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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mary-'Gusta, by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Mary-'Gusta
+
+Author: Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+Release Date: May 16, 2006 [eBook #2473]
+[Most recently updated: January 8, 2023]
+
+Language: English
+
+Produced by: Donald Lainson; David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY-'GUSTA ***
+
+
+
+
+MARY-'GUSTA
+
+By Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+
+
+
+MARY-'GUSTA
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+On the twentieth day of April in the year 19--, the people--that is, a
+majority of the grown people of Ostable--were talking of Marcellus Hall
+and Mary-'Gusta.
+
+A part of this statement is not surprising. The average person, no
+matter how humble or obscure, is pretty certain to be talked about on
+the day of his funeral, and Marcellus was to be buried that afternoon.
+Moreover, Marcellus had been neither humble nor obscure; also, he had
+been talked about a good deal during the fifty-nine years of his sojourn
+on this planet. So it is not at all surprising that he should be talked
+about now, when that sojourn was ended. But for all Ostable--yes, and a
+large part of South Harniss--to be engaged in speculation concerning the
+future of Mary-'Gusta was surprising, for, prior to Marcellus's death,
+very few outside of the Hall household had given her or her future a
+thought.
+
+On this day, however, whenever or wherever the name of Marcellus Hall
+was mentioned, after the disposition of Marcellus's own bones had been
+discussed and those of his family skeleton disinterred and articulated,
+the conversation, in at least eight cases out of ten, resolved itself
+into a guessing contest, having as its problem this query:
+
+“What's goin' to become of that child?”
+
+For example:
+
+Mr. Bethuel Sparrow, local newsgatherer for the Ostable Enterprise,
+seated before his desk in the editorial sanctum, was writing an obituary
+for next week's paper, under the following head:
+
+“A Prominent Citizen Passes Away.”
+
+An ordinary man would probably have written “Dies”; but Mr. Sparrow,
+being a young and very new reporter for a rural weekly, wrote “Passes
+Away” as more elegant and less shocking to the reader.
+
+It is much more soothing and refined to pass away than to die--unless
+one happens to be the person most concerned, in which case, perhaps, it
+may make little difference.
+
+“The Angel of Death,” wrote Mr. Sparrow, “passed through our midst on
+Tuesday last and called to his reward Captain Marcellus Hall, one of
+Ostable's most well-known and influential residents.”
+
+A slight exaggeration here. Marcellus had lived in Ostable but five
+years altogether and, during the last three, had taken absolutely
+no part in town affairs--political, religious or social. However,
+“influential” is a good word and usual in obituaries, so Bethuel let it
+stand. He continued:
+
+“Captain Hall's sudden death--”
+
+Erasure of “death” and substitution of “demise.”
+
+Then:
+
+“--Was a shock to the community at large. It happened on account of--”
+ More erasures and substitutions. “--It was the result of his taking cold
+owing to exposure during the heavy southeast rains of week before last
+which developed into pneumonia. He grew rapidly worse and passed away at
+3.06 P.M. on Tuesday, leaving a vacancy in our midst which will be hard
+to fill, if at all. Although Captain Hall had resided in Ostable but a
+comparatively short period, he was well-known and respected, both as a
+man and--”
+
+Here, invention failing, Mr. Sparrow called for assistance.
+
+“Hey, Perce,” he hailed, addressing his companion, Mr. Percy Clark, who
+was busy setting type: “What's a good word to use here? I say Marcellus
+was respected both as a man--and somethin' else.”
+
+“Hey?” queried Percy, absently, scanning the eight point case. “What
+d'ye say?”
+
+“I asked you what would be a good thing to go with 'man'?”
+
+“Hey? I don't know. Woman, I guess.”
+
+“Aw, cut it out. Never mind, I got it:
+
+“--As a man and a citizen. Captain Hall was fifty-nine years of age at
+the time of his demise. He was born in South Harniss and followed the
+sea until 1871, when he founded the firm of Hall and Company, which was
+for some years the leading dealer in fresh and salt fish in this section
+of the state. When the firm--
+
+“I say, Perce! 'Twouldn't do to say Marcellus failed in business, would
+it? Might seem like hintin' at that stuff about his sister and the rest
+of it. Might get us into trouble, eh?”
+
+“Humph! I don't know who with. Everybody's talkin' about it, anyway. Up
+to the boardin' house they've been talking about mighty little else ever
+since he died.”
+
+“I know, but talk's one thing and print's another. I'm goin' to leave it
+out.
+
+“When the firm went out of business in 1879, Captain Hall followed the
+sea again, commanding the ships Faraway, Fair Wind, and Treasure Seeker,
+and the bark Apollo. Later he retired from the sea and has not been
+active in the same or otherwise since. In 1894 he married Augusta Bangs
+Lathrop, widow of the late Reverend Charles Lathrop, formerly pastor of
+the Congregational Church in this town. Captain Hall had been residing
+in his native town, South Harniss, but after his marriage he took up
+his residence in Ostable, purchasing the residence formerly owned by
+Elnathan Phinney on Phinney's Hill, where he lived until his lamented
+demise. Mrs. Hall passed away in 1896. The sudden removal of Captain
+Hall from our midst leaves a stepdaughter, Mary Augusta Lathrop, aged
+seven. The--”
+
+Here Mr. Sparrow's train of thought collided with the obstruction which
+was derailing many similar trains in Ostable and South Harniss.
+
+“I say, Perce,” he observed “what's goin' to become of that kid of
+Marcellus's--his wife's, I mean? Marcellus didn't have any relations, as
+far as anybody knows, and neither did his wife. Who's goin' to take care
+of Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Percy shook his head. “Don't know,” he answered. “That's what all hands
+are askin'. I presume likely she'll be looked after. Marcellus left
+plenty of money, didn't he? And kids with money can generally find
+guardians.”
+
+“Yup, I guess that's so. Still, whoever gets her will have their hands
+full. She's the most old-fashioned, queerest young-one ever I saw.”
+
+
+So much for Mr. Sparrow and his fellow laborer for the Enterprise. Now
+to listen for a moment to Judge Baxter, who led the legal profession
+of Ostable; and to Mrs. Baxter who, so common report affirmed, led the
+Judge. The pair were upstairs in the Baxter house, dressing for the
+funeral.
+
+“Daniel,” declared Mrs. Baxter, “it's the queerest thing I ever heard
+of. You say they don't know--either of them--and the child herself
+doesn't know, either.”
+
+“That's it, Ophelia. No one knows except myself. Captain Hall read the
+letter to me and put it in my charge a year ago.”
+
+“Well, I must say!”
+
+“Yes, I know, I said it at the time, and I've been saying it to myself
+ever since. It doesn't mean anything; that is, it is not binding
+legally, of course. It's absolutely unbusinesslike and unpractical.
+Simply a letter, asking them, as old friends, to do this thing. Whether
+they will or not the Almighty only knows.”
+
+“Well, Daniel, I must say I shouldn't have thought you, as his lawyer,
+would have let him do such a thing. Of course, I don't know either of
+them very well, but, from what little I've heard, I should say they
+know as much about what they would be supposed to do as--as you do about
+tying a necktie. For mercy sakes let me fix it! The knot is supposed to
+be under your chin, not under your ear as if you were going to be hung.”
+
+The Judge meekly elevated the chin and his wife pulled the tie into
+place.
+
+“And so,” she said, “they can say yes or no just as they like.”
+
+“Yes, it rests entirely with them.”
+
+“And suppose they say no, what will become of the child then?”
+
+“I can't tell you. Captain Hall seemed pretty certain they wouldn't say
+no.”
+
+“Humph! There! Now you look a little more presentable. Have you got a
+clean handkerchief? Well, that's an unexpected miracle; I don't know how
+you happened to think of it. When are you going to speak with them about
+it?”
+
+“Today, if they come to the funeral, as I suppose they will.”
+
+“I shall be in a fidget until I know whether they say yes or no. And
+whichever they say I shall keep on fidgeting until I see what happens
+after that. Poor little Mary-'Gusta! I wonder what WILL become of her.”
+
+The Judge shook his head.
+
+
+Over the road between South Harniss and Ostable a buggy drawn by an aged
+white horse was moving slowly. On the buggy's seat were two men, Captain
+Shadrach Gould and Zoeth Hamilton. Captain Gould, big, stout, and
+bearded, was driving. Mr. Hamilton, small, thin, smooth-faced and
+white-haired, was beside him. Both were obviously dressed in their
+Sunday clothes, Captain Shadrach's blue, Mr. Hamilton's black. Each wore
+an uncomfortably high collar and the shoes of each had been laboriously
+polished. Their faces, utterly unlike in most respects, were very
+solemn.
+
+“Ah hum!” sighed Mr. Hamilton.
+
+Captain Shadrach snorted impatiently.
+
+“For the land sakes don't do that again, Zoeth,” he protested. “That's
+the tenth 'Ah hum' you've cast loose in a mile. I know we're bound to a
+funeral but there ain't no need of tollin' the bell all the way. I don't
+like it and I don't think Marcellus would neither, if he could hear
+you.”
+
+“Perhaps he can hear us, Shadrach,” suggested his companion, mildly.
+“Perhaps he's here with us now; who can tell?”
+
+“Humph! Well, if he is then I KNOW he don't like it. Marcellus never
+made any fuss whatever happened, and he wouldn't make any at his own
+funeral no more than at anybody else's. That wasn't his way. Say nothin'
+and keep her on the course, that was Marcellus. I swan I can hardly make
+it seem possible that he's gone!”
+
+“Neither can I, Shadrach. And to think that you and me, his old partners
+and lifelong chums as you might say, hadn't seen nor spoken to him
+for over two years. It makes me feel bad. Bad and sort of
+conscience-struck.”
+
+“I know; so it does me, in a way. And yet it wasn't our fault, Zoeth.
+You know as well as I do that Marcellus didn't want to see us. We was
+over to see him last and he scarcely said a word while we was there.
+You and me did all the talkin' and he just set and looked at us--when
+he wasn't lookin' at the floor. I never saw such a change in a man. We
+asked--yes, by fire, we fairly begged him to come and stay with us for
+a spell, but he never did. Now it ain't no further from Ostable to South
+Harniss than it is from South Harniss to Ostable. If he'd wanted to come
+he could; if he'd wanted to see us he could. We went to see him,
+didn't we; and WE had a store and a business to leave. He ain't had any
+business since he give up goin' to sea. He--”
+
+“Sshh! Shh!” interrupted Mr. Hamilton, mildly, “don't talk that way,
+Shadrach. Don't find fault with the dead.”
+
+“Find fault! I ain't findin' fault. I thought as much of Marcellus Hall
+as any man on earth, and nobody feels worse about his bein' took than
+I do. But I'm just sayin' what we both know's a fact. He didn't want to
+see us; he didn't want to see nobody. Since his wife died he lived alone
+in that house, except for a housekeeper and that stepchild, and never
+went anywhere or had anybody come to see him if he could help it. A
+reg'lar hermit--that's what he was, a hermit, like Peleg Myrick down
+to Setuckit P'int. And when I think what he used to be, smart, lively,
+able, one of the best skippers and smartest business men afloat or
+ashore, it don't seem possible a body could change so. 'Twas that woman
+that done it, that woman that trapped him into gettin' married.”
+
+“Sshh! Shh! Shadrach; she's dead, too. And, besides, I guess she was a
+real good woman; everybody said she was.”
+
+“I ain't sayin' she wasn't, am I? What I say is she hadn't no business
+marryin' a man twenty years older'n she was.”
+
+“But,” mildly, “you said she trapped him. Now we don't know--”
+
+“Zoeth Hamilton, you know she must have trapped him. You and I agreed
+that was just what she done. If she hadn't trapped him--set a reg'lar
+seine for him and hauled him aboard like a school of mackerel--'tain't
+likely he'd have married her or anybody else, is it? I ain't married
+nobody, have I? And Marcellus was years older'n I be.”
+
+“Well, well, Shadrach!”
+
+“No, 'tain't well; it's bad. He's gone, and--and you and me that was
+with him for years and years, his very best friends on earth as you
+might say, wasn't with him when he died. If it hadn't been for her he'd
+have stayed in South Harniss where he belonged. Consarn women! They're
+responsible for more cussedness than the smallpox. 'When a man marries
+his trouble begins'; that's gospel, too.”
+
+Zoeth did not answer.
+
+Captain Gould, after a sidelong glance at his companion, took a hand
+from the reins and laid it on the Hamilton knee.
+
+“I'm sorry, Zoeth,” he said, contritely; “I didn't mean to--to rake up
+bygones; I was blowin' off steam, that's all. I'm sorry.”
+
+“I know, Shadrach. It's all right.”
+
+“No, 'tain't all right; it's all wrong. Somebody ought to keep a watch
+on me, and when they see me beginnin' to get hot, set me on the back of
+the stove or somewheres; I'm always liable to bile over and scald the
+wrong critter. I've done that all my life. I'm sorry, Zoeth, you know I
+didn't mean--”
+
+“I know, I know. Ah hum! Poor Marcellus! Here's the first break in the
+old firm, Shadrach.”
+
+“Yup. You and me are all that's left of Hall and Company. That is--”
+
+He stopped short just in time and roared a “Git dap” at the horse. He
+had been on the point of saying something which would have been far more
+disastrous than his reference to the troubles following marriage. Zoeth
+was apparently not curious. To his friend's great relief he did not wait
+for the sentence to be finished, nor did he ask embarrassing questions.
+Instead he said:
+
+“I wonder what's goin' to become of that child, Mary Lathrop's girl. Who
+do you suppose likely will take charge of her?”
+
+“I don't know. I've been wonderin' that myself, Zoeth.”
+
+“Kind of a cute little thing, she was, too, as I recollect her. I
+presume likely she's grown up consid'ble since. You remember how she set
+and looked at us that last time we was over to see Marcellus, Shadrach?”
+
+“Remember? How she looked at ME, you mean! Shall I ever forget it? I'd
+just had my hair cut by that new barber, Sim Ellis, that lived here
+'long about then, and I told him to cut off the ends. He thought I meant
+the other ends, I cal'late, for I went to sleep in the chair, same as I
+generally do, and when I woke up my head looked like the main truck of
+the old Faraway. All it needed was to have the bald place gilded. I give
+you my word that if I hadn't been born with my ears set wing and wing
+like a schooner runnin' afore the wind I'd have been smothered when I
+put my hat on--nothin' but them ears kept it propped up off my nose.
+YOU remember that haircut, Zoeth. Well, all the time you and me was in
+Marcellus's settin'-room that stepchild of his just set and looked at my
+head. Never took her eyes off it. If she'd said anything 'twouldn't
+have been so bad; but she didn't--just looked. I could feel my bald spot
+reddenin' up till I swan to man I thought it must be breakin' out in
+blisters. 'Never see anybody that looked just like me, did you, Sis?' I
+says to her, when I couldn't stand it any longer. 'No, sir,' she says,
+solemn as an owl. She was right out and honest, I'll say that for her.
+That's the only time Marcellus laughed while we was inside that house.
+I didn't blame him much. Ho, ho! Well, he ain't laughin' now and neither
+are we--or we hadn't ought to be. Neither is the child, I cal'late, poor
+thing. I wonder what will become of her.”
+
+
+And meanwhile the child herself was vaguely, and in childish fashion,
+wondering that very thing. She was in the carriage room of the barn
+belonging to the Hall estate--if the few acres of land and the buildings
+owned by the late Marcellus may be called an estate--curled up on the
+back seat of the old surrey which had been used so little since the
+death of her mother, Augusta Hall, four years before. The surrey was
+shrouded from top to floor with a dust cover of unbleached muslin
+through which the sunshine from the carriage room windows filtered in a
+mysterious, softened twilight. The covered surrey was a favorite retreat
+of Mary-'Gusta's. She had discovered it herself--which made it doubly
+alluring, of course--and she seldom invited her juvenile friends to
+share its curtained privacy with her. It was her playhouse, her tent,
+and her enchanted castle, much too sacred to be made common property.
+Here she came on rainy Saturdays and on many days not rainy when other
+children, those possessing brothers or sisters, played out of doors. She
+liked to play by herself, to invent plays all her own, and these other
+children--“normal children,” their parents called them--were much
+too likely to laugh instead of solemnly making believe as she did.
+Mary-'Gusta was not a normal child; she was “that queer Lathrop
+young-one”--had heard herself so described more than once. She did not
+like the phrase; “queer” was not so bad--perhaps she was queer--but she
+had an instinctive repugnance to being called a young-one. Birds and
+rabbits had young-ones and she was neither feathered nor furred.
+
+So very few of the neighborhood children were invited to the shaded
+interior of the old surrey. Her dolls--all five of them--spent a good
+deal of time there and David, the tortoise-shell cat, came often,
+usually under compulsion. When David had kittens, which interesting
+domestic event took place pretty frequently, he--or she--positively
+refused to be an occupant of that surrey, growling and scratching in a
+decidedly ungentlemanly--or unladylike--manner. Twice Mary-'Gusta had
+attempted to make David more complacent by bringing the kittens also to
+the surrey, but their parent had promptly and consecutively seized
+them by the scruff of their necks and laboriously lugged them up to the
+haymow again.
+
+Just now, however, there being no kittens, David was slumbering in
+a furry heap beside Mary-'Gusta at one end of the carriage seat, and
+Rosette, the smallest of the five dolls, and Rose, the largest, were
+sitting bolt upright in the corner at the other end. The christening of
+the smallest and newest doll was the result of a piece of characteristic
+reasoning on its owner's part. She was very fond of the name Rose, the
+same being the name of the heroine in “Eight Cousins,” which story Mrs.
+Bailey, housekeeper before last for Marcellus Hall, had read aloud to
+the child. When the new doll came, at Christmas time, Mary-'Gusta wished
+that she might christen it Rose also. But there was another and much
+beloved Rose already in the family. So Mary-'Gusta reflected and
+observed, and she observed that a big roll of tobacco such as her
+stepfather smoked was a cigar; while a little one, as smoked by Eben
+Keeler, the grocer's delivery clerk, was a cigarette. Therefore, the big
+doll being already Rose, the little one became Rosette.
+
+Mary-'Gusta was not playing with Rose and Rosette at the present time.
+Neither was she interested in the peaceful slumbers of David. She was
+not playing at all, but sitting, with feet crossed beneath her on the
+seat and hands clasped about one knee, thinking. And, although she was
+thinking of her stepfather who she knew had gone away to a vague place
+called Heaven--a place variously described by Mrs. Bailey, the former
+housekeeper, and by Mrs. Susan Hobbs, the present one, and by Mr. Howes,
+the Sunday school superintendent--she was thinking most of herself, Mary
+Augusta Lathrop, who was going to a funeral that very afternoon and,
+after that, no one seemed to know exactly where.
+
+It was a beautiful April day and the doors of the carriage house and
+the big door of the barn were wide open. Mary-'Gusta could hear the hens
+clucking and the voices of people talking. The voices were two: one was
+that of Mrs. Hobbs, the housekeeper, and the other belonged to Mr. Abner
+Hallett, the undertaker. Mary-'Gusta did not like Mr. Hallett's voice;
+she liked neither it nor its owner's manner; she described both voice
+and manner to herself as “too soothy.” They gave her the shivers.
+
+Mr. Hallett's tone was subdued at the present time, but a trifle of the
+professional “soothiness” was lacking. He and Mrs. Hobbs were conversing
+briskly enough and, although Mary-'Gusta could catch only a word or two
+at intervals, she was perfectly sure they were talking about her. She
+was certain that if she were to appear at that moment in the door of the
+barn they would stop talking immediately and look at her. Everybody whom
+she had met during the past two days looked at her in that queer way. It
+made her feel as if she had something catching, like the measles, and as
+if, somehow or other, she was to blame.
+
+She realized dimly that she should feel very, very badly because her
+stepfather was dead. Mrs. Hobbs had told her that she should and seemed
+to regard her as queerer than ever because she had not cried. But,
+according to the housekeeper, Captain Hall was out of his troubles and
+had gone where he would be happy for ever and ever. So it seemed to her
+strange to be expected to cry on his account. He had not been happy
+here in Ostable, or, at least, he had not shown his happiness in the way
+other people showed theirs. To her he had been a big, bearded giant of
+a man, whom she saw at infrequent intervals during the day and always
+at night just before she went to bed. His room, with the old-fashioned
+secretary against the wall, and the stuffed gull on the shelf, and the
+books in the cupboard, and the polished narwhal horn in the corner, was
+to her a sort of holy of holies, a place where she was led each evening
+at nine o'clock, at first by Mrs. Bailey and, later, by Mrs. Hobbs,
+to shake the hand of the big man who looked at her absently over his
+spectacles and said good night in a voice not unkindly but expressing no
+particular interest. At other times she was strictly forbidden to enter
+that room.
+
+Occasionally, but very rarely, she had eaten Sunday dinner with
+Marcellus. She and the housekeeper usually ate together and Mr. Hall's
+meals were served in what the child called “the smoke room,” meaning the
+apartment just described, which was at all times strongly scented with
+tobacco. The Sunday dinners were stately and formal affairs and were
+prefaced by lectures by the housekeeper concerning sitting up straight
+and not disturbing Cap'n Hall by talking too much. On the whole
+Mary-'Gusta was rather glad when the meals were over. She did not
+dislike her stepfather; he had never been rough or unkind, but she had
+always stood in awe of him and had felt that he regarded her as a “pesky
+nuisance,” something to be fed and then shooed out of the way, as Mrs.
+Hobbs regarded David, the cat. As for loving him, as other children
+seemed to love their fathers; that the girl never did. She was sure
+he did not love her in that way, and that he would not have welcomed
+demonstrations of affection on her part. She had learned the reason, or
+she thought she had: she was a STEPCHILD; that was why, and a stepchild
+was almost as bad as a “changeling” in a fairy story.
+
+Her mother she remembered dimly and with that recollection were memories
+of days when she was loved and made much of, not only by Mother, but by
+Captain Hall also. She asked Mrs. Bailey, whom she had loved and whose
+leaving was the greatest grief of her life, some questions about these
+memories. Mrs. Bailey had hugged her and had talked a good deal about
+Captain Hall's being a changed man since his wife's death. “He used to
+be so different, jolly and good-natured and sociable; you wouldn't know
+him now if you seen him then. When your mamma was took it just seemed to
+wilt him right down. He was awful sick himself for a spell, and when
+he got better he was like he is today. Seems as if HE died too, as
+you might say, and ain't really lived since. I'm awful sorry for Cap'n
+Marcellus. You must be real good to him when you grow up, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+And now he had gone before she had had a chance to grow up, and
+Mary-'Gusta felt an unreasonable sense of blame. But real grief, the
+dreadful paralyzing realization of loss which an adult feels when a dear
+one dies, she did not feel.
+
+She was awed and a little frightened, but she did not feel like crying.
+Why should she?
+
+“Mary-'Gusta! Mary-'Gusta! Where be you?”
+
+It was Mrs. Hobbs calling. Mary-'Gusta hurriedly untwisted her legs
+and scrambled from beneath the dust cover of the surrey. David, whose
+slumbers were disturbed, rose also, yawned and stretched.
+
+“Here I be, Mrs. Hobbs,” answered the girl. “I'm a-comin'.”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs was standing in the doorway of the barn. Mary-'Gusta noticed
+that she was not, as usual, garbed in gingham, but was arrayed in her
+best go-to-meeting gown.
+
+“I'm a-comin',” said the child.
+
+“Comin', yes. But where on earth have you been? I've been hunting all
+over creation for you. I didn't suppose you'd be out here, on this day
+of all others, with--with that critter,” indicating David, who appeared,
+blinking sleepily.
