o' c-c-carrots, he--he seen him cr-cr-cross--in'
Perkins's corn-field an' he t-thought 'twas a sc-sc-scarecrow, till it walked. Sc-sc-sc-scarecrows couldn't do that he kn-kn-knew, an'--”
Although Eunice had done her utmost to keep the story of the bra.s.s bound box a secret from even her own household, it was inevitable that knowledge of it should come to the ears of the sick man, since it was the chief interest of the many neighbors who called to see him. Yet all he could gain from his callers was the vague suspicion each entertained. He meant now to get at the facts of the case. Montgomery had spread the tale, but had strangely kept silence with him, his old chum. Montgomery should speak now, or Moses would know the reason why; and if he still declined to explain matters he should be punished by being left out of the next fis.h.i.+ng-party Uncle Mose would organize--if he ever fished again! He interrupted, saying:
”Never mind Witherspoon an' the carrots, Monty. Nor tramps, nuther.
Sence I ain't constable, to do it myself, I hope the poor creatur' won't get 'rested. Don't know where'd he be stowed, anyway, in this benighted Marsden, where there ain't neither a jail nor a touch to one. What I want to know is: What did you find in Eunice's woods?”
Monty did some rapid thinking, the question had been a surprise, but he answered, promptly:
”N-n-not-nothing.”
”Montgomery Sturtevant! How dare you? An' I will say that's the first lie I ever heard you tell. You're bad enough, oh, you're as bad as you need to be, but--a liar! Whew!”
The lad sprang to his feet, furious. His hands clenched, and it was well that his accuser was a disabled old man, else the ”hot blood of the Sturtevants” might have driven their young descendant to do desperate deeds. As it was, he choked, glared, and finally stammered:
”I-if you was a boy, an' not old l-li-like you are, I'd make you t-t-take that back, or--k-k-kill you! It's the tr-tr-truth! I don't lie!
Do I, K-K-Katharine?”
The girl had never seen anybody so angry. Her own temper was quick enough, but its outbursts short-lived, and she certainly had never had the least desire to ”kill” anybody. Montgomery looked as if he meant it, and in distress she threw herself upon him forcibly, unclasped his clenched fingers, and begged:
”Don't say that, Monty! Oh, don't say such dreadful things!” Then faced around toward the cot, declaring: ”He didn't 'lie,' Uncle Moses. It's true. He didn't find--”
Oh, she had almost betrayed herself in her eagerness to defend her friend.
”Didn't find what, 'Kitty Keehoty'? An' if you didn't yourself, lad, why, you was along at the time. How else--But I'm sorry I used that hateful word. I don't blame you for your s.p.u.n.k. I'd knock a feller down 'at called me 'liar' to my face, even now, old an' bedrid' as I be. I take it back an' call it square--if you will. But tell the hull business now, to your poor old fis.h.i.+n' teacher, an' let's be done with mysteries.
Eunice, she's as mum as an oyster; an' Susanna, she talks a lot of explaining yet don't explain nothin'. What's all about, anyway, that's set Marsden crazy? Why, one man come to see me, was tellin' of searchin'-parties ransackin' our woods, prospectin', or somethin'. D'ye ever hear such impudence? Why, if I was constable, I'd arrest every man-jack of 'em that's dared to put pickaxe or spade in our ground! I'd have the law on 'em, neighbor or no neighbor. Well, they won't find a thing. 'Cept maybe a few chestnuts or such. As for gold--Hm-m! But somethin' was found--what was it, Monty?”