+
+“I must say I shouldn't think you'd be fussin' along with a cat today,”
+ declared Mrs. Hobbs.
+
+“Yes'm,” said Mary-'Gusta. David yawned, apparently expressing a bored
+contempt for housekeepers in general.
+
+“Come right along into the house,” continued Mrs. Hobbs. “It's high time
+you was gettin' ready for the funeral.”
+
+“Ready? How?” queried Mary-'Gusta.
+
+“Why, changin' your clothes, of course.”
+
+“Do folks dress up for funerals?”
+
+“Course they do. What a question!”
+
+“I didn't know. I--I've never had one.”
+
+“Had one?”
+
+“I mean I've never been to any. What do they dress up for?”
+
+“Why--why, because they do, of course. Now don't ask any more questions,
+but hurry up. Where are you goin' now, for mercy sakes?”
+
+“I was goin' back after Rose and Rosette. They ought to be dressed up,
+too, hadn't they?”
+
+“The idea! Playin' dolls today! I declare I never see such a child!
+You're a reg'lar little--little heathen. Would you want anybody playin'
+dolls at your own funeral, I'd like to know?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta thought this over. “I don't know,” she answered, after
+reflection. “I guess I'd just as soon. Do they have dolls up in Heaven,
+Mrs. Hobbs?”
+
+“Mercy on us! I should say not. Dolls in Heaven! The idea!”
+
+“Nor cats either?”
+
+“No. Don't ask such wicked questions.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta asked no more questions of that kind, but her conviction
+that Heaven--Mrs. Hobbs' Heaven--was a good place for housekeepers and
+grown-ups but a poor one for children was strengthened.
+
+They entered the house by the kitchen door and ascended the back stairs
+to Mary-'Gusta's room. The shades in all the rooms were drawn and the
+house was dark and gloomy. The child would have asked the reason for
+this, but at the first hint of a question Mrs. Hobbs bade her hush.
+
+“You mustn't talk,” she said.
+
+“Why mustn't I?”
+
+“Because 'tain't the right thing to do, that's why. Now hurry up and get
+dressed.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta silently wriggled out of her everyday frock, was led to the
+washstand and vigorously scrubbed. Then Mrs. Hobbs combed and braided
+what she called her “pigtails” and tied a bow of black ribbon at the end
+of each.
+
+“There!” exclaimed the lady. “You're clean for once in your life,
+anyhow. Now hurry up and put on them things on the bed.”
+
+The things were Mary-'Gusta's very best shoes and dress; also a pair of
+new black stockings.
+
+When the dressing was finished the housekeeper stood her in the middle
+of the floor and walked about her on a final round of inspection.
+
+“There!” she said again, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Nobody can say
+I ain't took all the pains with you that anybody could. Now you come
+downstairs and set right where I tell you till I come. And don't you say
+one single word. Not a word, no matter what happens.”
+
+She took the girl's hand and led her down the front stairs. As they
+descended Mary-'Gusta could scarcely restrain a gasp of surprise. The
+front door was open--the FRONT door--and the child had never seen it
+open before, had long ago decided that it was not a truly door at all,
+but merely a make-believe like the painted windows on the sides of her
+doll house. But now it was wide open and Mr. Hallett, arrayed in a suit
+of black, the coat of which puckered under the arms, was standing on the
+threshold, looking more soothy than ever. The parlor door was open also,
+and the parlor itself--the best first parlor, more sacred and forbidden
+even than the “smoke room”--was, as much of it as she could see, filled
+with chairs.
+
+Mrs. Hobbs led her into the little room off the parlor, the “back
+settin'-room,” and, indicating the haircloth and black walnut sofa
+against the wall, whispered to her to sit right there and not move.
+
+“Mind now,” she whispered, “don't talk and don't stir. I'll be back by
+and by.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta, left alone, looked wide-eyed about the little back
+sitting-room. It, too, was changed; not changed as much as the front
+parlor, but changed, nevertheless. Most of the furniture had been
+removed. The most comfortable chairs, including the rocker with the
+parrot “tidy” on the back, had been taken away. One or two of the
+bolt-upright variety remained and the “music chair” was still there, but
+pushed back into a corner.
+
+Mary-'Gusta saw the music chair and a quiver of guilty fear tinged along
+her spine; that particular chair had always been, to her, the bright,
+particular glory of the house. Not because it was beautiful, for that it
+distinctly was not; but because of the marvellous secret hidden beneath
+its upholstered seat. Captain Marcellus had brought it home years and
+years before, when he was a sea-going bachelor and made voyages to
+Hamburg. In its normal condition it was a perfectly quiet and ugly
+chair, but there was a catch under one arm and a music box under the
+seat. And if that catch were released, then when anyone sat in it, the
+music box played “The Campbell's Are Coming” with spirit and jingle.
+And, moreover, kept on playing it to the finish unless the catch was
+pushed back again.
+
+To Mary-'Gusta that chair was a perpetual fascination. She had been
+expressly forbidden to touch it, had been shut in the dark closet more
+than once for touching it; but, nevertheless, the temptation was always
+there and she had yielded to that temptation at intervals when Mrs.
+Hobbs and her stepfather were out. And the last time she had touched it
+she had broken the catch. She had wound up the music box, after hearing
+it play, but the catch which made it a perfectly safe seat and not a
+trap for the unwary had refused to push back into place. And now
+there it was, loaded and primed, so to speak, and she was responsible.
+Suppose--Oh, horrible thought!--suppose anyone should sit in it that
+afternoon!
+
+She gasped and jumped off the sofa. Then she remembered Mrs. Hobbs'
+parting command and stopped, hesitating. Mr. Hallett, standing at the
+end of the hall, by the front door, heard her move and tiptoed to the
+sitting-room.
+
+“What's the matter, little girl?” he whispered, soothingly.
+
+“No-nothin',” gasped Mary-'Gusta.
+
+“You're sure?”
+
+“Ye-yes, sir.”
+
+“All right. Then you set down on the sofa and keep still. You mustn't
+make any noise. The folks are comin' now. Set right down on the sofy,
+that's a good girl!”
+
+So back to the sofa went Mary-'Gusta, trembling with apprehension. From
+her seat she could see along the hall and also through the other door
+into the “big settin'-room,” where, also, there were rows of chairs.
+And, to her horror, these chairs began to fill. People, most of them
+dressed in church-going garments which rattled and rustled, were
+tiptoeing in and sitting down where she could see them and they could
+see her. She did not dare to move now; did not dare go near the music
+chair even if going near it would have done any good. She remained upon
+the sofa, and shivered.
+
+A few moments later Mrs. Hobbs appeared, looking very solemn and
+Sundayfied, and sat beside her. Then Judge and Mrs. Baxter were shown
+into the little room and took two of the remaining chairs. The Judge
+bowed and smiled and Mrs. Baxter leaned over and patted her hand.
+Mary-'Gusta tried to smile, too, but succeeded only in looking more
+miserable. Mrs. Hobbs whispered to her to sit up straight.
+
+There was a steady stream of people through the front door now. They all
+entered the parlor and many stayed there, but others passed on into the
+“big settin'-room.” The chairs there were almost all taken; soon all
+were taken and Mr. Hallett was obliged to remove one of those in the
+small room. There were but two left empty, one a tall, straight antique
+with a rush seat, a family heirloom, and the other the music chair.
+Mary-'Gusta stared at the music chair and hoped and hoped.
+
+Mr. Sharon, the minister, entered and shook hands with the Judge and
+Mrs. Baxter and with Mrs. Hobbs and Mary-'Gusta. He also patted the
+child's hand. Mrs. Hobbs whispered to him, with evident pride, that it
+was “goin' to be one of the biggest funerals ever given in Ostable.” Mr.
+Sharon nodded. Then, after waiting a moment or two, he tiptoed along the
+front hall and took up his stand by the parlor door. There was a final
+rustle of gowns, a final crackle of Sunday shirtfronts, and then a
+hushed silence.
+
+The silence was broken by the rattle of wheels in the yard. Mr. Hallett
+at the door held up a warning hand. A moment later he ushered two people
+in at the front door and led them through the parlor into the “big
+settin'-room.” Mary-'Gusta could see the late comers plainly. They were
+both men, one big and red-faced and bearded, the other small, and thin,
+and white-haired. A rustle passed through the crowd and everyone turned
+to look. Some looked as if they recognized the pair, but they did not
+bow; evidently it was not proper to bow at funerals.
+
+Mr. Hallett, on tiptoe, of course, glided into the little room from
+the big one and looked about him. Then, to the absolute stupefaction
+of Mary-'Gusta, he took the rush-seated chair in one hand and the music
+chair in the other and tiptoed out. He placed the two chairs in the back
+row close to the door of the smaller room and motioned to the two men to
+sit.
+
+Mary-'Gusta could stand it no longer. She was afraid of Mrs. Hobbs,
+afraid of Mr. Hallett, afraid of the Baxters and all the staring crowd;
+but she was more afraid of what was going to happen. She tugged at the
+housekeeper's sleeve.
+
+“Mrs. Hobbs!” she whispered, quiveringly. “Oh, Mrs. Hobbs!”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs shook off the clutch at her sleeve.
+
+“Sshh!” she whispered. “Sshh!”
+
+“But--but please, Mrs. Hobbs--”
+
+“Sshh! You mustn't talk. Be still. Be still, I tell you.”
+
+The small, white-haired man sat down in the rush-seated chair. The big
+man hesitated, separated his coat tails, and then he, too, sat down.
+
+And the music box under the seat of the chair he sat in informed
+everyone with cheerful vigor that the Campbells were coming, Hurrah!
+Hurrah!
+
+Captain Shadrach Gould arose from that chair, arose promptly and without
+hesitation. Mr. Zoeth Hamilton also rose; so did many others in the
+vicinity. There was a stir and a rustle and whispered exclamations.
+And still the news of the imminent arrival of the Campbells was tinkled
+abroad and continued to tinkle. Someone giggled, so did someone else.
+Others said, “Hush!”
+
+Mrs. Judge Baxter said, “Heavens and earth!”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs looked as if she wished to say something very much indeed.
+
+Captain Shadrach's bald spot blazed a fiery red and he glared about him
+helplessly.
+
+Mr. Hallett, who was used to unexpected happenings at funerals--though,
+to do him justice, he had never before had to deal with anything quite
+like this--rushed to the center of the disturbance. Mrs. Hobbs
+hastened to help. Together and with whisperings, they fidgeted with
+the refractory catch. And still the music box played--and played--and
+played.
+
+At last Mr. Hallett gave it up. He seized the chair and with it in his
+arms rushed out into the dining-room. Captain Shadrach Gould mopped his
+face with a handkerchief and stood, because there was nowhere for him
+to sit. Mrs. Hobbs, almost as red in the face as Captain Shad himself,
+hastened back and collapsed upon the sofa. Mr. Sharon cleared his
+throat.
+
+And still, from behind the closed door of the dining-room the music
+chair tinkled on:
+
+“The Campbells are coming! Hurrah! Hurrah!” Poor little guilty,
+frightened Mary-'Gusta covered her face with her hands.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+“And now, gentlemen,” said Judge Baxter, “here we are. Sit down and make
+yourselves comfortable. I shall have a good deal to say and I expect to
+surprise you. Sit down.”
+
+Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton were in the Judge's library at his home.
+The funeral was over, all that was mortal of Marcellus Hall had been
+laid to rest in the Ostable cemetery, and his two friends and former
+partners had, on their return from that cemetery, stopped at the
+Judge's, at the latter's request. He wished, so he said, to speak with
+them on an important matter.
+
+“Why don't you sit down, Captain?” asked the Judge, noticing that,
+although Zoeth had seated himself in the rocker which his host had
+indicated, Shadrach was still standing.
+
+Captain Shadrach laid a hand on the back of the armchair and regarded
+the lawyer with a very grave face, but with a twinkle in his eye.
+
+“To tell you the truth, Judge,” he said, slowly, “I don't cal'late I
+ever shall set down again quite so whole-hearted as I used to. You spoke
+of a surprise, didn't you? I've had one surprise this afternoon that's
+liable to stay with me for a spell. I'm an unsuspectin' critter,
+generally speakin', but after that--Say, you ain't got a brass band nor
+fireworks hitched to THIS chair, have you?”
+
+Judge Baxter laughed heartily. “No,” he said, as soon as he could speak.
+“No, Captain, my furniture isn't loaded.”
+
+The Captain shook his head. “Whew!” he whistled, sitting down gingerly
+in the armchair. “Well, that's a mercy. I ain't so young as I used to be
+and I couldn't stand many such shocks. Whew! Don't talk to ME! When that
+devilish jig tune started up underneath me I'll bet I hopped up three
+foot straight. I may be kind of slow sittin' down, but you'll bear me
+out that I can GET UP sudden when it's necessary. And I thought the dum
+thing never would STOP.”
+
+Mr. Hamilton stirred uneasily. “Hush, hush, Shadrach!” he pleaded.
+“Don't be so profane. Remember you've just come from the graveyard.”
+
+“Come from it! By fire! There was a time there when I'd have been
+willin' to go to it--yes, and stay. All I wanted was to get out of that
+room and hide somewheres where folks couldn't look at me. I give you my
+word I could feel myself heatin' up like an airtight stove. Good thing I
+didn't have on a celluloid collar or 'twould have bust into a blaze. Of
+all the dummed outrages to spring on a man, that--”
+
+“Shadrach!”
+
+“There, there, Zoeth! I'll calm down. But as for swearin'--well, if
+you knew how full of cusswords I was there one spell you wouldn't
+find fault; you'd thank me for holdin' 'em in. I had to batten down my
+hatches to do it, though; I tell you that.”
+
+Mr. Hamilton turned to their host. “You'll excuse Shadrach, won't you,
+Judge,” he said, apologetically. “He don't mean nothin' wicked, really.
+And he feels as bad as I do about Marcellus's bein' took.”
+
+“Course I do!” put in the Captain. “Zoeth's always scared to death for
+fear I'm bound to the everlastin' brimstone. He forgets I've been to sea
+a good part of my life and that a feller has to talk strong aboard ship.
+Common language may do for keepin' store, but it don't get a vessel
+nowheres; the salt sort of takes the tang out of it, seems so. I'm
+through for the present, Zoeth. I'll keep the rest till I meet the swab
+that loaded up that chair for me.”
+
+The Judge laughed again. Then he opened his desk and took from a drawer
+two folded papers.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, gravely, “I asked you to come here with me because
+there is an important matter, a very important matter, which I, as
+Captain Hall's legal adviser, must discuss with you.”
+
+Captain Shadrach and Zoeth looked at each other. The former tugged at
+his beard.
+
+“Hum!” he mused. “Somethin' to do with Marcellus's affairs, is it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Want to know! And somethin' to do with me and Zoeth?”
+
+“Yes, with both of you. This,” holding up one of the folded papers, “is
+Captain Hall's will. I drew it for him a year ago and he has appointed
+me his executor.”
+
+Zoeth nodded. “We supposed likely he would,” he observed.
+
+“Couldn't get a better man,” added Shadrach, with emphasis.
+
+“Thank you. Captain Hall leaves all he possessed--practically all; there
+is a matter of two hundred dollars for his housekeeper, Mrs. Hobbs, and
+a few other personal gifts--but he leaves practically all he possessed
+to his stepdaughter, Mary Lathrop.”
+
+Both his hearers nodded again. “We expected that, naturally,” said the
+Captain. “It's what he'd ought to have done, of course. Well, she'll be
+pretty well fixed, won't she?”
+
+Judge Baxter shook his head. “Why, no--she won't,” he said, soberly.
+“That is a part of the surprise which I mentioned at first. Captain Hall
+was, practically, a poor man when he died.”
+
+That the prophesied surprise was now a reality was manifest. Both men
+looked aghast.
+
+“You--you don't mean that, Judge?” gasped Zoeth.
+
+“Poor? Marcellus poor?” cried Shadrach. “Why--why, what kind of talk's
+that? He didn't have no more than the rest of us when--” he hesitated,
+glanced at Zoeth, and continued, “when the firm give up business back in
+'79; but he went to sea again and made considerable, and then he made a
+whole lot in stocks. I know he did. You know it, too, Zoeth. How could
+he be poor?”
+
+“Because, like so many other fortunate speculators, he continued to
+speculate and became unfortunate. He lost the bulk of his winnings in
+the stock market and--well, to be quite frank, Captain Hall has been a
+broken man, mentally as well as physically, since his wife's death and
+his own serious illness. You, yourselves, must have noticed the change
+in his habits. From being an active man, a man of affairs, he became
+almost a hermit. He saw but few people, dropped the society of all his
+old friends, and lived alone--alone except for his various housekeepers
+and Mary-'Gusta--the little girl, I mean. You must have noticed the
+change in his relations with you.”
+
+Mr. Hamilton sighed. “Yes,” he said, “we noticed he never came to see us
+and--and--”
+
+“And wasn't over'n above sociable when we come to see him,” finished
+Captain Shadrach. “Yes, we noticed that. But I say, Judge, he must have
+had SOME money left. What became of it?”
+
+“Goodness knows! He was a child, so far as money matters went, in his
+later years. Very likely he frittered it away in more stock ventures; I
+know he bought a lot of good for nothing mining shares. At any rate it
+has gone, all except a few thousands. The house and land where he lived
+is mortgaged up to the handle, and I imagine there are debts, a good
+many of them. But whatever there is is left to Mary-'Gusta--everyone
+calls her that and I seem to have caught the habit. It is left to
+her--in trust.”
+
+Captain Shadrach thought this over. “In trust with you, I presume
+likely,” he observed. “Well, as I said afore, he couldn't have found a
+better man.”
+
+“HE thought he could, two better men. I rather think he was right. You
+are the two, gentlemen.”
+
+This statement did not have the effect which the Judge expected. He
+expected exclamations and protests. Instead his visitors looked at each
+other and at him in a puzzled fashion.
+
+“Er--er--what was that?” queried Mr. Hamilton. “I didn't exactly seem to
+catch that, somehow or 'nother.”
+
+Judge Baxter turned to the Captain.
+
+“You understood me, didn't you, Captain Gould?” he asked.
+
+Shadrach shook his head.
+
+“Why--why, no,” he stammered; “it didn't seem to soak in, somehow.
+Cal'late my head must have stopped goin'; maybe the shock I had a spell
+ago broke the mainspring. All I seem to be real sartin of just now is
+that the Campbells are comin'. What was it you said?”
+
+“I said that Captain Marcellus Hall has left whatever property he owned,
+after his creditors are satisfied, to his stepdaughter. He has left it
+in trust until she becomes of age. And he asks you two to accept that
+trust and the care of the child. Is that plain?”
+
+It was plain and they understood. But with understanding came,
+apparently, a species of paralysis of the vocal organs. Zoeth turned
+pale and leaned back in his chair. Shadrach's mouth opened and closed
+several times, but he said nothing.
+
+“Of course,” went on Baxter, “before I say any more I think you should
+be told this: It was Captain Hall's wish that you jointly accept the
+guardianship of Mary-'Gusta--of the girl--that she live with you and
+that you use whatever money comes to her from her stepfather's estate
+in educating and clothing her. Also, of course, that a certain sum each
+week be paid you from that estate as her board. That was Marcellus's
+wish; but it is a wish, nothing more. It is not binding upon you in any
+way. You have a perfect right to decline and--”
+
+Captain Shadrach interrupted.
+
+“Heave to!” he ordered, breathlessly. “Come up into the wind a minute,
+for mercy sakes! Do you mean to say that me and Zoeth are asked to
+take that young-one home with us, and take care of her, and dress her,
+and--and eat her, and bring her up and--and--”
+
+He paused, incoherent in his excitement. The Judge nodded.
+
+“Yes,” he replied, “that is what he asks you to do. But, as I say, you
+are not obliged to do it; there is no legal obligation. You can say no,
+if you think it best.”
+
+“If we think--for thunder sakes, Baxter, what was the matter with
+Marcellus? Was he out of his head? Was he loony?”
+
+“No, he was perfectly sane.”
+
+“Then--then, what--Zoeth,” turning wildly to Mr. Hamilton, who still
+sat, pale and speechless, in his chair; “Zoeth,” he demanded, “did you
+ever hear such craziness in your life? Did you ever HEAR such stuff?”
+
+Zoeth merely shook his head. His silence appeared to add to his friend's
+excitement.
+
+“Did you?” he roared.
+
+Zoeth muttered something to the effect that he didn't know as he ever
+did.
+
+“You don't know! Yes, you do know, too. Speak up, why don't you? Don't
+sit there like a ship's figgerhead, starin' at nothin'. You know it's
+craziness as well's I do. For God sakes, say somethin'! TALK!”
+
+Mr. Hamilton talked--to this extent:
+
+“Hush, Shadrach,” he faltered. “Don't be profane.”
+
+“Profane! Pup-pup-profane! You set there and--and--Oh, jumpin', creepin'
+Judas! I--I--” Language--even his language--failed to express his
+feelings and he waved his fists and sputtered. Baxter seized the
+opportunity.
+
+“Before you make your decision, gentlemen,” he said, “I hope you will
+consider the situation carefully. The girl is only seven years old; she
+has no relations anywhere, so far as we know. If you decline the trust
+a guardian will have to be appointed by the courts, I suppose. Who that
+guardian will be, or what will become of the poor child I'm sure I don't
+know. And Captain Marcellus was perfectly sane; he knew what he was
+doing.”
+
+Shadrach interrupted.
+
+“He did!” he shouted. “Well, then, I must say--”
+
+“Just a minute, please, I have a letter here which he wrote at the time
+he made his will. It is addressed to both of you. Here it is. Shall I
+read it to you, or had you rather read it yourselves?”
+
+Zoeth answered. “I guess maybe you'd better read it, Judge,” he said. “I
+don't cal'late Shadrach nor me are capable of readin' much of anything
+just this minute. You read it. Shadrach, you be still now and listen.”
+
+The Captain opened his mouth and raised a hand. “Be still, Shadrach,”
+ repeated Zoeth. The hand fell. Captain Gould sighed.
+
+“All right, Zoeth,” he said. “I'll keep my batch closed long's I can.
+Heave ahead, Judge.”
+
+The letter was a long one, covering several sheets of foolscap. It
+began:
+
+
+To Shadrach, Gould and Zoeth Hamilton, my old partners and friends.
+
+
+DEAR SHAD AND ZOETH:
+
+I am writing this to you because I have known you pretty much all my
+life and you are the only real friends I have got in this world.
+
+
+“I was his friend, or I tried to be,” commented Baxter, interrupting
+his reading; “but he considered you two, and always spoke of you, as his
+oldest and nearest friends. He has often told me that he knew he could
+depend on you. Now listen.”
+
+The letter went on to state that the writer realized his health was
+no longer good, that he was likely to die at any time and was quite
+reconciled.
+
+
+I should be glad to go [Captain Hall had written], if it was not for one
+thing. Since my wife was took from me I care precious little for life
+and the sooner it ends the better. That is the way I look at it. But I
+have a stepdaughter, Mary Augusta Lathrop, and for her sake I must stick
+to the ship as long as I can. I have not been the right kind of father
+to her. I have tried, but I don't seem to know how and I guess likely
+I was too old to learn. When I go she won't have a relation to look out
+for her. That has troubled me a lot and I have thought about it more
+than a little, I can tell you. And so I have decided to leave her in
+your care. I am hoping you will take charge of her and bring her up to
+be a good girl and a good woman, same as her mother was before her. I
+know you two will be just the ones for the job.
+
+
+“Jumpin' fire!” broke in Shadrach, the irrepressible.
+
+“Hush, Shadrach,” continued Mr. Hamilton. “Go on, Judge.”
+
+Baxter continued his reading. The letter told of the will, of the
+property, whatever it might be, left in trust for the child, and of the
+writer's desire that it might be used, when turned into money, for her
+education. There were two pages of rambling references to stocks
+and investments, the very vagueness of these references proving the
+weakening shrewdness and lack of business acumen of Captain Hall in his
+later years. Then came this:
+
+
+When this first comes to you I know you will both feel you are not
+fitted to take charge of my girl. You will say that neither of you has
+had any children of his own and you have not got experience in that
+line. But I have thought it over and I know I am right. I couldn't find
+better pilots afloat or ashore. Shadrach has been to sea and commanded
+vessels and is used to giving orders and having them carried out. He
+sailed mate with me for a good many voyages and was my partner ashore. I
+know him from truck to keelson. He is honest and able and can handle
+any craft. He will keep the girl on the course she ought to sail in
+her schooling and such and see she does not get on the rocks or take to
+cruising in bad company. Zoeth has had the land training. He is a pious
+man and as good outside the church as he is in, which is not always the
+case according to my experience. He has the name all up and down the
+Cape of being a square, honest storekeeper. He will look out for Mary's
+religious bringing up and learn her how to keep straight and think
+square. You are both of you different from each other in most ways but
+you are each of you honest and straight in his own way. I don't leave
+Mary in the care of one but in the charge of both. I know I am right.
+
+
+“He said that very thing to me a good many times,” put in the Judge.
+“He seemed to feel that the very fact of your being men of different
+training and habits of thought made the combination ideal. Between
+you, so he seemed to think, the girl could not help but grow up as she
+should. I am almost through; there is a little more.”
+
+
+I want you fellows to do this for my sake. I know you will, after you
+have thought it over. You and I have been through good times and bad
+together. We have made money and we have seen it go faster than it came.
+Shad has seen his savings taken away from him, partly because I trusted
+where he did not, and he never spoke a word of complaint nor found a
+mite of fault. Zoeth has borne my greatest trouble with me and though
+his share was far away bigger than mine, he kept me from breaking under
+it. I have not seen as much of you lately as I used to see, but that
+was my fault. Not my fault exactly, maybe, but my misfortune. I have not
+been the man I was and seeing you made me realize it. That is why I have
+not been to South Harniss and why I acted so queer when you came here. I
+was sort of ashamed, I guess. You remember when the old Hall and Company
+firm started business there were four of us who agreed to stick by each
+other through foul weather and fair till we died. One of that four broke
+his promise and pretty nigh wrecked us all, as he did wreck the firm.
+Now I am asking you two to stick by me and mine. I am trusting and
+believing that you are going to do it as I write this. When you read it
+I shan't be on hand. But, if I am where I can see and hear I shall still
+be believing you will do this last favor for your old messmate.
+
+MARCELLUS.
+
+
+Judge Baxter folded the sheets of foolscap and laid them on the table.
+Then he took off his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief.
+
+“Well, gentlemen?” he said, after a moment.
+
+Captain Gould drew a long breath.
+
+“I don't think it's well,” he observed. “I think it's about as sick as
+it can be, and I cal'late Zoeth feels the same; eh, Zoeth?”
+
+Mr. Hamilton did not answer. He neither spoke nor moved.
+
+“Of course,” said the lawyer, “it is not necessary that you make up
+your minds this instant. You will probably wish a few days to think the
+matter over in and then you can let me know what you decide. You have
+heard the letter and I have explained the situation. Are there any
+questions you would like to ask?”
+
+Shadrach shook his head.
+
+“No, not far's I'm concerned,” he said. “My mind is made up now. I did
+think there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for Marcellus. And I would
+have done anything in reason. But this ain't reason--it's what I
+called it in the beginnin', craziness. Me and Zoeth can't go crazy for
+anybody.”
+
+“Then you decline?”
+
+“Yes, sir; I'm mighty sorry but of course we can't do such a thing. Me
+and Zoeth, one of us a bach all his life, and t'other one a--a widower
+for twenty years, for us to take a child to bring up! My soul and body!
+Havin' hung on to the heft of our senses so far, course we decline! We
+can't do nothin' else.”
+
+“And you, Mr. Hamilton?”
+
+Zoeth appeared to hesitate. Then he asked:
+
+“What sort of a girl is she?”
+
+“Mary-'Gusta? She's a bright child, and a well-behaved one, generally
+speaking. Rather old for her years, and a little--well, peculiar. That
+isn't strange, considering the life she has led since her mother's
+death. But she is a good girl and a pretty little thing. I like her; so
+does my wife.”
+
+“That was her at the cemetery, wasn't it? She was with that Hobbs
+woman?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I thought so. Shadrach and I met her when we was over here two years
+ago. I thought the one at the graveyard was her. Poor little critter!
+Where is she now; at the house--at Marcellus's?”
+
+“Yes; that is, I suppose she is.”
+
+“Do you--do you cal'late we could see her if we went there now?”
+
+“Yes, I am sure you could.”
+
+Zoeth rose.
+
+“Come on, Shadrach,” he said, “let's go.”
+
+The Captain stared at him.
+
+“Go?” he repeated. “Where? Home, do you mean?”
+
+“No, not yet. I mean over to Marcellus's to see that little girl.”
+
+“Zoeth Hamilton! Do you mean to tell me--What do you want to see her
+for? Do you want to make it harder for her and for us and for all hands?
+What good is seein' her goin' to do? Ain't it twice as easy to say no
+now and be done with it?”
+
+“I suppose likely 'twould be, but it wouldn't be right Marcellus asked
+us to do this thing for him and--”
+
+“Jumpin' Judas! ASKED us! Do you mean to say you're thinkin' of doin'
+what he asked? Are you loony, too? Are you--”
+
+“Shh, Shadrach! He asked us, as a last favor, to take charge of his
+girl. I feel as you do that we can't do it, 'tain't sensible nor
+possible for us to do it, but--”
+
+“There ain't any buts.”
+
+“But the very least we can do is go and see her and talk to her.”
+
+“What for? So we'll feel meaner and more sneaky when we HAVE to say no?
+I shan't go to see her.”
+
+“All right. Then I shall. You can wait here for me till I come back.”
+
+“Hold on, Zoeth! Hold on! Don't--”
+
+But Mr. Hamilton was at the door and did not turn back. Judge Baxter,
+who was following him, spoke.
+
+“Sit right here, Captain,” he said. “Make yourself as comfortable as you
+can. We shan't be long.”
+
+For an instant Shadrach remained where he was. Then he, too, sprang to
+his feet. He overtook the lawyer just as the latter reached the side
+door.
+
+“Hello, Captain,” exclaimed Baxter, “changed your mind?”
+
+“Changed nothin'. Zoeth's makin' a fool of himself and I know it, but he
+ain't goin' to be a fool ALL by himself. I've seen him try it afore and
+'tain't safe.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+The Captain grunted scornfully.
+
+“I mean there's safety in numbers, whether it's the number of fools or
+anything else,” he said. “One idiot's a risky proposition, but two
+or three in a bunch can watch each other. Come on, Judge, and be the
+third.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The white house on Phinney's Hill looked desolate and mournful when
+the buggy containing Judge Baxter and his two companions drove into the
+yard. The wagon belonging to Mr. Hallett, the undertaker, was at the
+front door, and Hallett and his assistant were loading in the folding
+chairs. Mr. Hallett was whistling a popular melody, but, somehow or
+other, the music only emphasized the lonesomeness. There is little cheer
+in an undertaker's whistle.
+
+Captain Gould, acting under the Judge's orders, piloted his horse up the
+driveway and into the back yard. The animal was made fast to the back
+fence and the three men alighted from the buggy and walked up to the
+side door of the house.
+
+“Say, Judge,” whispered the Captain, as they halted by the step, “you
+don't cal'late I can find out who loaded up that music-box chair on me,
+do you? If I could meet that feller for two or three minutes I might
+feel more reconciled at bein' fool enough to come over here.”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs answered the knock at the door--she invited them in. When
+told that they had come to see Mary-'Gusta she sniffed.
+
+“She's in her room,” she said, rather sharply. “She hadn't ought to be
+let out, but of course if you want to see her, Judge Baxter, I presume
+likely she'll have to be. I'll go fetch her.”
+
+“Wait a minute, Mrs. Hobbs,” said Baxter. “What's the matter? Has the
+child been behaving badly?”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs' lean fingers clinched. “Behavin' badly!” she repeated. “I
+should say she had! I never was so mortified in my life. And at her own
+father's funeral, too!”
+
+“What has she done?”
+
+“Done? She--” Mrs. Hobbs hesitated, glanced at Captain Shadrach, and
+left her sentence unfinished. “Never mind what she done,” she went on.
+“I can't tell you now; I declare I'd be ashamed to. I'll go get her.”
+
+She marched from the room. Zoeth rubbed his forehead.
+
+“She seems sort of put out, don't she,” he observed, mildly.
+
+Baxter nodded. “Susan Hobbs has the reputation of getting 'put out'
+pretty often,” he said. “She has a temper and it isn't a long one.”
+
+“Has she been takin' care of Marcellus's girl?” asked Zoeth.
+
+“Yes. As much care as the child has had.”
+
+Captain Shad snorted. It was evident that the housekeeper's manner had
+not impressed him favorably.
+
+“Humph!” he said. “I'd hate to have her take care of me, judgin' by the
+way she looked just now. Say,” hopefully, “do you suppose SHE was the
+one fixed that chair?”
+
+They heard Mrs. Hobbs on the floor above, shouting:
+
+“Mary-'Gusta! Mary-'Gusta! Where are you? Answer me this minute!”
+
+“Don't seem to be in that room she was talkin' about,” grumbled
+Shadrach. “Tut! Tut! What a voice that is! Got a rasp to it like a rusty
+saw.”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs was heard descending the stairs. Her face, when she reentered
+the sitting-room, was red and she looked more “put out” than ever.
+
+“She ain't there,” she answered, angrily. “She's gone.”
+
+“Gone?” repeated Zoeth and Shadrach in chorus.
+
+“Gone?” repeated the Judge. “Do you mean she's run away?”
+
+“No, no! She ain't run away--not for good; she knows better than that.
+She's sneaked off and hid, I suppose. But I know where she is. I'll have
+her here in a minute.”
+
+She was hurrying out again, but the Captain detained her.
+
+“Wait!” he commanded. “What's that you say? You know where she is?”
+
+“Yes, or I can guess. Nine chances to one she's out in that barn.”
+
+“In the barn? What's she doin' there--playin' horse?”
+
+“No, no. She's hidin' in the carriage room. Seems as if the child was
+possessed to get out in that dusty place and perch herself in the old
+carryall. She calls it her playhouse and you'd think 'twas Heaven the
+way she loves to stay there. But today of all days! And with her best
+clothes on! And after I expressly told her--”
+
+“Yes, yes; all right. Humph! Well, Zoeth, what do you say? Shall we
+go to Heaven and hunt for her? Maybe 'twill be the only chance some of
+us'll get, you can't tell,” with a wink at Baxter.
+
+“Hush, Shadrach! How you do talk!” protested the shocked Mr. Hamilton.
+
+“Let's go out to the barn and find the young-one ourselves,” said the
+Captain. “Seems the simplest thing to do, don't it?”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs interrupted.
+
+“You don't need to go at all,” she declared. “I'll get her and bring her
+here. Perhaps she ain't there, anyway.”
+
+“Well, if she ain't there we can come back again. Come on, boys.”
+
+He led the way to the door. The housekeeper would have accompanied them,
+but he prevented her doing so.
+
+“Don't you trouble yourself, ma'am,” he said. “We'll find her. I'm
+older'n I used to be, but I ain't so blind but what I can locate a barn
+without a spyglass.”
+
+“It won't be any trouble,” protested the lady.
+
+“I know, but it might be. We'll go alone.”
+
+When the three were in the back yard, and the discomfited housekeeper
+was watching them from the door, he added:
+
+“I don't know why that woman rubs my fur the wrong way, but she does.
+Isaiah Chase says he don't like mosquitoes 'cause they get on his
+nerves. I never thought I wore my nerves on the back of my neck, which
+is where Isaiah gets skeeter-bit mostly, but anyhow, wherever they be,
+that Hobbs woman bothers 'em. There's the barn, ain't it? Don't look
+very heavenly, but it may seem that way after a spell in t'other place.
+Now where's the carriage room?”
+
+The door of the carriage room was open, and they entered. A buggy and
+the muslin draped surrey were there, but no living creature was in
+sight. They listened, but heard nothing.
+
+“Mary! Mary-'Gusta!” called Baxter. “Are you here?”
+
+No answer. And then, from beneath the cover of the surrey, appeared
+a fat tortoise-shell cat, who jumped lightly to the floor, yawned,
+stretched, and blinked suspiciously at the visitors.
+
+“Humph!” grunted Captain Shadrach. “There's one stowaway, anyhow. Maybe
+there's another; I've had 'em come aboard in pairs.”
+
+The Judge walked over to the surrey, and raised the cover. From behind
+it came a frightened little squeal.
+
+“Oh, there you are!” said Baxter. “Mary-'Gusta, is that you?”
+
+There was a rustle, a sob, and then a timid voice said, chokingly, “Yes,
+sir.”
+
+“Come out,” said the Judge, kindly. “Come out; here are some friends who
+want to meet you.”
+
+Another sob and then: “I--I don't want to.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you do. We won't hurt you. We only want to see you and talk
+with you, that's all. Come, that's a good girl.”
+
+“I--I ain't a good girl.”
+
+“Never mind. We want to see you, anyway. I guess you're not very bad.”
+
+“Yes, I--I am. Is--is Mrs. Hobbs there?”
+
+“No. Come now, please.”
+
+A moment's wait, then, from beneath the cover, appeared a small foot
+and leg, the latter covered by a black stocking. The foot wiggled
+about, feeling for the step. It found it, the cover was thrown aside and
+Mary-'Gusta appeared, a pathetic little figure, with rumpled hair and
+tear-stained cheeks. Rose and Rosette, the two dolls, were hugged in her
+arms.
+
+Judge Baxter patted her on the head. Zoeth and Shadrach looked solemn
+and ill at ease. Mary-'Gusta looked at the floor and sniffed dolefully.
+
+“Mary-'Gusta,” said the Judge, “these two gentlemen are old friends of
+your father's and,” with a pardonable stretching of the truth, “they
+have come all the way from South Harniss to meet you. Now you must shake
+hands with them. They like little girls.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta obediently moved forward, shifted Rosette to the arm
+clasping Rose, and extended a hand. Slowly she raised her eyes, saw Mr.
+Hamilton's mild, gentle face and then, beside it, the face of Captain
+Shadrach Gould. With a cry she dropped both dolls, ran back to the
+surrey and fumbled frantically with the dust cover.
+
+Baxter, surprised and puzzled, ran after her and prevented her climbing
+into the carriage.
+
+“Why, Mary-'Gusta,” he demanded, “what is the matter?”
+
+The child struggled and then, bursting into a storm of sobs, hid her
+face in the dust cover.
+
+“I--I didn't mean to,” she sobbed, wildly. “I didn't mean to. Honest
+I didn't. I--I didn't know. I didn't mean to. Please don't let him.
+PLEASE!”
+
+The Judge held her close and did his best to calm her.
+
+“There, there, child,” he said. “No one's going to hurt you.”
+
+“Yes--yes, they are. Mrs. Hobbs said she shouldn't wonder if he knocked
+my--my head right off.”
+
+“Knocked your head off! Who?”
+
+“Him.”
+
+She raised her hand and pointed a shaking finger straight at Captain
+Shadrach.
+
+All three of her hearers were surprised, of course, but in the case of
+the Captain himself amazement was coupled with righteous indignation.
+
+“Wha-what?” he stammered. “Who said so? What kind of talk's that? Said I
+was goin' to knock your head off? I was?”
+
+Baxter laughed. “No, no, Mary-'Gusta,” he said; “you're mistaken. Mrs.
+Hobbs couldn't have said any such thing. You're mistaken, dear.”
+
+“No, I ain't,” with another sob; “she did say so. She said he would
+knock my head--ah--ah--off and--and put me in jail, too. And I didn't
+mean to do it; honest, truly I didn't.”
+
+The Judge looked at his companions and shook his head as if the
+conundrum was beyond his guessing. Captain Shad groaned.
+
+“By fire!” he ejaculated. “All hands have gone loony, young-ones and
+all. And,” with conviction, “I'm on the road myself.”
+
+Zoeth Hamilton stepped forward and held out his hands.
+
+“Come here, dearie,” he said, gently; “come here and tell me all about
+it. Neither me nor the Cap'n's goin' to hurt you a mite. We like little
+girls, both of us do. Now you come and tell me about it.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's sobs ceased. She looked at the speaker doubtfully.
+
+“Come, don't be scared,” begged Zoeth. “We're goin' to be good friends
+to you. We knew your father and he thought everything of us. You ain't
+goin' to be afraid of folks that was your Pa's chums. You come here and
+let's talk it over.”
+
+Slowly Mary-'Gusta crossed the room. Zoeth sat down upon an empty box
+near the door and lifted the girl to his knee.
+
+“Now you ain't afraid of me, be you?” he asked quietly.
+
+Mary-'Gusta shook her head, but her big eyes were fixed upon Captain
+Shadrach's face.
+
+“No-o,” she faltered. “I--I guess I ain't. But you wasn't the one I did
+it to. It was him.”
+
+Judging by the Captain's expression his conviction that all hands,
+himself included, had lost their reason was momentarily growing firmer.
+
+“ME?” he gasped. “You done somethin' to me and I--well, by Judas, this
+is--”
+
+“Hush, Shadrach! What was it you done, Mary, that made you afraid of
+Cap'n Gould? Tell me. I won't hurt you and I won't let anybody else.”
+
+“YOU won't let--Zoeth Hamilton, I swan, I--”
+
+“Be still, Shadrach, for mercy sakes! Now, what was it, dearie?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta hesitated. Then she buried her face in Mr. Hamilton's jacket
+and sobbed a confession.
+
+“I--I made it go,” she cried. “I--I broke the--the catch--and it was
+wound up and--and it went off. But I didn't know. I didn't mean--”
+
+“There, there, course you didn't. We know you didn't. What was it that
+went off?”
+
+“The--the music chair. It was in the corner and Mr. Hallett took it
+and--and I couldn't say anything 'cause Mrs. Hobbs said I mustn't speak
+a word at the funeral. And--and he set in it and it played and--Oh,
+don't let him put me in jail! Please don't.”
+
+Another burst of tears. Mary-'Gusta clung tightly to the Hamilton
+jacket. Judge Baxter looked as if a light had suddenly broken upon the
+darkness of his mind.
+
+“I see,” he said. “You were responsible for the 'Campbells.' I see.”
+
+Shadrach drew a long breath.
+
+“Whew!” he whistled. “So she was the one. Well, I swan!”
+
+Zoeth stroked the child's hair.
+
+“That's all right, dearie,” he said. “Now don't you worry about that.
+We didn't know who did it, but now we do and it's all right. We know you
+didn't mean to.”
+
+“Won't--won't he knock my head off?”
+
+“No, no, course he won't. Tell her so, Shadrach.”
+
+Captain Shadrach pulled at his beard. Then he burst into a laugh.
+
+“I won't hurt you for nothin', sis,” he said, heartily. “It's all right
+and don't you fret about it. Accidents will happen even in the best
+regulated--er--funerals; though,” with a broad grin, “I hope another one
+like that'll never happen to ME. Now don't you cry any more.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta raised her head and regarded him steadily.
+
+“Won't I be put in jail?” she asked, more hopefully.
+
+“Indeed you won't. I never put anybody in jail in my life; though,” with
+an emphatic nod, “there's some folks ought to go there for frightenin'
+children out of their senses. Did that Mrs. Hobbs tell you I was goin'
+to--what was it?--knock your head off and all the rest?”
+
+“Yes, sir, she did.”
+
+“Well, she's a--she's what she is. What else did she say to you?”
+
+“She--she said I was a bad, wicked child and she hoped I'd be sent to
+the--the orphans' home. If she was to have the care of me, she said,
+she'd make me walk a chalk or know why. And she sent me to my room and
+said I couldn't have any supper.”
+
+Zoeth and the Captain looked at each other. Baxter frowned.
+
+“On the very day of her father's funeral,” he muttered.
+
+“Can't I have any supper?” begged Mary-'Gusta. “I'm awful hungry; I
+didn't want much dinner.”
+
+Zoeth nodded. His tone, when he spoke, was not so mild as was usual with
+him.
+
+“You shall have your supper,” he said.
+
+“And--and must I go to the orphans' home?”
+
+No one answered at once. Zoeth and Captain Shad again looked at each
+other and the Judge looked at them both.
+
+“Must I?” repeated Mary-'Gusta. “I--I don't want to. I'd rather die, I
+guess, and go to Heaven, same as Mother and Father. But Mrs. Hobbs says
+they don't have any dolls nor cats in Heaven, so I don't know's I'd want
+to go there.”
+
+Baxter walked to the window and looked out. Captain Shadrach reached
+into his pocket, produced a crumpled handkerchief, and blew his nose
+violently. Zoeth stroked the child's hair.
+
+“Mary-'Gusta,” he said, after a moment, “how would you like to go over
+to South Harniss and--and see me and Cap'n Gould a little while? Just
+make us a visit, you know. Think you'd like that?”
+
+The Captain started. “Good land, Zoeth!” he exclaimed. “Be careful what
+you're sayin'.”
+
+“I ain't sayin' anything definite, Shadrach. I know how you feel about
+it. I just wanted to see how she felt herself, that's all. Think you'd
+like that, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta thought it over. “I guess maybe I would,” she said, “if
+I could take my dolls and David. I wouldn't want to leave David. Mrs.
+Hobbs don't like cats.”
+
+And at that moment Mrs. Hobbs herself appeared in the doorway of the
+carriage room. She saw the child and her eyes snapped.
+
+“So she was here,” she said. “I thought as much. Mary-'Gusta, what did
+you run away from that room for? Didn't I forbid you leavin' it? She's
+been a bad girl, Judge Baxter,” she added, “and I can't make her behave.
+I try my best, but I'm sure I don't know what to do.”
+
+Captain Shadrach thrust both hands into his pockets.
+
+“I tell you what to do,” he said, sharply. “You go into the house and
+put some of her things into a valise or satchel or somethin'. And hurry
+up as fast as you can.”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs was astonished.
+
+“Put 'em in a satchel?” she repeated. “What for? Where's she goin'?”
+
+“She's goin' home along with me and Zoeth. And she's got to start inside
+of half an hour. You hurry.”
+
+“But--but--”
+
+“There ain't any 'buts'; haven't got time for 'em.”
+
+Mr. Hamilton regarded his friend with an odd expression.
+
+“Shadrach,” he asked, “do you realize what you're sayin'?”
+
+“Who's sayin'? You said it, I didn't. Besides takin' her home with us
+today don't mean nothin', does it? A visit won't hurt us. Visits don't
+bind anybody to anything. Jumpin' Judas! I guess we've got room enough
+in the house to have one young-one come visitin' for--for a couple of
+days, if we want to. What are you makin' such a fuss about? Here
+you,” turning to the housekeeper, “ain't you gone yet? You've got just
+thirteen minutes to get that satchel ready.”
+
+Mrs. Hobbs departed, outraged dignity in her walk and manner.
+
+“Am--am I goin'?” faltered Mary-'Gusta.
+
+Zoeth nodded.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “you're goin'. Unless, of course, you'd rather stay
+here.”
+
+“No, I'd rather go, if--if I can take David and the dolls. Can I?”
+
+“Can she, Shadrach?”
+
+Captain Shad, who was pacing the floor, turned savagely.
+
+“What do you ask me that for?” he demanded. “This is your doin's,
+'tain't mine. You said it first, didn't you? Yes, yes, let her take the
+dolls and cats--and cows and pigs, too, if she wants to. Jumpin' fire!
+What do I care? If a feller's bound to be a fool, a little live stock
+more or less don't make him any bigger one. . . . Land sakes! I believe
+she's goin' to cry again. Don't do that! What's the matter now?”
+
+The tears were starting once more in the girl's eyes.
+
+“I--I don't think you want me,” she stammered. “If you did you--you
+wouldn't talk so.”
+
+The Captain was greatly taken aback. He hesitated, tugged at his beard,
+and then, walking over to the child, took her by the hand.
+
+“Don't you mind the way I talk, Mary-'Gusta,” he said. “I'm liable to
+talk 'most any way, but I don't mean nothin' by it. I like little girls,
+same as Zoeth said. And I ain't mad about the jig-tune chair, neither.
+Say,” with a sudden inspiration; “here we are settin' here and one of
+our passengers has left the dock. We got to find that cat, ain't we?
+What did you say his name was--Solomon?”
+
+“No, sir; David.”
+
+“David, sure enough. If I'd been up in Scripture the way Zoeth--Mr.
+Hamilton, here--is, I wouldn't have made that mistake, would I? Come on,
+let's you and me go find David and break the news to him. Say, he'll be
+some surprised to find he's booked for a foreign v'yage, won't he? Come
+on, we'll go find him.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta slowly rose from Mr. Hamilton's knee. She regarded the
+Captain steadily for a moment; then, hand in hand, they left the barn
+together.
+
+Judge Baxter whistled. “Well!” he exclaimed. “I must say I didn't expect
+this.”
+
+Zoeth smiled. “There ain't many better men than Shadrach Gould,” he
+observed, quietly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Mary-'Gusta, even though she lives to be a very old woman, will never
+forget that ride to South Harniss. It was the longest ride she had ever
+taken, and that of itself would have made it unforgettable. Then, too,
+she was going visiting, and she had never been visiting before. Also,
+she was leaving Mrs. Hobbs and, for a time at least, that lady could not
+remind her of her queerness and badness. More than all, she was going on
+a journey, a real journey, like a grown-up or a person in a story, and
+her family--David and the dolls--were journeying with her. What the
+journey might mean to her, or to what sort of place she was going--these
+questions did not trouble her in the least. Childlike, she was quite
+satisfied with the wonderful present, and to the future, even the
+dreaded orphans' home, she gave not a thought.
+
+Perched on the buggy seat, squeezed in between Captain Shad and Mr.
+Hamilton, she gazed wide-eyed at the houses and fields and woods along
+the roadside. She did not speak, unless spoken to, and the two men spoke
+but seldom, each apparently thinking hard. Occasionally the Captain
+would sigh, or whistle, or groan, as if his thoughts were disturbing and
+most unusual. Once he asked her if she was comfortable.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she said.
+
+“Havin' a good time? Like to go to ride, do you?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta assumed her most grown-up air.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she said. “I just love to travel. It's been the dream of my
+life.”
+
+“Gosh! I want to know!” exclaimed the astonished Shadrach; then he shook
+his head, chuckled, and ordered the horse to hurry up.
+
+The dolls were arranged in a row against the back of the dashboard. In
+front of them, and between the Captain's feet and Zoeth's, the battered
+satchel containing the child's everyday dress and visiting essentials
+was squeezed. Mary-'Gusta's feet stuck straight out and rested on the
+top of the satchel. David, in a basket with the lid tied fast, was
+planted between the last mentioned feet. David did not appear to share
+his--or her--owner's love of travel. The cat wailed lugubriously at
+intervals.
+
+Zoeth made the next attempt at conversation.
+
+“Never been to South Harniss, have you, Mary-'Gusta?” he inquired.
+
+“No, sir,” gravely. “But,” remembering the housekeeper's final charge
+not to forget her manners, if she had any, “I'm sure I'll like it very
+much.”
+
+“Oh, you are, eh? Well, that's nice. What makes you so sure?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta reflected. She remembered what Mrs. Bailey had said after a
+week's visit in Bayport, which is fourteen miles from Ostable. “I think
+everybody enjoys a change of air,” she observed.
+
+“My soul and body!” exclaimed Mr. Hamilton.
+
+Captain Shad looked down at his small passenger.
+
+“How old are you, sis?” he demanded.
+
+“I'm seven. But I ain't a sis; I haven't got any brothers or sisters.”
+
+“Oh! Well, that's a fact, too, now I come to think of it. How old did
+you say; seventy, was it?”
+
+“No, sir. Seven. Did you think I said seventy?”
+
+“Eh? No, I guess not.”
+
+“I couldn't be seventy. If I was I'd be lots bigger, you know.”
+
+“That's so; I presume likely you would.”
+
+More reflection. Then: “If I was seventy I guess you wouldn't have asked
+me.”
+
+“Sho! Wouldn't I? Why not?”
+
+“'Cause grown-up folks don't like to be asked how old they are. I asked
+Mrs. Hobbs how old she was once and she didn't like it.”
+
+“Didn't she?”
+
+“No, sir. She told me to mind my own business.”
+
+The Captain laughed aloud. Then, turning to Mr. Hamilton, he said: “Say,
+Zoeth, Isaiah'll be a little mite surprised when he sees this craft make
+port, eh?”
+
+Zoeth smiled. “I shouldn't wonder,” he replied.
+
+“Um-hm. I'd like to have a tintype of Isaiah's face. Well, sis--er,
+Mary-'Gusta, I mean--there's South Harniss dead ahead. How do you like
+the looks of it?”
+
+They had emerged from a long stretch of woods and were at the summit of
+a little hill. From the crest of this hill the road wound down past an
+old cemetery with gray, moss-covered slate tombstones, over a bridge
+between a creek and a good-sized pond, on through a clump of pines,
+where it joined the main highway along the south shore of the Cape. This
+highway, in turn, wound and twisted--there are few straight roads
+on Cape Cod--between other and lower hills until it became a village
+street, the main street of South Harniss. The sun was low in the west
+and its light bathed the clustered roofs in a warm glow, touched
+windows and vanes with fire, and twinkled and glittered on the waters
+of Nantucket Sound, which filled the whole southern horizon. There was
+little breeze and the smoke from the chimneys rose almost straight. So,
+too, did the smoke from the distant tugs and steamers. There were two or
+three schooners far out, and nearer shore, a sailboat. A pretty picture,
+one which artists have painted and summer visitors enthused over many
+times.
+
+To Mary-'Gusta it was new and wonderful. The child was in a mood to like
+almost anything just then. Mrs. Hobbs was miles away and the memory of
+the music chair and her own disgrace and shame were but memories. She
+drew a long breath and looked and looked.
+
+“Like it, do you?” asked Zoeth, echoing his friend's question.
+
+Mary-'Gusta nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said. “It--it's lovely.”
+
+Captain Shadrach nodded. “Best town on earth, if I do say it,” he said,
+emphatically. “So you think it's lovely, eh?”
+
+“Yes, sir.” Then, pointing, she asked: “Is that your house?”
+
+The Captain grinned. “Well, no, not exactly,” he said. “That's the town
+hall. Nobody lives there but the selectmen and they ain't permanent
+boarders--that is, I have hopes some of 'em 'll move after town-meetin'
+day. Our house is over yonder, down nigh the shore.”
+
+The old horse pricked up his ears at sight of home and the buggy moved
+faster. It rolled through the main street, where the Captain and
+Mr. Hamilton were kept busy answering hails and returning bows from
+citizens, male and female. Through the more thickly settled portion of
+the village it moved, until at a point where there were fewer shops and
+the houses were older and less up-to-date, it reached the corner of a
+narrow cross road. There it stopped before a frame building bearing the
+sign, “Hamilton and Company, Dry Goods, Groceries, Boots and Shoes and
+Notions.” There was a narrow platform at the front of the building and
+upon this platform were several men, mostly of middle age or older.
+Mary-'Gusta noticed that most of these men were smoking. If she had been
+older she might have noticed that each man either sat upon the platform
+steps or leaned against the posts supporting its roof. Not one was
+depending solely upon his own muscles for support; he sat upon or leaned
+against something wooden and substantial.
+
+As the buggy drew alongside the platform the men evinced considerable
+interest. Not enough to make them rise or relinquish support, but
+interest, nevertheless.
+
+“Hello, Shad!” hailed one. “Home again, be you?”
+
+“Pretty big funeral, was it?” drawled another.
+
+“Who's that you got aboard?” queried a third.
+
+Captain Shadrach did not answer. Mr. Hamilton leaned forward. “Where's
+Annabel?” he asked.
+
+“She's inside,” replied the first questioner. “Want to see her? Hi,
+Jabe,” turning his head and addressing one of the group nearest the
+door, “tell Annabel, Zoeth and Shad's come.”
+
+“Jabe,” who was propped against a post, languidly pushed himself away
+from it, opened the door behind him and shouted: “Annabel, come out
+here!” Then he slouched back and leaned against the post again.
+
+The door opened and a stout, red-faced young woman appeared. She looked
+much more like an Eliza than an Annabel. She had a newspaper in her
+hand.
+
+“Hey?” she drawled. “Who was that hollerin'? Was it you, Jabez Hedges?”
+
+Jabez did not take the trouble to answer. Instead he took a hand from
+his trousers pocket and waved it toward the buggy. Annabel looked; then
+she came down the steps.
+
+“Hello!” she said. “I see you got back all right.”
+
+Zoeth nodded. “How'd you get along in the store?” he asked, anxiously.
+“How's business?”
+
+“Wasn't none to speak of,” replied Annabel carelessly. “Sold a couple of
+spools of cotton and--and some salt pork and sugar. Ezra Howland bought
+the pork. He wasn't satisfied; said there wasn't enough lean in it to
+suit him, but I let him have it a cent cheaper, so he took it.”
+
+Mr. Hamilton seemed a trifle disappointed. “Was that all?” he asked,
+with a sigh.
+
+“Yup. No, 'twa'n't neither, come to think of it. Rastus Young's wife,
+come in with her two young-ones and bought some shoes and hats for 'em.”
+
+“Did she pay cash?” demanded Captain Shadrach sharply.
+
+“No; she said charge 'em up, so I done it. Say, ain't you comin' in
+pretty soon? It's 'most my supper time.”
+
+Zoeth opened his mouth to answer, but the Captain got ahead of him.
+
+“It's our supper time, too,” he said, crisply. “When we've had it you
+can have yours. Get dap, January.”
+
+The horse, whose name was Major but who was accustomed to being
+addressed by almost any name, jogged on. Mr. Hamilton sighed once more.
+
+“I'm 'fraid one of us had ought to stayed in the store, Shadrach,” he
+said. “Annabel means well, she's real obligin'; but she ain't a good
+hand at business.”
+
+Shadrach snorted. “Obligin' nothin'!” he retorted. “We're the ones that
+was obligin' when we agreed to pay her seventy-five cents for settin'
+astern of the counter and readin' the Advocate. I told you when you
+hired her that she wasn't good for nothin' but ballast.”
+
+“I know, Shadrach. I'd ought to have stayed to home and kept store
+myself. But I did feel as if I must go to Marcellus's funeral.”
+
+“Sellin' them Youngs a whole passel of stuff and lettin' 'em charge it
+up!” went on Shadrach. “They owe us enough now to keep a decent family
+all winter. Reg'lar town dead-beats, that's what they are. You couldn't
+get a cent out of Rastus Young if you were to run a dredge through him.”
+
+Mr. Hamilton groaned remorsefully. “If I'd only stayed at home!” he
+said.
+
+“If you'd stayed to home you'd have charged up the stuff just the same
+as she did. You're the softest thing, outside of a sponge, in this town.
+Anybody can impose on you, and you know it, Zoeth.”
+
+Zoeth's habitual mildness gave way to resentment, mild resentment.
+
+“Why, Shadrach,” he retorted, “how you talk! You was the one that
+charged up the last things Rastus's folks bought. You know you was.”
+
+The Captain looked as if he had been caught napping.
+
+“Well, what's that got to do with it?” he sputtered. “'Twasn't nothin'
+but some corn meal and a few yards of calico. How could I help chargin'
+it up, with that woman cryin' and goin' on about their havin' nothin'
+to eat nor wear in the house? I couldn't let 'em starve, could I? Nor
+freeze neither?”
+
+“'Twas only last week she did it,” protested his partner. “Folks don't
+freeze in April, seems to me.”
+
+“Aw, be still! Don't talk no more about it. By fire!” with a sudden
+change of subject and a burst of enthusiasm, “look at that horse, will
+you! Turned right in at the gate without my pullin' the helm once or
+sayin' a word--knows as much as a Christian, that horse does.”
+
+The buggy had rocked and plowed its way over the hummocks and through
+the sand of the narrow lane and was at the top of a grass-covered
+knoll, a little hill. At the foot of the hill was the beach, strewn
+with seaweed, and beyond, the Sound, its waters now a rosy purple in
+the sunset light. On the slope of the hill toward the beach stood a low,
+rambling, white house, a barn, and several sheds and outbuildings. There
+were lilac bushes by the front door of the house, a clam-shell walk from
+the lane to that door, and, surrounding the whole, a whitewashed picket
+fence. A sandy rutted driveway led from the rear of the house and the
+entrance of the barn down to a big gate, now wide open. It was through
+this gateway and along this drive that the sagacious Major was pulling
+the buggy.
+
+Mary-'Gusta stared at the house. As she stared the back door was thrown
+open and a tall, thin man came out. He was in his shirtsleeves, his arms
+were bare to the elbow, and to Mary-'Gusta's astonishment he wore an
+apron, a gingham apron similar to those worn by Mrs. Hobbs when at work
+in the kitchen.
+
+“Ahoy, there, Isaiah!” hailed the Captain. “Here we are.”
+
+The man with the apron took a big nickel watch from the upper pocket
+of his vest, looked at it, and shook his head. Upon his face, which was
+long and thin like the rest of him, there was a grieved expression.
+
+“A little mite late, ain't we, Isaiah?” said Zoeth, hastily. “Hope we
+ain't kept supper waitin' too long?”
+
+The tall man returned the watch to the pocket.
+
+“Only twenty-three minutes, that's all,” he drawled, with the
+resignation of a martyr. “Twenty-three minutes ain't much in a lifetime,
+maybe--but it don't help fried potatoes none. Them potatoes was ready at
+half-past five.”
+
+“Well, 'tain't six yet,” protested Captain Shad.
+
+“Maybe 'tain't, but it's twenty-three minutes later'n half-past five.
+Last thing you said to me was, 'Have supper ready at half-past five!' I
+had it ready. Them potatoes went on the fire at--”
+
+“There! there!” interrupted the Captain. “Never mind the potatoes. We'll
+'tend to them in a minute. Give us a hand with this dunnage. There's
+a satchel here and some more stuff. Sooner this craft's unloaded the
+sooner we can eat. All ashore that's goin' ashore.”
+
+Zoeth climbed out of the buggy. He lifted their passenger to the ground.
+
+“Mary-'Gusta,” he said, “here's where Cap'n Gould and I live. This is
+Mr. Isaiah Chase. Isaiah, this is Mary Lathrop, Cap'n Marcellus's little
+girl. She's come to--t--”
+
+“To make us a little visit,” put in the Captain, promptly. “You want to
+get acquainted with Isaiah, Mary-'Gusta; he's cook and steward for me
+and Mr. Zoeth. That's right; shake hands and be sociable.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta extended her hand and Mr. Chase, after wiping his own hand
+on the apron, pumped hers up and down.
+
+“Pleased to meet you,” he said, solemnly.
+
+“Now for the dunnage,” said Captain Shad. “There's the satchel and--and
+the other things. Look out for that basket! LOOK OUT!”
+
+Mr. Chase had seized the basket and swung it out of the buggy. David,
+frightened at the sudden aerial ascension, uttered a howl. Isaiah
+dropped the basket as if it was red hot.
+
+“What in tunket!” he exclaimed.
+
+“Nothin' but a cat,” explained the Captain. “'Twon't hurt you.”
+
+“A cat! What--whose cat?”
+
+“Mine,” said Mary-'Gusta, running to the rescue. “He's a real good cat.
+He ain't cross; he's scared, that's all. Honest, he ain't cross. Are
+you, David?”
+
+David howled and clawed at the cover of the basket. Mr. Chase backed
+away.
+
+“A cat!” he repeated. “You fetched a cat--here?”
+
+“Sartin we fetched it.” Captain Shadrach was evidently losing patience.
+“Did you think we'd fetch an elephant? Now get out them--them doll
+babies and things.”
+
+Isaiah stared at the dolls. Mary-'Gusta stopped patting the basket and
+hastened to the side of the buggy. “I'll take the dollies,” she said.
+“They're mine, too.”
+
+A moment later they entered the house. Mary-'Gusta bore three of the
+dolls. Mr. Hamilton carried the other two, and Isaiah, with the valise
+in one hand and the basket containing the shrieking David at arm's
+length in the other, led the way. Captain Shad, after informing them
+that he would be aboard in a jiffy, drove on to the barn.
+
+The room they first entered was the kitchen. It was small, rather
+untidy, and smelt strongly of fish and the fried potatoes.
+
+“Come right along with me, Mary-'Gusta,” said Zoeth. “Fetch the satchel,
+Isaiah.”
+
+“Hold on,” shouted the perturbed “cook and steward.” “What--what in the
+nation will I do with this critter?”
+
+The “critter” was David, who was apparently turning somersaults in the
+basket.
+
+Zoeth hesitated. Mary-'Gusta settled the question.
+
+“Put him right down, please,” she said. “He'll be better soon as he's
+put down. He's never traveled before and it's kind of strange to him.
+He'll be all right and I'll come back and let him out pretty soon.
+Mayn't I, Mr.--Mr. Chase?”
+
+“Huh? Yes, yes, you can if you want to, I cal'late. I don't want to,
+that's sure.”
+
+He deposited the basket on the floor at his feet. Mary-'Gusta looked at
+it rather dubiously and for an instant seemed about to speak, but
+she did not, and followed Mr. Hamilton from the kitchen, through the
+adjoining room, evidently the dining-room, and up a narrow flight of
+stairs.
+
+“I cal'late we'll put her in the spare room, won't we, Isaiah?” queried
+Zoeth, with some hesitation.
+
+Isaiah grunted. “Guess so,” he said, ungraciously, “Ain't no other place
+that I know of. Bed ain't made, though.”
+
+The spare room was of good size, and smelled shut up and musty, as
+spare rooms in the country usually do. It was furnished with a bureau,
+washstand, and two chairs, each painted in a robin's egg blue with
+sprays of yellow roses. There were several pictures on the walls, their
+subjects religious and mournful. The bed was, as Mr. Chase had said, not
+made; in fact it looked as if it had not been made for some time.
+
+“I've been cal'latin' to make up that bed for more'n a month,” explained
+Isaiah. “Last time 'twas unmade was when Zoeth had that minister from
+Trumet here of a Saturday and Sunday. Every day I've cal'lated to make
+up that bed, but I don't seem to get no time. I'm so everlastin' busy I
+don't get time for nothin', somehow.”
+
+“I can make the bed,” declared Mary-'Gusta, eagerly. “I can make beds
+real well. Mrs. Hobbs told me so--once.”
+
+The two men looked at each other. Before either could speak a
+tremendous racket broke out on the floor below, a sound of something--or
+somebody--tumbling about, a roar in a human voice and a feline screech.
+Mary-'Gusta rushed for the stairs.
+
+“I knew he would,” she said, frantically. “I was afraid somebody would.
+It was RIGHT in front of the door. Oh! David, dear! I'm a-comin'! I'm
+a-comin'!”
+
+From the kitchen came Captain Shadrach's voice. It sounded excited and
+angry.
+
+“Who in blazes left that dum critter right under my feet?” he hollered.
+“I--I swan, I believe I've broke my neck--or his--one or t'other.”
+
+When Zoeth and Isaiah reached the kitchen they found the Captain sitting
+in a chair, rubbing his knees, and Mary-'Gusta seated on the floor
+beside the open basket, hugging the frightened and struggling David.
+
+“I--I guess he's all right,” panted the child. “I was so afraid he'd be
+killed. You ain't killed, are you, David?”
+
+David appeared to be remarkably sound and active. He wriggled from his
+owner's arms and bolted under the stove.
+
+“No; he's all right,” said Mary-'Gusta. “Isn't it nice he ain't hurt,
+Mr.--I mean Cap'n Gould?”
+
+Captain Shad rubbed his knee. “Um--yes,” he said, with elaborate
+sarcasm; “it's lovely. Course I don't mind breakin' both MY legs, but if
+that cat had been--er--bruised or anything I should have felt bad. Well,
+Isaiah,” he added, tartly, turning to the grinning “steward,” “are them
+fried potatoes of yours real or just in your mind?”
+
+“Eh? Why--why they're right there on the stove, Cap'n Shad.”
+
+“Want to know! Then suppose you put 'em on the table. I'm hungry and I'd
+like to eat one more square meal afore somethin' else happens to finish
+me altogether. By fire! if this ain't been a day! First that chair, and
+then that will and letter of Marcellus's, and then this. Humph! Come on,
+all hands, let's eat supper. I need somethin' solid to brace me up for
+tomorrow's program; if it's up to this, I'll need strength to last it
+through. Come on!”
+
+That first supper in the white house by the shore was an experience for
+Mary-'Gusta. Mrs. Hobbs, in spite of her faultfinding and temper, had
+been a competent and careful housekeeper. Meals which she prepared were
+well cooked and neatly served. This meal was distinctly different.
+There was enough to eat--in fact, an abundance--fried cod and the fried
+potatoes and hot biscuits and dried-apple pie; but everything was put
+upon the table at the same time, and Mr. Chase sat down with the others
+and did not even trouble to take off his apron. The tablecloth was not
+very clean and the knives and forks and spoons did not glitter like
+those the child had been accustomed to see.
+
+Even Mr. Hamilton, to whom most of the things of this world--his beloved
+store excepted--seemed to be unessential trivialities, spoke of the
+table linen.
+
+“Seems to me,” he observed, in his gentle and hesitating way, “this
+tablecloth's sort of spotted up. Don't you think so, Shadrach?”
+
+Captain Shad's reply was emphatic and to the point.
+
+“Looks as if 'twas breakin' out with chicken-pox,” he replied. “Ain't we
+got a clean one in the locker, Isaiah?”
+
+Mr. Chase's face assumed an aggrieved expression.
+
+“Course we have,” he answered, “but I didn't know you was goin' to have
+company.”
+
+“Neither did we. But we could stand a clean table-cloth, even at that.”
+
+“I've got somethin' to do besides changin' tablecloths every day.”
+
+“Every day! Every Thanksgivin' Day, you mean. This one--”
+
+“Now, look-a-here, Cap'n Shad; you know well as I do that Sarah J.
+never come to do the washin' last week. She was down with the grip and
+couldn't move. If you expect me to do washin' as well as cook and sweep
+and keep house and--and shovel snow, and--”
+
+“Shovel snow! What kind of talk's that? There ain't been any snow since
+February.”
+
+“Don't make no difference. When there was I shoveled it, didn't I? It
+ain't no use; I try and try, but I can't give satisfaction and I might's
+well quit. I don't have to stay here and slave myself to death. I can
+get another job. There's folks in this town that's just dyin' to have me
+work for em.”
+
+Captain Shadrach muttered something to the effect that if Isaiah did
+work for them they might die sooner. Mr. Chase rose from his seat.
+
+“All right,” he said, with dignity. “All right, this settles it. I'm
+through. After all the years I sailed cook along with you, Shad Gould,
+and after you beggin' me--yes, sir, beggin' on your knees, as you might
+say, for me to run this house for you long as you lived--after that,
+to--to--Good-by. I'll try not to lay it up against you.”
+
+He was moving--not hastily, but actually moving--toward the kitchen
+door. Zoeth, who was evidently much disturbed, rose and laid a hand on
+his arm.
+
+“There, there, Isaiah,” he pleaded. “Don't act so. We ain't findin' any
+fault. Shadrach wasn't findin' fault, was you, Shadrach?”
+
+“No, no, course I wasn't. Don't talk so foolish, Isaiah. Nobody wants
+you to quit. All I said was--Come back here and set down. Your tea's
+gettin' all cold.”
+
+To Mary-'Gusta it seemed as if the tea had been at least cool to begin
+with. However, Mr. Chase suffered himself to be led back to the table
+and attacked his supper in injured silence. Mary-'Gusta offered a
+suggestion.
+
+“I guess I could wash a tablecloth,” she said. “I always wash my dolls'
+things.”
+
+Her three companions were plainly surprised. The Captain was the first
+to speak.
+
+“You don't say!” he exclaimed.
+
+“Yes, sir, I do. And,” with a glance at the silver, “I can scour
+knives and forks and spoons, too. I used to help Mrs. Hobbs scour 'em
+sometimes.”
+
+Even Shadrach had no remark to make. He gazed at the child, then at
+Zoeth, and drew a long breath.
+
+As soon as supper was over the Captain and Mr. Hamilton hastened up to
+the village and the store.
+
+“You better go to bed pretty soon, Mary-'Gusta,” said Zoeth. “You're
+tired, I know. Isaiah'll make your bed for you. We'll be on hand and see
+you first thing in the morning. Isaiah'll go up with you and blow out
+your light and all. Good night.”
+
+The Captain said good night also and the pair hurried out.
+
+When at ten o'clock they returned they found Mr. Chase up and awaiting
+them. Isaiah had a story to tell.
+
+“I never see a young-one like that in this world,” declared Isaiah. “You
+know what she done after you left? Helped me do the dishes. Yes, sir,
+by time, that's what she done. And she wiped 'em first-rate, too; good
+enough to satisfy ME, and you know that means somethin' 'cause I ain't
+easy to satisfy. And talk! Say, I never had a child talk same as she
+does. How old is she, for the land sakes?”
+
+Zoeth told them the visitor's age.
+
+“Well, maybe so,” went on Isaiah, “but she don't talk seven; nigher
+seventeen, if you ask me. Pumpin' me about funerals, she was, and about
+folks dyin' and so on. Said she cal'lated she'd have a doll's funeral
+some time. 'For mercy sakes, what for?' I says. 'Can't you think up
+anything pleasanter'n that to play? That kind of game would give me the
+blue creeps!' She, thought that over--she generally thinks about a thing
+for five minutes afore she talks about it--and says she, 'I know,' she
+says, 'but a person must go to funerals and so it's better to get used
+to 'em and know how to behave. I shouldn't want my dolls,' she says, 'to
+do things at funerals that make people feel bad and laugh.' I couldn't
+get that through my head. 'If they felt bad they wouldn't laugh, would
+they?' says I. 'THEY wouldn't--the ones that felt bad wouldn't,' says
+she, 'but others might laugh at them. And that would make the person who
+was to blame feel TERRIBLY.' Now what was all that about? Can you make
+any sense of it?”
+
+Captain Shadrach smiled sheepishly. “I cal'late me and Zoeth have an
+idea what she was drivin' at,” he said. “Go on, Isaiah; what else did
+she say?”
+
+“What didn't she say? Wanted to know if I thought God would knock
+anybody's head off that had done wrong, even if they didn't mean to.
+Yes, sir, that's what she said---if God would knock anybody's head off.
+Mine pretty nigh come off when she said that. I told her that, fur's I
+knew, He wasn't in the habit of doin' it. She said that Mrs. Hobbs told
+her that if she wasn't punished for her wickedness in this world she
+would be in the next. She was real kind of scared about it, seemed to
+me. Now what's she done that's wicked, a little critter like her?”
+
+Zoeth said nothing, but he looked vexed and disturbed.
+
+“I'd knock SOMEBODY'S head off if I had my way,” observed Shadrach. “Or
+if I didn't, I'd like to. Where is she now, Isaiah?”
+
+“She's up in the spare room, asleep I cal'late. And she's got her dolls
+along with her, three on one side and two on t'other. Wanted me to be
+sure and wake all hands of 'em up on time in the mornin'. He, he! She
+undressed them dolls, every one of 'em, afore they turned in. Oh, yes,
+and she helped me make the bed, too. She CAN make a bed, blessed if she
+can't. And all the time a-talkin', one minute like a child and the next
+like a forty-year-old woman. She's the queerest young-one!”
+
+“I guess she's had a kind of queer bringin' up,” said Zoeth.
+
+“Where's that--where's Saul--er--Elijah--what's his name--David?” asked
+the Captain. “Where's the cat?”
+
+“He's out in the barn, locked in. She had to go out along with me when
+I toted him there, and kiss him good night and tell him not to be
+frightened, and goodness knows what all--you'd think she was that cat's
+mother, to hear her. How long's she goin' to stay?”
+
+“Don't know,” replied Shadrach, hastily. “That ain't settled yet.”
+
+“How'd you come to fetch her over here? You're the last ones I
+ever thought would be fetchin' a child to visit you. Say, you ain't
+cal'latin' to keep her for good, are you?”
+
+Zoeth hesitated. Shadrach's answer was emphatic.
+
+“Course not,” he snapped. “What do Zoeth and me know about managin' a
+child? Keep her for good, the idea!”
+
+Isaiah chuckled. “'Cordin' to my notion,” he said, “you wouldn't have
+to know much. You wouldn't have to manage her. If she wasn't managin'
+you--yes, and me, too--inside of a month, I'd miss my guess. She's a
+born manager. You ought to see her handle them dolls and that cat.”
+
+When the two partners of Hamilton and Company went upstairs to their
+own bedrooms they opened the door of the spare room and peeped in.
+Mary-'Gusta's head and those of the dolls were in a row upon the pillow.
+It was a strange sight in that room and that house.
+
+“I declare!” whispered Zoeth. “And this mornin' we never dreamed of such
+a thing. How long this day has been!”
+
+“Judgin' by the state of my nerves and knees it's been two year,”
+ replied Shadrach. “I've aged that much, I swan to man. Humph! I wonder
+if Marcellus knows what's happened.”
+
+His tone was not loud, but it or the lamplight in her face awakened
+Mary-'Gusta. She stirred, opened her eyes and regarded them sleepily.
+
+“Is it mornin'?” she asked.
+
+“No, no,” replied Zoeth. “It's only ten o'clock. Captain Shadrach and
+I was goin' to bed and we looked in to see if you was all right, that's
+all. You must go right to sleep again, dearie.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Mary-'Gusta, obediently. Then she added, “I said my
+prayers to myself but I'll say 'em to you if you want me to.”
+
+The embarrassed Captain would have protested, but the girl's mind seemed
+to be made up.
+
+“I guess I will say 'em again,” she said. “There's somethin' in 'em
+maybe you'd ought to hear.” She closed her eyes. “Please God bless
+Father--Oh, I forgot--bless Mrs. Hobbs and Cap'n Gould and Mr. Hamilton.
+I thought I'd ask him to bless you, you know, because I'm visitin'
+here. And bless David and Rose and Rosette and Emma and Christobel and
+Minnehaha. They're my dolls. And please, God, forgive me for breakin'
+the music chair and makin' it go off, because you know I am very sorry
+and won't do it again. And--and, Oh, yes!--bless Mr. Chase, Amen. You
+don't mind my puttin' you and Mr. Chase in, do you?”
+
+“No, dearie, not a mite,” said Zoeth.
+
+Captain Shad, looking more embarrassed than ever, shook his head. “Good
+night,” said Mary-'Gusta. Zoeth hesitated, then he walked over and
+kissed her.
+
+“Good night, little girl,” he said.
+
+“Good night, Mr. Hamilton,” said Mary-'Gusta. Then she turned
+expectantly toward the Captain. Shadrach fidgeted, turned to go, and
+then, turning back, strode to the bed, brushed the soft cheek with his
+rough one and hastened out into the hall. Zoeth followed him, bearing
+the lamp. At the door of the Captain's room, they paused.
+
+“Well, good night, Zoeth,” said Shadrach, brusquely.
+
+“Good night, Shadrach. This--this is queer business for you and me,
+ain't it?”
+
+“I should think 'twas. Humph! You said this morning that maybe Marcellus
+was alongside of us today. If he is he knows what's happened, don't he?”
+
+“Perhaps he knows that and more, Shadrach. Perhaps he can see what'll
+happen in the future. Perhaps he knows that, too.”
+
+“Humph! Well, if he does, he knows a heap more'n I do. Good night.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Mary-'Gusta awoke next morning to find the sun shining in at the window
+of her bedroom. She had no means of knowing the time, but she was
+certain it must be very late and, in consequence, was almost dressed
+when Isaiah knocked at the door to tell her breakfast would be ready
+pretty soon. A few minutes later she appeared in the kitchen bearing the
+pitcher from the washstand in her room.
+
+“What you doin' with that?” demanded Mr. Chase, who was leaning against
+the door-post looking out into the yard.
+
+“I was goin' to fill it,” said the child. “There wasn't any water to
+wash with.”
+
+Isaiah sniffed. “I ain't had no time to fill wash pitchers,” he
+declared. “That one's been on my mind for more'n a fortni't but I've
+had other things to do. You can wash yourself in that basin in the sink.
+That's what the rest of us do.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta obediently washed in the tin basin and rubbed her face and
+hands dry upon the roller towel behind the closet door.
+
+“Am I late for breakfast?” she asked, anxiously.
+
+“No, I guess not. Ain't had breakfast yet. Cap'n Shad's out to the barn
+'tendin' to the horse and Zoeth's feedin' the hens. They'll be in
+pretty soon, if we have luck. Course it's TIME for breakfast, but that's
+nothing. I'm the only one that has to think about time in this house.”
+
+The girl regarded him thoughtfully.
+
+“You have to work awful hard, don't you, Mr. Chase?” she said.
+
+Isaiah looked at her suspiciously.
+
+“Huh?” he grunted. “Who told you that?”
+
+“Nobody. I just guessed it from what you said.”
+
+“Humph! Well, you guessed right. I don't have many spare minutes.”
+
+“Yes, sir. Are you a perfect slave?”
+
+“Eh? What?”
+
+“Mrs. Hobbs says she is a perfect slave when she has to work hard.”
+
+“Who's Mrs. Hobbs?”
+
+“She's--she keeps house--that is, she used to keep house for my father
+over in Ostable. I don't suppose she will any more now he's dead. She'll
+be glad, I guess. Perhaps she won't have to be a perfect slave now.
+She used to wear aprons same as you do. I never saw a man wear an apron
+before. Do you have to wear one?”
+
+“Hey? Have to? No, course I don't have to unless I want to.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta reflected.
+
+“I suppose,” she went on, after a moment, “it saves your pants. You'd
+get 'em all spotted up if you didn't wear the apron. Pneumonia is a good
+thing to take out Spots.”
+
+Isaiah was surprised.
+
+“What is?” he asked.
+
+“Pneumonia. . . . No, I don't think that's right. It's pneumonia that
+makes you sick. Somethin' else takes out the spots. I know now; it's
+am-monia. It's very good for spots but you mustn't smell the bottle. I
+smelled the bottle once and it went right up into my head.”
+
+“What on earth are you talkin' about? The bottle went up into your
+head!”
+
+“No, the ammonia smell did. It was awful; like--like--” she paused,
+evidently in search of a simile; “like sneezin' backwards,” she added.
+“It was terrible.”
+
+Isaiah laughed. “I should think 'twould be,” he declared. “Sneezin'
+backwards! Ho, ho! That's a good one!”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's eyes were still fixed upon the apron.
+
+“Mr.--I mean Cap'n Gould said you was the cook and steward,” she
+observed. “I don't know as I know what a steward is, exactly. Is it the
+one that stews things?”
+
+“Ha, ha!” roared Isaiah. Mary-'Gusta's dignity was hurt. The color rose
+in her cheeks.
+
+“Was it funny?” she asked. “I didn't know. I know that a cook cooked
+things, and a baker baked things, so I thought maybe a steward stewed
+'em.”
+
+Mr. Chase continued to chuckle. The girl considered.
+
+“I see,” she said, with a solemn nod. “It was funny, I guess. I remember
+now that a friar doesn't fry things. He is a--a kind of minister. Friar
+Tuck was one in 'Robin Hood,' you know. Mrs. Bailey read about him to
+me. Do you like 'Robin Hood,' Mr. Chase?”
+
+Isaiah said he didn't cal'late that he knew anybody of that name. The
+dialogue was interrupted here by the arrival of Zoeth and, a moment
+later, Captain Shadrach. Breakfast was put upon the table in the
+dining-room and the quartette sat down to eat.
+
+Mary-'Gusta was quiet during the meal; she answered when spoken to but
+the only questions she asked were concerning David.
+
+“He's all right,” said Captain Shad. “Lively as can be. He'll have a
+good time out in that barn; there's considerable many mice out there.
+Likes mice, don't he?”
+
+“Yes, sir. He's a good mouser. Did he look as if he missed me?”
+
+“Eh? Well, I didn't notice. He never mentioned it if he did. You can
+go see him after breakfast. What do you think she can find to do today,
+Zoeth?”
+
+Mr. Hamilton had evidently considered the problem.
+
+“I thought maybe she'd like to go up to the store 'long of you and me,”
+ he suggested. “Would you, Mary'Gusta?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta hesitated. “I'd like to very much,” she said, “only--”
+
+“Only what?”
+
+“Only I've got to see to David and the dolls first. Couldn't I come up
+to the store afterwards?”
+
+The Captain answered. “Why, I guess likely you could,” he said. “It's
+straight up the road to the corner. You can see the store from the top
+of the hill back here. Isaiah'll show you the way. But you can 'tend
+to--what's that cat's name?--Oh, yes, David--you can 'tend to David
+right off. Isaiah'll give the critter his breakfast, and the dolls can
+wait 'til noontime, can't they?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's mind was evidently divided between inclination and duty.
+Duty won.
+
+“They ain't dressed yet,” she said, gravely. “And besides they might
+think I'd gone off and left 'em and be frightened. This is a strange
+place to them, same as it is to me and David, you know. None of us have
+ever been visitin' before.”
+
+So it was decided that she should wait until her family had been given
+parental attention, and come to the store by herself. The partners left
+for their place of business and she and Mr. Chase remained at the house.
+Her first act, after leaving the table, was to go to the barn and return
+bearing the cat in her arms. David ate a hearty breakfast and then,
+after enduring a motherly lecture concerning prudence and the danger of
+getting lost, was permitted to go out of doors.
+
+Mary-'Gusta, standing in the doorway, gazed after her pet.
+
+“I hope there's no dogs around here,” she said. “It would be dreadful if
+there was a dog.”
+
+Isaiah tried to reassure her. “Oh, I cal'late there ain't no dog nigh
+enough to do any harm,” he said; “besides, most cats can run fast enough
+to get out of the way.”
+
+The child shook her head. “I didn't mean that,” she said. “I meant it
+would be dreadful for the dog. David doesn't have a mite of patience
+with dogs. He doesn't wait to see if they're nice ones or not, he just
+goes for 'em and then--Oh! He most always goes for 'em. When he has
+kittens he ALWAYS does.”
+
+Mr. Chase's reply to this illuminating disclosure was that he wanted to
+know.
+
+“Yes,” said Mary-'Gusta, “David doesn't take to dogs, some way. Why
+don't cats like dogs, Mr. Chase?”
+
+Isaiah said that he cal'lated 'twas the nature of the critters not to.
+Mary-'Gusta agreed with him.
+
+“Natures are queer things, ain't they?” she said, solemnly. “I guess
+everybody has a nature, cats and all. Mrs. Hobbs says my nature is a
+contrary one. What's your kind, Mr. Chase?
+
+“Do you suppose,” she said, a few moments later, when the cook and
+steward had shown symptoms of doing something beside lean against the
+sink and whistle, “do you suppose you could get along for a few minutes
+while I went up and dressed my dolls?”
+
+Isaiah turned to stare at her.
+
+“Well,” he stammered, “I--I cal'late maybe I could if I tried hard.
+If you don't beat anything ever I see! What are you doin' with that
+pitcher?”
+
+The girl was holding the wash pitcher under the pump.
+
+“I'm fillin' it,” she answered. “Then you won't have to have it on your
+mind any more. I'll hurry back just as fast as I can.”
+
+She hastened out, bearing the brimming pitcher with both hands. Isaiah
+gazed after her, muttering a word or two, and then set about clearing
+the breakfast table.
+
+She was down again shortly, the two favorites, Rose and Rosette, in her
+arms. She placed them carefully in the kitchen chair and bade them be
+nice girls and watch mother do the dishes.
+
+“I left the others in the bedroom,” she explained. “Minnehaha ain't very
+well this mornin'. I guess the excitement was too much for her. She is a
+very nervous child.”
+
+Isaiah's evident amusement caused her to make one of her odd changes
+from childish make-believe to grown-up practicability.
+
+“Of course,” she added, with gravity, “I know she ain't really nervous.
+She's just full of sawdust, same as all dolls are, and she couldn't have
+any nerves. But I like to play she's nervous and delicate. It's real
+handy to say that when I don't want to take her with me. I'm a nervous,
+excitable child myself; Mrs. Hobbs says so. That's why I've hardly ever
+been anywhere before, I guess.”
+
+She insisted upon wiping the dishes while Isaiah washed them. Also, she
+reminded him that the tablecloth which had been so severely criticized
+the previous evening had not as yet been changed. The steward was
+inclined to treat the matter lightly.
+
+“Never mind if 'tain't,” he said. “It's good enough for a spell longer.
+Let it stay. Besides,” he added, “the washin' ain't been done this week
+and there ain't another clean one aboard.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta smiled cheerfully.
+
+“Oh, yes, there is,” she said. “There's a real nice one in the bottom
+drawer of the closet. I've been huntin' and I found it. Come and see.”
+
+She led him into the dining-room and showed him the cloth she had found.
+
+“It's a real pretty one, I think,” she said. “Shall we put it on, Mr.
+Chase?”
+
+“No, no, course not. That's the best tablecloth. Don't use that only
+when there's company--or Sundays.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta considered. She counted on her fingers.
+
+“How long have we used this dirty one?” she asked.
+
+“Eh? Oh, I don't know. Four or five days, maybe.” Then, evidently
+feeling that the repetition of the “we” implied a sense of unwarranted
+partnership in the household management, he added with dignity, “That
+is, I'VE seen fit to use it that long.”
+
+The sarcasm was wasted. The girl smiled and nodded.
+
+“That makes it all right,” she declared. “If we put this one on now
+it'll be Sunday long before it's time to change. And we can wash the
+other one today or tomorrow.”
+
+“Oh, WE can, eh?”
+
+“Yes, sir”
+
+Isaiah looked as if he wished to say something but was at a loss for
+words. The Sunday cloth was spread upon the table while he was still
+hunting for them.
+
+“And now,” said Mary-'Gusta, “if you're sure you don't need me any more
+just now I guess I'd like to go up and see the store. May I?”
+
+Site found the store of Hamilton and Company an exceedingly interesting
+place. Zoeth and his partner greeted her cordially and she sat down upon
+a box at the end of the counter and inspected the establishment. It was
+not very large, but there was an amazing variety in its stock. Muslin,
+tape, calico, tacks, groceries, cases of shoes, a rack with spools of
+thread, another containing a few pocket knives, barrels, half a dozen
+salt codfish swinging from nails overhead, some suits of oilskins
+hanging beside them, a tumbled heap of children's caps and hats, even a
+glass-covered case containing boxes of candy with placards “1 c. each”
+ or “3 for 1 c.” displayed above them.
+
+“Like candy, do you?” asked Mr. Hamilton, noticing her scrutiny of the
+case and its contents.
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Mary-'Gusta.
+
+“How about sassafras lozengers? Like them?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+She was supplied with a roll of the lozenges and munched them gravely.
+Captain Shad, who had been waiting on a customer, regarded her with an
+amused twinkle.
+
+“Sassafras lozengers are good enough for anybody, eh?” he observed.
+
+“Yes, sir,” replied Mary-'Gusta. Then she added, politely: “Only I guess
+these are wintergreen.”
+
+She stayed at the store until noon. Then she walked home with the
+Captain whose turn it was to dine first that day. The hiring of Annabel
+had been an unusual break in the business routine. Ordinarily but one of
+the partners left that store at a time.
+
+“Well,” inquired the Captain, as they walked down the lane, “what do
+you think of it? Pretty good store for a place like South Harniss, ain't
+it?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I bet you! Different from the Ostable stores, eh?”
+
+“Yes, sir; I--I guess it is.”
+
+“Um-hm. Well, how different?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta took her usual interval for consideration.
+
+“I guess there's more--more things in it with separate smells to 'em,”
+ she said.
+
+Captain Shad had no remark to make for a moment. Mary-'Gusta, however,
+was anxious to please.
+
+“They're nice smells,” she hastened to add. “I like 'em; only I never
+smelled 'em all at the same time before. And I like the lozengers VERY
+much.”
+
+The two or three days which Captain Shad had set as the limit of the
+child's visit passed; as did the next two or three. She was busy and,
+apparently, enjoying herself. She helped Isaiah with the housework, and
+although he found the help not altogether unwelcome, he was inclined to
+grumble a little at what he called her “pesterin' around.”
+
+“I never see such a young-one,” he told his employers. “I don't ask her
+to do dishes nor fill pitchers nor nothin'; she just does it on her own
+hook.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted Captain Shadrach. “So I judged from what I see. Does it
+pretty well, too, don't she?”
+
+“Um-hm. Well enough, I guess. Yes,” with a burst of candor, “for her
+age, she does it mighty well.”
+
+“Then what are you kickin' about?”
+
+“I ain't kickin'. Who said I was kickin'? Only--well, all I say is let
+her do dishes and such, if she wants to, only--only--”
+
+“Only what?”
+
+“Only I ain't goin' to have her heavin' out hints about what I ought
+to do. There's two skippers aboard this craft now and that's enough.
+By time!” with another burst, “that kid's a reg'lar born mother. She
+mothers that cat and them dolls and the hens already, and I swan to
+man I believe she'd like to adopt me. I ain't goin' to be mothered and
+hinted at to do this and that and put to bed and tucked in by no kid.
+I'll heave up my job first.”
+
+He had been on the point of heaving up his job ever since the days when
+he sailed as cook aboard Captain Shadrach's schooner. When the Captain
+retired from the sea for the last time, and became partner and fellow
+shopkeeper with Zoeth, Isaiah had retired with him and was engaged to
+keep house for the two men. The Captain had balked at the idea of a
+female housekeeper.
+
+“Women aboard ship are a dum nuisance,” he declared. “I've carried 'em
+cabin passage and I know. Isaiah Chase is a good cook, and, besides, if
+the biscuits are more fit for cod sinkers than they are for grub, I
+can tell him so in the right kind of language. We don't want no woman
+steward, Zoeth; you hear ME!”
+
+Zoeth, although the Captain's seafaring language was a trial to his
+gentle, churchly soul, agreed with his partner on the main point. His
+experience with the other sex had not been such as to warrant further
+experiment. So Isaiah was hired and had been cook and steward at the
+South Harniss home for many years. But he made it a practice to assert
+his independence at frequent intervals, although, as a matter of fact,
+he would no more have dreamed of really leaving than his friends and
+employers would of discharging him. Mr. Chase was as permanent a fixture
+in that house as the ship's chronometer in the dining-room; and that was
+screwed to the wall.
+
+And, in spite of his grumbling, he and Mary-'Gusta were rapidly becoming
+fast friends. Shadrach and Zoeth also were beginning to enjoy her
+company, her unexpected questions, her interest in the house and the
+store, and shrewd, old-fashioned comments on persons and things. She was
+a “queer young-one”; they, like the people of Ostable, agreed on that
+point, but Mr. Hamilton was inclined to think her ways “sort of takin'”
+ and the Captain admitted that maybe they were. What he would not admit
+was that the girl's visit, although already prolonged for a fortnight,
+was anything but a visit.
+
+“I presume likely,” hinted Zoeth, “you and me'll have to give the Judge
+some sort of an answer pretty soon, won't we? He'll be wantin' to know
+afore long.”
+
+“Know? Know what?”
+
+“Why--why whether we're goin' to say yes or no to what Marcellus asked
+us in that letter.”
+
+“He does know. Fur's I'm consarned, he knows. I spoke my mind plain
+enough to pound through anybody's skull, I should think.”
+
+“Yes--yes, I know you did. But, Shadrach, if she don't stay here for
+good where will she stay? She ain't got anybody else to go to.”
+
+“She is stayin', ain't she? She--she's makin' us a visit, same as I said
+she could. What more do you want? Jumpin' fire! This fix is your doin'
+anyway. 'Tain't mine. If you had paid attention to what I said, the
+child wouldn't have been here at all.”
+
+“Now, Shadrach! You know you was the one that would fetch her over that
+very day.”
+
+“Oh, blame it onto me, of course!”
+
+“I ain't blamin' anybody. But she's here and we've got to decide whether
+to send her away or not. Shall we?”
+
+They were interrupted by Mary-'Gusta herself, who entered the barn,
+where the discussion took place, a doll under one arm and a very serious
+expression on her face.
+
+“Hello!” hailed Zoeth. “What's the matter?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta seated herself upon an empty cranberry crate. The partners
+had a joint interest in a small cranberry bog and the crate was one of
+several unused the previous fall.
+
+“There's nothin' the matter,” she said, solemnly. “I've been thinkin',
+that's all.”
+
+“Want to know!” observed the Captain. “Well, what made you do anything
+as risky as that?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's forehead puckered.
+
+“I was playin' with Jimmie Bacheldor yesterday,” she said, “and he made
+me think.”
+
+Abner Bacheldor was the nearest neighbor. His ramshackle dwelling was an
+eighth of a mile from the Gould-Hamilton place. Abner had the reputation
+of being the meanest man in town; also he had a large family, of which
+Jimmie, eight years old, was the youngest.
+
+“Humph!” sniffed Captain Shad. “So Jimmie Bacheldor made you think, eh?
+I never should have expected it from one of that tribe. How'd he do it?”
+
+“He asked me about my relations,” said Mary-'Gusta, “and when I said I
+hadn't got any he was awful surprised. He has ever so many, sisters and
+brothers and aunts and cousins and--Oh, everything. He thought 'twas
+dreadful funny my not havin' any. I think I'd ought to have some, don't
+you?”
+
+The partners, looking rather foolish, said nothing for a moment. Then
+Zoeth muttered that he didn't know but she had.
+
+“Yes,” said Mary-'Gusta, “I--I think so. You see I'm--I mean I was a
+stepchild 'long as father was here. Now he's dead and I ain't even
+that. And I ain't anybody's cousin nor nephew nor niece. I just
+ain't anything. I'm different from everybody I know. And--and--” very
+solemnly--“I don't like to be so different.”
+
+Her lip quivered as she said it. Sitting there on the cranberry crate,
+hugging her dolls, she was a pathetic little figure. Again the partners
+found it hard to answer. Mr. Hamilton looked at the Captain and the
+latter, his fingers fidgeting with his watchchain, avoided the look. The
+girl went on.
+
+“I was thinking,” she said, “how nice 'twould have been if I'd had a--a
+brother or somebody of my very own. I've got children, of course, but
+they're only dolls and a cat. They're nice, but they ain't real folks.
+I wish I had some real folks. Do you suppose if--if I have to go to
+the--the orphans' home, there'd be anybody there that would be my
+relation? I didn't know but there might be another orphan there who
+didn't have anybody, same as me, and then we could make believe we
+was--was cousins or somethin'. That would be better than nothin',
+wouldn't it?”
+
+Zoeth stepped forward and, bending over, kissed her cheek. “Never you
+mind, Mary-'Gusta,” he said. “You ain't gone there yet and afore you do
+maybe Cap'n Shad and I can think up some relations for you.”
+
+“Real relations?” asked Mary-'Gusta, eagerly.
+
+“Well, no, not real ones; I'm afraid we couldn't do that. But when
+it comes to make-believe, that might be different.” He hesitated an
+instant, glanced at the Captain, and then added: “I tell you what
+you do: you just pretend I'm your relation, a--well, an uncle, that's
+better'n nothin'. You just call me 'Uncle Zoeth.' That'll be a start,
+anyhow. Think you'd like to call me 'Uncle Zoeth'?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's eyes shone. “Oh, yes!” she cried. “Then I could tell that
+Jimmie Bacheldor I had one relation, anyhow. And shall I call Cap'n
+Gould 'Uncle Shadrach'?”
+
+Zoeth turned to his companion. “Shall she, Shadrach?” he asked, with a
+mischievous smile.
+
+If it had not been for that smile the Captain's reply might have been
+different. But the smile irritated him. He strode to the door.
+
+“Zoeth Hamilton,” he snapped, “how long are you goin' to set here? If
+you ain't got anything else to attend to, I have. I'm goin' up to the
+store. It's pretty nigh eight o'clock in the mornin' and that store
+ain't open yet.”
+
+“Want to come along, Mary-'Gusta?” asked Zoeth. “She can come, can't
+she, Shad?”
+
+“Yes, yes, course she can,” more genially. “Cal'late there's some of
+those sassafras--checkerberry lozengers left yet. Come on, Mary-'Gusta,
+if you want to.”
+
+But the child shook her head. She looked wistful and a trifle
+disappointed.
+
+“I--I guess maybe I'd better stay here,” she said. “I ought to see to
+Minnehaha's sore throat. I'm goin' to put some red flannel 'round it;
+Mr. Chase says he cal'lates he knows where there is some. Good-by, Uncle
+Zoeth. Good-by--er--Cap'n Gould.”
+
+The partners did not converse on the way to the store. Zoeth made an
+attempt, but Shadrach refused to answer. He was silent and, for him,
+grumpy all the forenoon. Another fortnight passed before the subject
+of the decision which must, sooner or later, be given Judge Baxter was
+mentioned by either of the pair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+Mary-'Gusta was growing accustomed to the life in the South Harniss
+home. She found it a great improvement over that which she had known
+on Phinney's Hill at Ostable. There was no Mrs. Hobbs to nag and find
+fault, there were no lonely meals, no scoldings when stockings were
+torn or face and hands soiled. And as a playground the beach was a
+wonderland.
+
+She and Jimmie Bacheldor picked up shells, built sand forts, skipped
+flat stones along the surface of the water at high tide, and picked up
+scallops and an occasional quahaug at low water. Jimmie was, generally
+speaking, a satisfactory playmate, although he usually insisted upon
+having his own way and, when they got into trouble because of this
+insistence, did not permit adherence to the truth to obstruct the path
+to a complete alibi. Mary-'Gusta, who had been taught by the beloved
+Mrs. Bailey to consider lying a deadly sin, regarded her companion's
+lapses with alarmed disapproval, but she was too loyal to contradict and
+more than once endured reproof when the fault was not hers. She had had
+few playmates in her short life and this one, though far from perfect,
+was a joy.
+
+They explored the house together and found in the big attic and the
+stuffy, shut-up best parlor the most fascinating of treasure hordes. The
+former, with its rows of old trunks and sea chests under the low eaves,
+the queer garments and discarded hats hanging on the nails, the dusky
+corners where the light from the little windows scarcely penetrated even
+on a sunny May afternoon, was the girl's especial Paradise. Here she
+came to play by herself on rainy days or when she did not care for
+company. Her love of make-believe and romance had free scope here and
+with no Jimmie to laugh and make fun of her imaginings she pretended to
+her heart's content. Different parts of that garret gradually, in her
+mind, came to have names of their own. In the bright spot, under the
+north window, was Home, where she and the dolls and David--when the
+cat could be coaxed from prowlings and mouse hunts to quiet and
+slumber--lived and dined and entertained and were ill or well or happy
+or frightened, according to the day's imaginative happenings. Sometimes
+Home was a castle, sometimes a Swiss Family Robinson cave, sometimes
+a store which transacted business after the fashion of Hamilton and
+Company. And in other more or less fixed spots and corners were Europe,
+to which the family voyaged occasionally; Niagara Falls--Mrs. Bailey's
+honeymoon had been spent at the real Niagara; the King's palace; the den
+of the wicked witch; Sherwood Forest; and Jordan, Marsh and Company's
+store in Boston.
+
+Jimmie Bacheldor liked the garret well enough, but imagination was not
+his strongest quality and the best parlor had more charms for him.
+In that parlor were the trophies of Captain Shadrach's seafaring
+days--whales' teeth, polished and with pictures of ships upon them; the
+model of a Chinese junk; a sea-turtle shell, flippers, head and all,
+exactly like a real turtle except, as Mary-'Gusta said, 'it didn't have
+any works'; a glass bottle with a model of the bark Treasure Seeker
+inside; an Eskimo lance with a bone handle and an ivory point; a
+cocoanut carved to look like the head and face of a funny old man; a
+Cuban machete; and a set of ivory chessmen with Chinese knights and
+kings and queens, all complete and set out under a glass cover.
+
+The junk and the lance and the machete and the rest had a fascination
+for Jimmie, as they would have had for most boys, but for him the
+parlor's strongest temptation lay in the fact that the children were
+forbidden to play there. Zoeth and the Captain, having been brought up
+in New England families of the old-fashioned kind, revered their parlor
+as a place too precious for use. They, themselves, entered it not
+oftener than three times a year, and Isaiah went there only when he
+felt inclined to dust, which was not often. Shadrach had exhibited its
+treasures to the children one Sunday morning when Zoeth was at church,
+but he cautioned them against going there by themselves. “You'd be
+liable to break somethin',” he told them, “and some of them things in
+there you couldn't buy with money. They've been brought from pretty much
+everywheres in creation, those things have.”
+
+But, in spite of the warning, or because of it, Jimmie was, as Isaiah
+would have said, “possessed” to visit that parlor. He coaxed and teased
+and dared Mary-'Gusta to take advantage of the steward's stepping out of
+the house or being busy in the kitchen to open that parlor door and go
+in with him and peep at and handle the treasures. Mary-'Gusta protested,
+but young Bacheldor called her a coward and declared he wouldn't play
+with cowards and 'fraid-cats, so rather than be one of those detestable
+creatures she usually swallowed her scruples and followed the tempter.
+It was a risk, of course, but a real adventure; and, like many
+adventurers, the pair came to grief. They took David into the parlor and
+the cat wriggled from its owner's arms, jumped upon the table, knocked
+the case containing the chessmen to the floor, and not only broke the
+glass but decapitated one of the white knights.
+
+Even the mild Mr. Hamilton was incensed when Isaiah told the news
+at supper time. And Captain Shad, who had bought those chessmen at
+Singapore from the savings of a second mate's wages, lost patience
+entirely.
+
+“Didn't I tell you young-ones not to go into that parlor?” he demanded.
+
+“Yes, sir,” admitted Mary-'Gusta, contritely.
+
+“Yes, by fire, I did! And you went just the same.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And you fetched that everlastin'--er--Goliath in there, too. Don't you
+know you've been a bad girl?”
+
+“Ye--yes, sir.”
+
+Zoeth protested. “She ain't a bad girl, Shadrach,” he said. “You know
+she ain't.”
+
+“Well--er--maybe she ain't, generally speakin'. I cal'late 'twas that
+Bacheldor brat that was responsible; but just the same I ain't goin'
+to have it happen any more. Mary-'Gusta, if you and that
+consarned--what's-his-name--Jimmie--go into that parlor again, unless
+Isaiah or one of us are with you, I--I--by the jumpin' Judas, me and
+Zoeth won't let you go to the Sunday school picnic. There! I mean that
+and so does Zoeth. Shut up, Zoeth! You do mean it, too. You know mighty
+well either your dad or mine would have skinned us alive if we'd done
+such a thing when we was young-ones. And,” turning to the culprit, “if
+you fetch that cat in there, I'll--I'll--I don't know what I'll do.”
+
+The Sunday school picnic was to be held on the second Saturday in
+June and Mary-'Gusta wished to attend it. She had never been to a real
+picnic, though the other children in Ostable had described such outings
+in glowing colors. Now, although she, a visitor, was not a regular
+member of the South Harniss Methodist Sunday school, the superintendent
+personally had invited her to go and Zoeth and the Captain had given
+their consent. Not to go would be a heart-breaking calamity. She finally
+resolved to be very, very good and obedient from that time on.
+
+But good resolutions are broken occasionally, even by grown-ups, and in
+childhood much can be forgotten in nine days. So, on the afternoon of
+the tenth day, which was the day before the picnic, Mary-'Gusta walking
+alone in the field which separated the Gould-Hamilton property from that
+of Abner Bacheldor, Jimmie's father--Mary-'Gusta, walking in that field,
+was depressed and melancholy. Her state of mind was indicated by the
+fact that she had left all her dolls, even Rose and Rosette, at home.
+She felt guilty and wicked and conscience-stricken. She had been a bad
+girl; only one other knew how bad she had been and he, being guilty
+likewise, would not betray her. But at home Isaiah Chase was, as he
+said, “heatin' himself to a bile” baking apple turnovers for her to
+take to the picnic. And Captain Shadrach had announced his intention
+of bringing her, from the store, candy and bananas to go into the lunch
+basket with the turnovers and sandwiches and cake. And the Captain had
+that very day called her a good girl. If he only knew!
+
+There had been a flurry of excitement in the kitchen just after dinner.
+Mr. Bacheldor had appeared at the door with the request that he might
+“borrer the loan of Cap'n Gould's shotgun.” The day before, at a quarter
+after four--Mr. Bacheldor was certain as to the time because he had been
+“layin' down two or three minutes on the sofy afore goin' out to look at
+some wood there was to cut in the shed, and I'd just got up and looked
+at the clock afore I looked out of the settin'-room winder”--looking out
+of that window he had seen a cat running from his henyard with one of
+his recently hatched Plymouth Rock chickens in its mouth.
+
+“If I'd had a gun then,” declared Abner, “I could have blowed the
+critter to thunder-and-gone. But I'll get him next time. Let me have the
+gun, will you, Isaiah? I know Shad'll say it's all right when you tell
+him.”
+
+That shotgun was a precious arm. It had been given to the Captain years
+before by the officers of a sinking schooner, whom Shadrach's boat's
+crew, led by Shadrach himself, had rescued at a big risk off the Great
+South School. It had the Captain's name, with an inscription and date,
+on a silver plate fastened to the stock. Isaiah was not too willing to
+lend it, but chicken stealing is a capital offense in South Harniss,
+as it is in most rural communities, and the cat caught in the act is
+summarily executed.
+
+So Mr. Chase went to the Captain's room and returned with the gun.
+
+“There you be, Ab,” he said. “Hope you get the critter.”
+
+“Oh, I'll get him all right, don't you fret. Say, Isaiah--er--er--” Mr.
+Bacheldor hesitated. “Say,” he went on, “you couldn't let me have two or
+three cartridges, could you? I ain't got none in the house.”
+
+Isaiah looked more doubtful than ever, but he brought the cartridges.
+After making sure, by inquiry and inspection, that they were loaded, the
+borrower started to go.
+
+“Oh, I say, Ab,” Mr. Chase called after him; “know whose cat 'twas?”
+
+Mr. Bacheldor did not appear to hear, so the question was repeated.
+Abner answered without turning.
+
+“I know,” he declared. “I know all right,” and hurried on. Isaiah looked
+after him and sniffed disdainfully.
+
+“Anybody on earth but that feller,” he said, “would have been ashamed
+to beg cartridges after beggin' the gun, but not Ab Bacheldor, no sir!
+Wonder he didn't want to borrer my Sunday hat to practice shootin' at.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta considered shooting a cat the height of cruelty and
+dreadfulness but she was aware of the universal condemnation of chicken
+stealing and kept her thought to herself. Besides, she had her own
+wickedness to consider.
+
+She walked slowly on across the field, bound nowhere in particular,
+thinking hard and feeling very wretched and miserable. The pleasure of
+the next day, the day she had been anticipating, was spoiled already
+for her. If she went to that picnic without making a full and free
+confession she knew she would feel as mean and miserable as she was
+feeling now. And if she did confess, why then--
+
+Her meditations were interrupted in a startling manner. She was midway
+of the field, upon the other side of which was a tumbledown stone wall,
+and a cluster of wild cherry trees and bayberry bushes marking the
+boundary of the Bacheldor land. From behind the wall and bushes sounded
+the loud report of a gun; then the tramp of running feet and an excited
+shouting:
+
+“You missed him,” screamed a voice. “You never hit him at all. There he
+goes! There he goes! Give him t'other barrel quick!”
+
+Mary-'Gusta, who had been startled nearly out of her senses by the shot
+and the shouting, stood perfectly still, too surprised and frightened
+even to run. And then out of the bushes before her darted a scared
+tortoise-shell cat, frantically rushing in her direction. The cat was
+David.
+
+“He's hidin' in them bushes,” shouted the voice again. “Stay where you
+be, Pop. I'll scare him out and then you give it to him.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta stood still no longer. The sight of her idolized pet running
+for his life was enough to make her forget fright and everything else.
+She too ran, but not toward home.
+
+“David!” she screamed. “Oh, David! Come here! David!”
+
+David may have recognized the voice, but if so the recognition made no
+difference. The cat kept straight on. The girl ran across its path.
+It dodged and darted into a beachplum thicket, a cul-de-sac of tangled
+branches and thick grass. Before the animal could extricate itself
+Mary-'Gusta had seized it in her arms. It struggled and fought for
+freedom but the child held it tight.
+
+“David!” she panted. “Oh, don't, David! Please be still! They shan't
+hurt you; I won't let 'em. Please!”
+
+Through the bushes above the wall appeared the freckled face of
+Con--christened Cornelius--Bacheldor. Con was Jimmie's elder brother.
+
+“He must have got through,” he shouted. “He--no, there he is. She's got
+him, Pop. Make her put him down.”
+
+Mr. Abner Bacheldor crashed through to his son's side. He was carrying a
+gun.
+
+“You put that cat down,” screamed Con, threateningly.
+
+Mary-'Gusta said nothing. Her heart was beating wildly but she held the
+struggling David fast.
+
+“It's that kid over to Shad Gould's,” declared Con. “Make her give you a
+shot, Pop.”
+
+Mr. Abner Bacheldor took command of the situation.
+
+“Here, you!” he ordered. “Fetch that critter here. I want him.”
+
+Still Mary-'Gusta did not answer. She was pale and her small knees
+shook, but she neither spoke nor moved from where she stood. And her
+grip upon the cat tightened.
+
+“Fetch that cat here,” repeated Abner. “We're goin' to shoot him; he's
+been stealin' our chickens.”
+
+At this accusation and the awful threat accompanying it, Mary-'Gusta
+forgot her terror of the Bacheldors, of the gun, forgot everything
+except her pet and its danger.
+
+“I shan't!” she cried frantically. “I shan't! He ain't! He's my cat and
+he don't steal chickens.”
+
+“Yes, he does, too,” roared Con. “Pop and I see him doin' it.”
+
+“You didn't! I don't believe it! When did you see him?”
+
+“Yesterday afternoon. We see him, didn't we, Pop?”
+
+“You bet your life we did,” growled Abner. “And he was on my land again
+just now; comin' to steal more, I cal'late. Fetch him here.”
+
+“I--I shan't! He shan't be shot, even if he did steal 'em. And I know
+he didn't. If you shoot him I'll--I'll tell Uncle Zoeth and--and Cap'n
+Gould. And I won't let you have him anyhow. I won't,” with savage
+defiance. “If you shoot him you'll have to shoot me, too.”
+
+Con climbed over the wall. “You just wait, Pop,” he said. “I'll take him
+away from her.”
+
+But his father hesitated. There were certain reasons why he thought it
+best not to be too arbitrary.
+
+“Hold on, Con,” he said. “Look here, sis, I'm sorry to have to kill your
+cat, but I've got to. He steals chickens and them kind of cats has to be
+shot. I see him myself yesterday afternoon. I told Isaiah Chase myself
+that . . . why, you was there and heard me! You heard me tell how I was
+lookin' out of the winder at quartet past four and see that cat--”
+
+Mary-'Gusta interrupted. Her expression changed. She was still
+dreadfully frightened but in her tone was a note of relief, of confident
+triumph.
+
+“You didn't see him,” she cried. “It wasn't David; it wasn't this cat
+you saw. I KNOW it wasn't.”
+
+“Well, I know it was. Now don't argue no more. You fetch that cat here
+or I'll have Con take him away from you. Hurry up!”
+
+“I know it wasn't David,” began Mary-'Gusta. Then, as Con started in her
+direction, she turned and ran, ran as hard as she could, bearing David
+in her arms. Con ran after her.
+
+It was the cat that saved the situation and its life at the same time.
+Mary-'Gusta was near the edge of the pine grove and Con was close at her
+heels. David gave one more convulsive, desperate wriggle, slid from the
+girl's arms and disappeared through the pines like a gray projectile.
+
+Mary-'Gusta collapsed on the grass and burst into frightened, hysterical
+sobs. Con took one or two steps after the flying cat and gave up the
+chase. Mr. Bacheldor, from behind the wall, swore emphatically and at
+length.
+
+“Come here, Con, you fool,” he yelled, when the expression of his true
+feelings had reached a temporary end. “Come here! let the kid alone.
+We'll get into trouble if we don't. As for that dummed cat, we'll get
+him next time. He'll see his finish. Come on, I tell you.”
+
+Con reluctantly rejoined his parent and the pair departed, muttering
+threats. Mary-'Gusta, the tears running down her cheeks, ran home to
+find David and plead with Mr. Chase for her pet's safety and protection
+from its persecutors. But Isaiah had gone up to the store on an errand.
+David, however, was crouching, a trembling heap, under the kitchen
+stove. The girl pulled him out, fled with him to the garret, and there,
+with the door locked, sat shivering and sobbing until Captain Shad came
+home for supper that night.
+
+The Captain's first question when he arrived was concerning
+Mary-'Gusta's whereabouts. Isaiah said he had not seen her for two hours
+or more. And just then the child herself appeared, entering the kitchen
+from the door leading to the back stairs.
+
+“Hello, Mary-'Gusta!” hailed Shadrach. “Thought you was lost. Supper's
+about ready to put on the table. Why, what's the matter? Been cryin',
+ain't you?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta went straight to him and clutched his hand. “Please, Cap'n
+Gould,” she begged, “will you come into the sittin'-room a minute? I--I
+want to ask you somethin'. I want you to do somethin' for me, will you?”
+
+“Sartin sure I will. What is it?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta glanced at Isaiah's face. “I'd--I'd rather tell you, just
+you alone,” she said. “Please come into the sittin'-room.”
+
+She tugged at his hand. Much puzzled, he followed her through the
+dining-room and into the sitting-room.
+
+“Well, Mary-'Gusta,” he said, kindly, “now what is it? What's the big
+secret?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta closed the door. She was very solemn and her lip quivered
+but she did not hesitate.
+
+“It's about David,” she said. “Somethin's happened to David. I--I'm
+goin' to tell you about it, Cap'n Gould.”
+
+She told of her adventure and of David's peril. Shadrach listened. When
+he heard of the accusation which was the cause of the affair he shook
+his head.
+
+“My, my!” he exclaimed. “That's pretty bad, that is. I'd hate to have
+your cat killed, Mary-'Gusta, land knows I would. But if the critter's a
+chicken thief--”
+
+“But he ain't! I KNOW he ain't!”
+
+“Humph! You can't always tell, you know cats are cats and--”
+
+“But I know David wasn't the cat that did it. I KNOW he wasn't”
+
+“Oh, you know, do you. Hm! you do seem pretty sartin, that's a fact. How
+do you know?”
+
+The girl looked at him. “Please, Cap'n Gould,” she said, “I--I'd rather
+tell you over to Mr. Bacheldor's. That's what I wanted to ask you; won't
+you please go right over to Mr. Bacheldor's with me? I--I'll tell you
+how I know when we're there.”
+
+Captain Shadrach was more puzzled than ever. “You want me to go to Ab
+Bacheldor's with you?” he repeated. “You want to tell me somethin' over
+there? Why not tell me here?”
+
+“'Cause--'cause Mr. Bacheldor thinks David did it and he'll kill him.
+He said he would. I want HIM to know David wasn't the one. And if, if
+you're there when he knows, he'll know YOU know he knows and he won't
+dast shoot at David any more. Please come, Cap'n Gould. Please, right
+away.”
+
+Shadrach tugged at his beard. “Humph!” he muttered. “There's more
+'knows' in that than there is knots in a snarled fish line. You want me
+as a witness, nigh's I can make out. Is that it?”
+
+“Yes, sir. Will you go with me right off?”
+
+“Right off, eh? Can't it wait till after supper?”
+
+“I--I don't want any supper. PLEASE!”
+
+So supper was postponed, in spite of Isaiah's grumblings, and the
+Captain and Mary-'Gusta started forthwith for the home of their nearest
+neighbor. Mr. Chase, his curiosity aroused, would have asked a dozen
+questions, but Mary-'Gusta would neither answer nor permit Shadrach to
+do so.
+
+The Bacheldor family were at supper when the callers arrived. Abner
+himself opened the door and he looked rather embarrassed when he saw the
+pair on the steps. Captain Shad did not wait for an invitation to enter;
+he walked in and Mary-'Gusta followed him.
+
+“Now then, Ab,” said the Captain, briskly, “what's this about our cat
+stealin' your chickens?”
+
+Mr. Bacheldor and Con, separately and together, burst into a tirade of
+invective against the offending David.
+
+“That's all right, that's all right,” broke in the Captain, crisply. “If
+that cat stole your chicken it ought to be shot. But are you sure of the
+cat? Do you know ours did it? This girl here says 'twasn't ours at all.”
+
+“I know a dum sight better,” began Abner, savagely. But this time it was
+Mary-'Gusta who interrupted.
+
+“Cap'n Gould,” she said, “please ask him what time it was yesterday
+afternoon when he saw the cat run off with the chicken.”
+
+Bacheldor did not wait to be asked.
+
+“'Twas quarter-past four yesterday afternoon,” he declared. “I know the
+time.”
+
+“I don't see what the time's got to do with it,” put in Shadrach.
+
+“But it's got everything to do with it,” urged Mary-'Gusta. “Honest
+truly it has.”
+
+“Oh, it has, eh? Why?”
+
+“'Cause--'cause--Ask him if he's sure?”
+
+Again Abner did not wait. “Course I'm sure,” he replied. “I told Isaiah
+Chase--yes, and I told that young-one, too--that I looked at the clock
+just afore I looked out of the window and see the critter in the very
+act. Yes, and Con see him too.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta stamped her foot in triumph. “Then it wasn't David,”
+ she said. “It wasn't David at all. 'Twas somebody else's cat, Mr.
+Bacheldor.”
+
+“Somebody else's nothin'! Don't you suppose I know--”
+
+“Hold on! Heave to, Ab. Mary-'Gusta, how do you know 'twasn't our cat?”
+
+“'Cause--'cause David was with me from four o'clock till most five;
+that's how. He was in the--in our house with me. So,” triumphantly, “he
+couldn't have been anywhere else, could he?”
+
+Con and his father both began a protest, but Shadrach cut it short.
+
+“Keep still, for mercy sakes,” he ordered. “This ain't Shoutin'
+Methodist camp meetin'. Let's get soundin's here. Now, Mary-'Gusta, you
+say the cat was with you from four till five; you're sure of that?”
+
+“Yes, sir. I know because Mr. Chase had gone out and we knew he wouldn't
+be back until five 'cause he said he wouldn't. So we looked at the clock
+before we went in.”
+
+“Went in? Went in where?”
+
+The girl hung her head. It was evident that the answer to this question
+was one she dreaded to make. But she made it, nevertheless.
+
+“Before we went into--into the parlor,” she said, faintly.
+
+Captain Shad was the only one of her hearers who grasped the full
+significance of this confession. No, there was one other, and he turned
+red and then white.
+
+“The parlor?” repeated the Captain, slowly. “The best parlor?”
+
+“Ye-yes, sir.”
+
+“Do you mean you went into the best parlor over to our house and--AND
+TOOK THAT CAT IN WITH YOU?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Well, I swan to man! Did you forget what I told you would happen if you
+went into that parlor again? And especially if you lugged that cat in?
+Did you forget that?”
+
+“N-no, sir. I didn't forget it. You--you said I couldn't go to the
+picnic.”
+
+Shadrach shook his head. “Well,” he groaned, “if this don't beat the
+nation! What under the sun did you do it for?”
+
+“'Cause--'cause we wanted to play pirates with--with the swords and
+things,” faltered Mary-'Gusta. “And we took David 'cause he was goin' to
+be one of the passengers on the ship we took. But,” with a sudden return
+to the main point at issue, “that proves David wasn't the cat he saw,
+the one that stole his chicken.”
+
+The Captain looked at her. “By fire, it does, that's right,” he
+muttered. Abner Bacheldor roared in indignation.
+
+“It don't prove nothin',” he cried. “All it proves is that the kid's a
+liar. She's lyin' so's to save that dummed thief of a cat. All kids'll
+lie when they think they can make somethin' out of it.”
+
+Shadrach grunted. “Maybe so,” he said, “but I ain't caught this one in
+a lie so far. And I doubt if she's lyin' now. Now, Mary-'Gusta, is
+there any way you can prove you was in that parlor, and--what's his
+name--David was there at the time you say? Is there?”
+
+Again Mary-'Gusta hesitated. Her eyes wandered about the faces in the
+room, until their gaze rested upon the face of Jimmie Bacheldor. And
+Jimmie looked white and scared.
+
+“N-no, sir, I--I guess not,” she faltered.
+
+“I guess not, too,” declared Con, with a sarcastic laugh.
+
+But the Captain was suspicious. He had seen the child's look.
+
+“Hold on,” he commanded. “There's more to this than a blind man could
+see through a board fence. Mary-'Gusta, was there anybody else except
+David in that parlor along with you? Was there?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta looked at the floor.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she faltered.
+
+“So? I kind of had an idea there might be. Who was it?”
+
+Again the look and then: “I--I ain't goin' to tell.”
+
+Con laughed once more. “You bet she ain't,” he exclaimed. “She can't.
+The whole yarn's a lie. Don't pay no attention to it, Pop.”
+
+Shadrach turned sharply in his direction. “I'M payin' attention to it,”
+ he snapped, “and that's enough. So you ain't goin' to tell, Mary-'Gusta,
+eh? Remember now, if you do tell it'll prove your story's true and
+David'll come out on top. Think it over.”
+
+Evidently Mary-'Gusta was thinking it over. Her eyes filled with tears,
+but she shook her head.
+
+The Captain looked down at her. “Keepin' mum, eh?” he said. “Well,
+that's all right. I cal'late we're pretty good guessers, some of us,
+anyway. Jim,” with a sudden look straight at the youngest member of
+his neighbor's family, who was fidgeting with his spoon and acting
+remarkably nervous, “what have you got to say? Have a good time in that
+parlor playin' pirates, did you?”
+
+Jimmie gasped. The suddenness of the attack knocked his defenses flat.
+He gurgled, stammered, and then broke into a wail of distress.
+
+“I--I didn't mean to,” he sobbed, wildly. “'Twas her. She said do it; I
+never. I--I--”
+
+“Why, Jimmie Bacheldor!” exclaimed Mary-'Gusta, shocked into protest by
+her fellow culprit's distortion of the truth. “How can you say so! What
+a story! You know--”
+
+“I guess he knows,” broke in Shadrach. “And I cal'late I know, too.
+Now then, Jim, what time was it when you looked at the clock? Shut up,
+Abner, let the boy answer. Tell us, Jim; nobody'll hurt you.”
+
+“It--it was four o'clock,” hollered Jimmie, in agony. “I--I never done
+it a purpose. I won't do so no more.”
+
+“No, I don't cal'late you will. Cal'late you won't have a chance. Well,
+Ab, I guess we've proved our client's case. Next time you go out cat
+shootin' you better be sure you're gunnin' for the right one. Come on,
+Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+Con Bacheldor sprang to his feet.
+
+“Pop,” he shouted, “be you goin' to let 'em go this way? And that cat
+stealin' our chickens right along. Ain't you goin' to tell 'em you'll
+kill the critter next time he comes on our land?”
+
+Abner was silent. He seemed oddly anxious to see the last of his
+visitors. It was the Captain who spoke.
+
+“No, Con,” he said, crisply, “he ain't goin' to tell me that. And you
+listen while I tell YOU somethin'. If that cat of ours gets hurt or
+don't show up some time I'll know who's responsible. And then--well,
+then maybe I'LL go gunnin'. Good night, all hands.”
+
+All the way back across the fields and through the grove the Captain was
+silent. Mary-'Gusta clinging to his hand was silent too, dreading what
+she knew was sure to follow. When they entered the kitchen Shadrach
+turned to her:
+
+“Well, Mary-'Gusta,” he said, “I'm glad your cat's turned out to be no
+chicken thief, but--but that don't alter what you did, does it?”
+
+“No, sir,” stammered the girl.
+
+“No, I'm afraid it don't. I told you what would happen if you went into
+that parlor, and you went just the same. I cal'late you know what to
+expect, don't you?”
+
+“Ye-yes, sir,” in a low tone. “You mean I can't go to the Sunday school
+picnic.”
+
+Shadrach cleared his throat. He was not enjoying this episode, as a
+matter of fact his unhappiness was almost as keen as the child's. But as
+a boy he had been reared in the old-fashioned way, and he felt that he
+had a duty to perform.
+
+“I'm afraid that's what I mean,” he said, gravely. “Now set down and
+have your supper.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta tried hard to be brave, but the disappointment was too
+great. The tears streamed down her cheeks and she ran from the room.
+Shadrach strode after her.
+
+“Here!” he called. “Mary-'Gusta, where are you goin'? Come back and have
+your supper.”
+
+But Mary-'Gusta did not come back. She was already on the stairs.
+
+“I--I don't want any supper,” she sobbed. “Please, oh, PLEASE don't make
+me eat it.”
+
+The Captain hesitated, turned back, and jerked his own chair to the
+table.
+
+“Well,” he demanded brusquely, “the supper's here and somebody's got to
+eat it, I cal'late. Fetch it on, Isaiah! What are you starin' at me like
+that for, you dumbhead?”
+
+Isaiah brought in the supper. Then he demanded to know what the fuss was
+all about. Shadrach told him. Isaiah's chief interest seemed to center
+on the attempted shooting.
+
+“Why the son of a swab!” he cried, excitedly. “Of all the cheek I ever
+heard of in my life that Abner Bacheldor's got the heft! To borrer a
+man's own gun--yes, and cartridges, too--to kill that man's own cat
+with! Of all the solid brass! He never told me 'twas our cat. All he
+wanted to know was could he borrer your gun and somethin' to load it
+with. If I'd known--”
+
+His employer interrupted him. “WHAT?” he roared. “Do you mean to say
+that Ab Bacheldor came here and borrowed MY gun to--to do what he done
+with?”
+
+“Sartin sure he did. And only this very afternoon, too.”
+
+“And did he know whose cat 'twas?”
+
+“He said he did. Mary-'Gusta was here 'long with me when he come. I
+says: 'Know whose cat 'tis?' and says he, 'I know all right!' I thought
+he acted kind of sheepish and funny. I--Here! where you goin'?”
+
+The Captain was on his feet and his cap was in his hand.
+
+“Goin'!” he snarled. “I'm going to make another call on Abner. And,”
+ with his hand on the latch, “if you hear somebody bein' murdered over in
+that direction you needn't call the constable, neither.”
+
+“But--but, hold on, Cap'n Shad! You ain't finished your own supper yet
+and Zoeth's waiting up to the store for you to come back so's he can
+come down and get his.”
+
+The reply was emphatic and, in its way, conclusive.
+
+“To the blue brimstone with the supper!” roared Shadrach. “It can wait
+and so can Zoeth. If he can't he can do the next best.”
+
+He was absent for half an hour. When he returned Mr. Hamilton was in the
+dining-room. Shadrach entered, bearing the precious shotgun. He stood it
+carefully in the corner. There was a satisfied look in his eye.
+
+“For goodness' sake, Shadrach!” exclaimed Zoeth, “what have you been
+thinkin' of? There I was waitin' and waitin' and hankerin' and hankerin'
+and no you nor no supper. I had to lock up the store finally. 'Twas
+either that or starve. I ain't a fault-finder, generally speakin', but I
+have to eat, same as other folks.”
+
+His partner paid not the least attention. His first remark was in the
+form of a question addressed to Mr. Chase.
+
+“Look here, Isaiah,” he demanded, “did I understand you to say that
+Mary-'Gusta was with you when that sculpin come to borrow my gun?”
+
+“Yup. She was here.”
+
+“And she knew that he was goin' to shoot a cat with it?”
+
+“Sartin, she heard him say so.”
+
+Shadrach strode to the mantel, took from it a hand-lamp, lighted the
+lamp and with it in his hand walked from the room and ascended the
+stairs. Zoeth called after him, but he did not answer.
+
+He entered Mary-'Gusta's room. The child was in bed, the dolls beside
+her. She was not asleep, however. The tear stains on her cheeks and the
+dampness of the pillow showed how she had spent the time since leaving
+the dining-room.
+
+Shadrach put the lamp upon the washstand, pulled a chair beside the bed
+and sat down. He took her hand in his.
+
+“Mary-'Gusta,” he said, gently, “you knew 'twas my gun that Ab Bacheldor
+was tryin' to shoot David with?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta moved her head up and down on the pillow.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she said.
+
+“You was here when he borrowed it?”
+
+“Yes, sir. And then I knew it was yours when he had it there in the
+field. I saw the silver name thing on the handle. It kind of shined in
+the sun.”
+
+“Um-hm. Yes, yes. I see. You knew it, of course. But you didn't tell me.
+Why on earth didn't you? Didn't you know that if I'd realized that swab
+had borrered my gun to kill my cat that would have been enough? If the
+critter had stole a million chickens 'twouldn't have made any difference
+if I'd known THAT. The cheeky lubber! Well, he won't shoot at anything
+of ours for one spell, I'll bet. But why didn't you tell me?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's answer was promptly given.
+
+“Why, 'cause,” she said, “that was just it. I knew if you knew that you
+wouldn't care whether David stole the chicken or not. And I wanted you
+to know he didn't.”
+
+“Um, I see. But if you had told me you wouldn't have had to tell about
+the parlor. I'D never asked a single question.”
+
+“Ye-yes, sir; but I wanted you to know David doesn't steal chickens.”
+
+Shadrach swallowed hard. “I see,” he said. “Yes, yes, I see. So just to
+clear that cat you was willin' to give up the picnic and everything.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta sobbed: “I--I did want to go so,” she moaned.
+
+The Captain lifted her from the pillow and put his arm about her.
+
+“You ARE goin',” he declared, emphatically, “you just bet you're goin'.”
+
+“Oh! Oh, am I? Am I really? I--I know I hadn't ought to. I was a bad
+girl.”
+
+“You! You're a dummed good girl! The best and squarest--yes, and the
+spunkiest little girl I ever saw. You're a brick.”
+
+“I'm awful sorry I went into the parlor, Cap'n Gould.”
+
+“Blast the parlor! I don't care if you stay in there a week and smash
+everything in it. And--and, see here, Mary-'Gusta, don't you call me
+'Cap'n Gould' any more. Call me 'Uncle Shad,' will you?”
+
+
+Just before bedtime that night Mr. Hamilton broached a subject which had
+troubled him all day.
+
+“Shadrach,” he said, timidly. “I--I guess I ought to tell you somethin'.
+I know you won't want to talk about it, but seems 's if I must tell you.
+I had a letter this morning from Judge Baxter. He says he can't wait
+much longer for an answer from us about Marcellus's girl. He's got to
+know what we've decided to do with her.”
+
+Shadrach, who was smoking, took his pipe from his mouth.
+
+“Well, give him the answer then,” he said, shortly. “You know what 'tis,
+well as I do.”
+
+Zoeth looked troubled.
+
+“I know you don't want to keep her,” he said, “but--”
+
+“Who said I didn't?”
+
+“Who? Why, Shadrach Gould! You said--”
+
+“I said a good many things maybe; but that's nothin'. You knew what I
+meant as well as I did.”
+
+“Why, Shadrach! You--you don't mean you ARE willin' to keep her--here,
+with us, for good? You don't mean THAT?”
+
+The Captain snorted impatiently. “Don't be so foolish, Zoeth,” he
+protested. “You knew plaguey well I never meant anything else.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+The next day Captain Shadrach drove to Ostable and spent several hours
+in consultation with Judge Baxter. Adjusting matters by correspondence
+is a slow process at best, and the Captain, having surrendered
+unconditionally, was not the man to delay.
+
+“I can settle more in ten minutes' talk,” he told his partner, “than the
+three of us could in a month's letter-writin', especially if I had to
+write any of the letters. I never was any hand to write letters; you
+know that, Zoeth. And when I do write one the feller I send it to is
+liable to come around and ask me to read it 'cause he can't. Like as not
+I can't either, if it's had time to get cold, and there we are, right
+where we started. No, I'll go and see the Judge and when I fetch port
+tonight there'll have been somethin' done.”
+
+This prophecy was fulfilled. Before the Captain left Ostable for the
+homeward drive a good deal had been done. Judge Baxter, in his capacity
+as administrator, had already been looking into the affairs of his late
+client and, as he had expected, those affairs were badly tangled. When
+the outstanding debts were paid there would be little left, a thousand
+or two, perhaps, but certainly no more.
+
+“So there you are, Shadrach,” he said. “I'm mighty glad you and Zoeth
+have decided to keep the girl, but I'm afraid she'll come to you with
+very little property of her own. If she is to have the good education
+and all the rest that Marcellus wanted her to have I guess it'll be your
+money that pays for it. That's the honest truth, and I think you ought
+to know it.”
+
+The Captain nodded. “That's all right,” he said. “I expected just about
+that, account of what you said the day of the funeral. Me and Zoeth are
+about, as fur from bein' rich as the ship's cat is from bein' skipper,
+but we've put by a little and the store fetches us in a decent livin'.
+We'll take the young-one and do our best by her. Land knows what that
+best'll be,” he added, with a dubious shake of the head. “Speakin' for
+myself, I feel that I'm about as competent to bring up a child as a clam
+is to fly.”
+
+Baxter laughed. “Marcellus seemed confident that you and Hamilton were
+perfectly suited to the job,” he said.
+
+“Um; yes, I know; Marcellus had confidence in a good many things, the
+stock market included. However, what is to be will be and we all have to
+take chances, as the feller that was just married said when he tackled
+his wife's first mince pie. You get those guardian papers, whatever
+they are, made out, and Zoeth and me'll sign 'em. As for the competent
+part--well,” with a chuckle, “that child's pretty competent herself.
+I have a notion that, take it five or six years from now, it'll be her
+that'll be bringin' us up in the way we should go. I feel a good deal as
+if I was signin' on for a long voyage with the chances that I'd finish
+mate instead of skipper.”
+
+“Say, Judge,” he added, just before leaving for home, “there's one
+thing more I'd like to say. 'Most everybody thinks Marcellus left his
+stepdaughter a consider'ble sight of money, don't they?”
+
+“Why, yes; I suppose they do.”
+
+“All right, let 'em think so. 'Twill give 'em somethin' to talk about.
+They'll be guessin' how rich the child is instead of markin' off in the
+almanac the days afore Zoeth and me head for the poorhouse.”
+
+“Humph! I see. You don't care to have it known that you and your partner
+are adopting and supporting her purely from motives of kindness and
+generosity.”
+
+“Pooh! pooh! No generosity about it. Besides, Marcellus was kind and
+generous enough to us in the old days. Pity if we couldn't take our
+trick at the wheel now.”
+
+The Judge smiled. “You're a good deal more willing to take that trick
+than you were when I saw you last, Captain Shad,” he observed. “You seem
+to have changed your mind completely.”
+
+The Captain grinned. “Well, yes, I have,” he admitted. “Maybe 'tain't
+so big a change as you think; I have a habit of blowin' up a squall when
+I'm gettin' ready to calm down. But, anyway, that young-one would change
+anybody's mind. She's different from any girl of her age ever I saw.
+She's pretty as a little picture and sweet and wholesome as a--as a
+summer sweet apple. She don't pester, and she don't tease, and she don't
+lie--no, sir, not even when I'd consider layin' the course a p'int or
+two from the truth a justifiable proceedin'. She's got inside my vest,
+somehow or 'nother, and I did think I was consider'ble of a hard-shell.
+She's all right, Mary-'Gusta is. I'm about ready to say 'Thank you' to
+Marcellus.”
+
+And so it was settled, and Mary-'Gusta Lathrop was no longer a visitor,
+but a permanent member of the odd household at South Harniss. She was
+delighted when she heard the news, although, characteristically, she
+said very little beyond confiding to her two “uncles” that she was
+going to be a good girl and not take David into the parlor again. The
+remainder of her “things” and belongings were sent over by the Judge
+and, in due time, the guardianship papers were signed.
+
+“There!” exclaimed Zoeth, laying down the pen. “That settles it, I
+cal'late. Now, Mary-'Gusta, you're our little girl, mine and your Uncle
+Shad's, for good and all.”
+
+“Not quite so long as that, Zoeth,” put in the smiling Shadrach. “We'll
+hang on to her for a spell, I shouldn't wonder; but one of these days,
+a hundred years from now or such matter, there's liable to be a
+good-lookin' young feller sparkin' 'round here and he'll want to marry
+her and take her somewheres else. What'll you say when it comes to that,
+Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta thought it over. “If 'twas a hundred years from now,” she
+said, “I guess he wouldn't want me.”
+
+The Captain laughed uproariously. “Well, maybe we can discount that
+hundred some for cash,” he admitted. “Make it twelve or fifteen years.
+Then suppose somebody--er--er--” with a wink at Zoeth--“suppose Jimmie
+Bacheldor, we'll say, comes and wants us to put you in his hands,
+what'll you say then?”
+
+The answer was prompt enough this time.
+
+“I'll say no,” asserted Mary-'Gusta, with decision. “Jimmie Bacheldor
+hates to wash his hands; he told me so.”
+
+All that summer she played about the house or at the store or on the
+beach and, when the fall term began, the partners sent her to school.
+They were happy and proud men when Miss Dobson, the primary teacher,
+said the girl was too far advanced for the first class and entered her
+in the second. “Just natural smartness,” Captain Shadrach declared.
+“Natural smartness and nothin' else. She ain't had a mite of advantages,
+but up she goes just the same. Why, Teacher told me she considered her a
+reg'lar parachute.”
+
+“A parachute's somethin' that comes down, ain't it,” suggested Zoeth,
+remembering the balloon ascension he had seen at the county fair.
+
+“Humph! So 'tis. Seems as if 'twasn't parachute she said.
+'Twas--'twas--”
+
+“Parasol?” suggested Isaiah, who was an interested listener.
+
+“No, no; nor paralysis neither. Paragon, that's what 'twas. Teacher said
+that child was a paragon.”
+
+“What's a paragon?” asked Mr. Chase.
+
+“I don't know. But it's what she is, anyway.”
+
+The paragon continued to progress in her studies. Also she continued,
+more and more, to take an interest in the housework and the affairs of
+her adopted uncles and Isaiah Chase. Little by little changes came
+in the life of the family. On one memorable Sunday Captain Shadrach
+attended church. It was the first time in a good many years and whether
+the congregation or Zoeth or the Captain himself was the more astonished
+at the latter's being there is a question. Mary-'Gusta was not greatly
+astonished. It was the result of careful planning on her part, planning
+which had as its object the relieving of Mr. Hamilton's mind. Zoeth
+never missed a Sunday service or a Friday night prayer meeting. And,
+being sincerely religious, he was greatly troubled because his friend
+and partner took little interest in such things.
+
+Shadrach's aversion to churches dated back to a sermon preached by a
+former minister. The subject of that sermon was Jonah and the whale. The
+Captain, having been on several whaling voyages in his younger days, had
+his own opinion concerning the prophet's famous adventure.
+
+If the minister had been a younger and more tactful man the argument
+which followed might have ended pleasantly and the break have been
+avoided. But the clergyman was elderly, as set in his ways as the
+Captain was in his, and the disagreement was absolute and final.
+
+“The feller is a regular wooden-head,” declared Shadrach, hotly. “I was
+willin' to be reasonable; I was willin' to give in that this Jonah man
+might have been out of his head and, after he was hove overboard and
+cast ashore, thought he'd been swallowed by a whale or somethin' or
+'nother. I picked up a sailor once who'd drifted around in a boat for a
+week and he couldn't remember nothin' of what happened after the first
+day or so. If you'd told him he'd been swallowed by a mackerel he
+wouldn't have said no. But I've helped kill a good many whales--yes, and
+I've helped cut 'em up, too--and I know what they look like inside. No
+man, whether his name was Jonah or Jehoshaphat, could have lived three
+days in a whale's stomach. How'd he breathe in there, eh? Cal'late the
+whale had ventilators and a skylight in his main deck? How'd the whale
+live all that time with a man hoppin' 'round inside him? Think I'd live
+if I--if I swallowed a live mouse or somethin'? No, sir-ee! Either
+that mouse would die or I would, I bet you! I've seen a whole parcel
+of things took out of a whale's insides and some of the things had been
+alive once, too; but they wasn't alive then; they was in chunks and part
+digested. Jonah wasn't digested, was he? And the whale wasn't dead
+of dyspepsy neither. That's what I told that minister. 'You try it
+yourself,' I says to him. 'There's whales enough back of the Crab Ledge,
+twenty mile off Orham,' said I. 'You're liable to run in sight of 'em
+most any fair day in summer. You go off there and jump overboard some
+time and see what happens. First place, no whale would swallow you; next
+place, if it did 'twould chew you or sift you fine first; and, third
+place, if you was whole and alive that whale would be dead inside of
+ten minutes. You try it and see.' Good fair offer, wasn't it? But did
+he take it up? Not much. Said I was a scoffer and an infidel and didn't
+know anything about Scripture! 'I know about whales, anyhow,' I told
+him. And he slammed off and wouldn't speak to me again. Don't talk to
+ME! I'll never go inside that meetin'-house again.”
+
+And he never had until Mary-'Gusta coaxed him into it. She was a regular
+attendant at Sunday school, but on Sunday mornings in pleasant weather
+she had been accustomed to take a walk with Shadrach. These walks they
+both enjoyed hugely, but one bright morning she announced that she was
+not going for a walk, but was going to church with Uncle Zoeth. Shadrach
+was disappointed and astonished.
+
+“Land sakes! What's this mean?” he demanded. “Thought you liked to walk
+with me.”
+
+“I do. I like it very much. But I don't think it's fair for me to do it
+every Sunday. Uncle Zoeth ALWAYS goes to church and he feels real bad
+'cause you don't go. He told me so. He says the church folks think you
+won't go to Heaven when you die and that makes him feel dreadful. He's
+goin' to Heaven, you know.”
+
+“Oh, he is, eh?”
+
+“Of course. He couldn't help it, he's so good. Don't you think he'll go
+to Heaven, Uncle Shad?”
+
+“Who? Zoeth? Sartin I do. If he don't, nobody will.”
+
+“Wouldn't it make you feel bad if you was afraid he wouldn't go there?”
+
+“Humph! Maybe so, but I ain't afraid.”
+
+“I know, but he is afraid YOU won't. He thinks an awful lot of you; as
+much as you do of him, you know. Uncle Shad, I'm goin' to meetin' with
+Uncle Zoeth this mornin', and I want you to go with us; will you?”
+
+The Captain pulled his beard.
+
+“Look here, Mary-'Gusta,” he said. “What's all this about, anyway? You
+don't cal'late I'd take you walkin' Sundays if I thought 'twas wicked,
+do you?”
+
+“No, sir; but Uncle Zoeth thinks not goin' to church is wicked. If you
+and I went to church with him 'twould please him ever so much.”
+
+“Maybe so, but 'twould please you and me if he went walkin' with us.
+I've asked him times enough. Why can't he do what I want as well as my
+doin' what he wants?”
+
+“'Cause he thinks it's wrong. You don't think goin' to church is wrong,
+do you, Uncle Shad?”
+
+Shadrach shook his head. “By fire!” he exclaimed. “You're a regular
+young lawyer, you are, Mary-'Gusta. Judge Baxter hasn't got you beat
+when it comes to makin' out a case. Look here, now; be honest; hadn't
+you rather go to walk with me than go to that meetin'-house?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” frankly; “I'd rather.”
+
+“Oh, you had, eh? But all the same you want us to give up our walk and
+go to church every Sunday just to please Zoeth. Is that it?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta took his hand. “No, sir,” she said shyly, “but I thought
+perhaps we could divide up. You and I could go with him one Sunday and
+to walk the next Sunday. That would be fair. I'm his little girl same as
+I am yours, Uncle Shad, ain't I?”
+
+Shadrach was stumped, and he went to church that Sunday morning. The
+sermon had nothing to do with Jonah or the whale, so his feelings
+were not ruffled. Zoeth was mightily pleased and Mary-'Gusta was happy
+because he was. The plan of alternate Sundays was adopted. It was but
+one instance of the “managing” quality which the girl possessed. Isaiah
+declared that she wound all hands around her little finger, but even he
+seemed to enjoy the winding.
+
+As she grew older Mary-'Gusta learned more and more concerning her
+uncles, their habits, their contrasting temperaments and their past
+history. She learned a little of Hall and Company, the prosperous firm
+of which they had been partners, with Marcellus Hall, her stepfather,
+as the head. Isaiah told her a little concerning the firm: “No bigger on
+Cape Cod,” he declared. She asked why it had not continued in business.
+Mr. Chase brusquely answered that it hadn't, that's all, and would not
+give any particulars. She questioned the steward concerning Shadrach
+and Zoeth. The former had never married; that was funny; why hadn't he?
+Isaiah said he did not know. Hadn't Uncle Zoeth ever married, either?
+Yes, Zoeth had married.
+
+“Who did--” began Mary-'Gusta, but Isaiah cut short the catechizing.
+
+“You mustn't ask such questions,” he declared.
+
+“Why mustn't I?”
+
+“'Cause you mustn't. Your uncles wouldn't like it a mite if they knew
+you was pryin' into their affairs. You mustn't ever say a word about
+your Uncle Zoeth's gettin' married.”
+
+“Wouldn't he like me any more if I did?”
+
+“No, you bet he wouldn't; he'd--I don't know's he wouldn't come to hate
+you. And you mustn't say it to Cap'n Shad neither.”
+
+The idea of being hated by Uncle Zoeth was a dreadful one and
+Mary-'Gusta avoided the tabooed subject. But she thought about it a good
+deal. She noticed that in neither of the two lots in the cemetery, one
+where the Goulds were buried and the other the Hamiltons, was a stone
+erected to the memory of the “beloved wife of Zoeth Hamilton,” although
+other beloved wives of the former generations were commemorated. This
+seemed odd. As her education progressed she read more and more and from
+her reading she built up several imaginative romances with Zoeth as the
+hero, and as the heroines beautiful creatures who had died young, in
+shipwreck, probably, and whose names were not to be mentioned because.
+. . . She could not find a satisfactory solution of the because.
+Shipwreck or burial at sea she deduced from the fact of there being no
+grave in the cemetery. Mothers and fathers of several of her schoolmates
+had been buried at sea. Perhaps the late Mrs. Hamilton had been so
+buried. But Zoeth had never been a seafaring man.
+
+One Saturday afternoon--she was about ten years old at the time--she
+was in the garret. The garret had taken the place of the old surrey at
+Ostable, and thither she retired when she wished to be alone to read, or
+play, or study. This afternoon she was rummaging through the old trunks
+and sea chests in search of a costume for Rose. It was to be a masculine
+costume, of course, for there was no feminine apparel in that garret,
+but in the games which the girl played when alone with her dolls, Rose,
+the largest of the family, was frequently obliged to change her sex with
+her raiment.
+
+Mary-'Gusta had ransacked these trunks and chests pretty thoroughly on
+previous occasions, but this time she made a discovery. In an old trunk
+which had obviously belonged to Captain Shadrach she found a sort of
+pocket on the under side of the lid, a pocket closing with a flap and a
+catch. In this pocket were some papers, old receipts and the like, and a
+photograph. The photograph interested her exceedingly. It was yellow and
+faded but still perfectly distinct.
+
+There was a large building standing on posts fixed in the sand, and
+beyond it were wharves and a glimpse of schooners and the sea. Barrels,
+a good many barrels, were piled upon the wharves and at the end of the
+building. Over the door was the sign, “Hall and Company, Wholesale Fish
+Dealers.”
+
+This sign of itself was interesting enough. Evidently here was the
+place where her stepfather and Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton had done
+business years before. But more interesting still was the group of men
+standing on the platform under the sign. There were four of these men,
+dressed in clothes and hats which--especially the hats--looked queer and
+old-fashioned now. Two of the men Mary-'Gusta recognized, or thought
+she did. They were Captain Shadrach and Mr. Hamilton. Much younger they
+looked, of course; their hair was not gray and Zoeth wore a beard, while
+Shadrach had only a mustache. But, in spite of these things and the
+odd clothes they wore, she was sure she recognized them. And, having
+recognized them, she also recognized the man in the center of the group
+as her stepfather, Captain Marcellus Hall. The fourth man, evidently
+younger than the others, a handsome, square-shouldered chap in his
+shirtsleeves, she did not know.
+
+She turned the photograph over. On its back was written:
+
+     Firm of Hall and Company.  Taken August 19th, 1877.
+             Marcellus Hall
+             Zoeth J. Hamilton
+             Edgar S. Farmer
+             Shadrach B. Gould.
+
+The names were in differing handwritings. Evidently each man had signed
+the photograph.
+
+Mary-'Gusta scrutinized the photograph again. Then, with it in her hand,
+she descended to the kitchen. Isaiah was sitting in a chair by the stove
+reading a newspaper.
+
+“Mr. Chase,” said Mary-'Gusta, “who was Edgar S. Farmer?”
+
+If that kitchen chair had been the never-to-be-forgotten piece of
+furniture with the music box beneath it and that box had started to
+play, Isaiah could not have risen more promptly. He literally jumped
+to his feet and the paper flew from his hands. He whirled upon the
+questioner.
+
+“What?” he demanded. “What's that you said?”
+
+He was pale, actually pale. Mary-'Gusta was frightened.
+
+“Why--why, I just asked--” she faltered, “I just asked who--who--What
+CAN be the matter, Mr. Chase?”
+
+Isaiah waved his hand. “WHAT did you ask?” he demanded.
+
+“I asked--I asked who Edgar S. Farmer was, that's all. I didn't mean--I
+didn't know--”
+
+“Be still! Be still, for mercy sakes! What do you know about Ed Farmer?
+Who told you about him?”
+
+The girl was more frightened than ever. Isaiah's next move did not tend
+to reassure her. He strode to the door, looked up the lane, and closed
+and locked the door before she could find words to answer.
+
+“Now, then,” he said, coming close to her and looking her straight in
+the face, “who told you about Ed Farmer?”
+
+“Nobody told me. Honest, they didn't.”
+
+“Somebody must have told you; else how did you know?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta hesitatingly held up the photograph. “It's written on this,”
+ she said.
+
+Mr. Chase snatched it from her hand. He looked at the picture and then
+at her.
+
+“It's written on the back,” went on the girl.
+
+Isaiah turned the photograph over.
+
+“Humph!” he said suspiciously. “I see. Who gave this to you?”
+
+“Nobody gave it to me. I found it in an old trunk up in the attic.”
+
+“Humph! You did, eh? Well, I swan to man! Have you showed it to anybody
+else but me?”
+
+“No, sir. Honest, I haven't. I just found it this minute.”
+
+“Well, I swan, that's lucky. 'Twas in a trunk, eh? Whose trunk?”
+
+“One of Uncle Shad's, I guess.”
+
+“Humph! I presume likely. Well, what made you ask about--about the one
+you did ask about?”
+
+“I knew who the others were. I knew my father and Uncle Zoeth and Uncle
+Shad. But I didn't know who the Farmer one was. It says 'Firm of Hall
+and Company,' and all those names are signed. So I thought maybe Mr.
+Farmer was--”
+
+“Never you mind who he was. He was a darned blackguard and his name ain't
+mentioned in this house. That's all I can tell you and you mustn't ask
+any more questions. Why, if your Uncle Zoeth--yes, or your Uncle Shad
+either--was to hear you askin' about him--they'd--I don't know what
+they'd do. I'm goin' to tear this thing up.”
+
+He would have torn the photograph across, but the girl seized his hands.
+
+“Oh, no, you mustn't,” she cried. “Please don't. It isn't mine. It
+belongs to Uncle Shad. You mustn't tear it--give it to me.”
+
+Isaiah hesitated. “Give it to you?” he repeated. “What'll you do with
+it?”
+
+“I'll put it right back where I found it. Truly, I will. I will, honest,
+Mr. Chase.”
+
+Isaiah reflected. Then, and with considerable reluctance, he handed her
+the photograph.
+
+“All right,” he said, “only be sure you do it. And look here,
+Mary-'Gusta, don't you ever touch it again and don't you ever tell
+either of your uncles or anybody else that you found it. You hear?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta said that she heard. She ran to the garret and replaced the
+photograph in the pocket of the trunk. She did not mention it again nor
+did Isaiah, but thereafter when her active imagination constructed a
+life romance with Mr. Zoeth Hamilton as its hero, that romance contained
+a villain also, and the villain's name was Edgar S. Farmer. And the firm
+of Hall and Company, her father's firm, had a fourth and most mysterious
+partner who was a blackguard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+The summers and winters came and went and Mary-'Gusta's birthdays
+came and went with them. She grew taller and more mature. Her place as
+assistant housekeeper was recognized now and even Isaiah consulted her
+on matters of household management. As for her uncles, she managed them
+whether consulted or not. They took the place of the discarded dolls;
+she was too old for dolls now, although David was still mothered and
+petted as much as ever. But when Uncle Zoeth had a cold it was she who
+insisted upon his wrapping up and saw that the wraps were ready, and if
+Uncle Shad was caught wearing socks with holes in them he was scolded
+and supplied with fresh ones. She selected the clothes they should wear
+and insisted that they black their boots on Sunday. She helped them in
+the store and it became occasionally possible for them to leave that
+place of business at the same time without engaging the services of
+Annabel. At first the partners, Captain Shadrach especially, protested
+against the supervision and the innovations, but Mary-'Gusta tactfully
+and diplomatically carried each point, and, after a time, the Captain
+ceased to protest and accepted the inevitable almost with meekness.
+
+“No use, Zoeth,” he said on one occasion; “I've talked and talked but
+I'm wearin' the necktie just the same. I told her 'twas too good to wear
+weekdays and it ought to be saved for Sunday, but it ain't Sunday and
+I've got it on. She said 'twas becomin' and the one I've been wearin'
+wasn't and that she crocheted it for me and I don't know what all. So
+here I am. Got so I ain't even boss of my own neck.”
+
+“Well, 'tis becomin',” observed Zoeth. “And she did crochet it for you.
+I noticed you didn't stop her tyin' it on you even while you was vowin'
+you wouldn't wear it.”
+
+Shadrach sighed. “To think,” he groaned, “that I, Cap'n Shad Gould, a
+man that's handled as many fo'mast hands as I have, should come to be
+led around by the nose by a slip of a girl! By fire, I--I can't hardly
+believe it. It's disgraceful.”
+
+Zoeth smiled. “Oh, be still, Shadrach,” he said. “You bear up under the
+disgrace as well as anybody ever I saw. You know perfectly well you was
+tickled to death to have her tie that necktie on you. You was grinnin'
+like a Chessy cat all the time.”
+
+“I wasn't, neither. I was chokin', not grinnin'. You don't know a grin
+from a choke.”
+
+Zoeth changed the subject. “It's a mighty pretty necktie,” he declared.
+“There ain't anybody in this town, unless it's Philander Bearse's wife,
+that can crochet any better'n that girl of ours.”
+
+Shadrach snorted. “What are you talkin' about?” he demanded. “Etta
+Bearse never saw the day she could crochet like that. No, nor do
+anything else so well, either. Look at the way our candy trade has
+picked up since Mary-'Gusta fixed up the showcase. You cal'lated 'twas
+all right the way 'twas afore and thought 'twas foolish to change, but
+she changed it and--well, we've sold a third again as much candy.”
+
+Zoeth's smile broadened. “Seems as if I remember your sayin' a few
+things about that showcase,” he remarked. “You gave me fits for lettin'
+her fuss with it. Annabel was in t'other day and she said folks thought
+'twas queer enough our lettin' a thirteen-year-old child run our store
+for us.”
+
+“She did, eh? She's jealous, that's what ails her. And to think of HER
+sayin' it. That Annabel's all brass, like a ship's spyglass. By the
+jumpin' Judas! I'm proud of that showcase and I'm proud of Mary-'Gusta.
+She don't make many mistakes: I can't remember of her makin' any.”
+
+“Neither can I, not even in neckties. There, there, Shadrach! I know
+you. You talk about disgrace and such, but you're as crazy about
+Mary-'Gusta as--as--”
+
+“As you are, eh? Well, maybe I am, Zoeth. When she was first willed to
+us, as you might say, I used to wonder how we'd ever get along with her;
+now I wonder how we got along without her. If she should be--er--took
+away from us, I don't know--”
+
+“Sshh, shh, Shadrach! Don't talk about anything like that.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta was making good progress at school. At fourteen she
+graduated from the grammar school and in the fall was to enter the
+high school. She was popular among her mates, although she never sought
+popularity.
+
+At picnics and church sociables she had always a small circle about
+her and the South Harniss boys were prominent in that circle. But
+Mary-'Gusta, although she liked boys and girls well enough, never showed
+a liking for one more than the other and she was too busy at the house
+and in the store to have her young friends hanging about. They bothered
+her, she said. As for having a particular friend of the other sex,
+which some of the girls in her class no older than she seemed to think
+a necessary proof of being in their teens, she laughed at the idea. She
+had her adopted uncles and Isaiah to take care of and boy beaux were
+silly. Talking about them as these girls did was sillier still.
+
+That summer--the summer preceding Mary-'Gusta's fifteenth birthday--was
+the liveliest South Harniss had known. The village was beginning to feel
+the first symptoms of its later boom as a summer resort. A number of
+cottages had been built for people from Boston and New York and Chicago,
+and there was talk of a new hotel. Also there was talk of several new
+stores, but Hamilton and Company were inclined to believe this merely
+talk and did not worry about it. Their trade was unusually brisk and the
+demand for Mary-'Gusta's services as salesgirl interfered considerably
+with her duties as assistant housekeeper.
+
+One fine, clear July morning she came up to the store early in order
+that the partners might go down to the house for breakfast. They had
+gone and she had just finished placing on the counters and in other
+likely spots about the store sheets of sticky fly paper. Flies are a
+nuisance in South Harniss in midsummer and Captain Shad detested them.
+Just as the last sheet was laid in place, a young fellow and a girl
+came in. Mary-'Gusta recognized them both. The girl was the
+seventeen-year-old daughter of a wealthy summer resident, a Mr. Keith
+from Chicago. The Keiths had a fine cottage on the bluff at the other
+end of the village. The young chap with her was, so gossip reported,
+a college friend of her brother. His surname was prosaic enough, being
+Smith, but his first name was Crawford and his home was somewhere in the
+Far West. He was big and good-looking, and the Boston papers mentioned
+him as one of the most promising backs on the Harvard Freshman eleven.
+Next year, so the sporting writers opined, he would almost certainly
+make the Varsity team. Most of Mary-'Gusta's feminine friends and
+acquaintances rated him “perfectly splendid” and regarded Edna Keith
+with envious eyes.
+
+This morning both he and the Keith girl were arrayed in the gayest of
+summer regalia. Young Smith's white flannel trousers were carefully
+creased, his blue serge coat was without a wrinkle, his tie and socks
+were a perfect match, and his cap was of a style which the youth of
+South Harniss might be wearing the following summer, but not this one.
+Take him “by and large,” as Captain Shadrach would have said, Crawford
+Smith was an immaculate and beautiful exhibit; of which fact he, being
+eighteen years of age, was doubtless quite aware.
+
+He and the Keith girl were, so Mary-'Gusta learned, a committee of two
+selected to purchase certain supplies for a beach picnic, a combination
+clambake and marshmallow toast, which was to take place over at Setuckit
+Point that day. Sam Keith, Edna's brother, and the other members of the
+party had gone on to Jabez Hedges' residence, where Jabez had promised
+to meet them with the clams and other things for the bake. Edna and her
+escort, having made their purchases at Hamilton and Company's, were to
+join them at the “clam-man's.” Then the whole party was to go down to
+the wharf and the sailboat.
+
+Miss Edna, who was a talkative damsel, informed Mary-'Gusta of these
+facts at once. Also she announced that they must hurry like everything.
+
+“You see,” she said, “we told Sam and the rest we'd be at the clam-man's
+in ten minutes, and, if we're not there, Sam will be awfully cross. He
+hates to wait for people. And we've been too long already. It's all your
+fault, Crawford; you would stop to hear that fruit man talk. I told you
+you mustn't.”
+
+The “fruit man” was Mr. Gaius Small, and, although he stammered,
+he loved the sound of his own voice. The demand for a dozen oranges
+furnished Gaius with subject sufficient for a lengthy monologue--“forty
+drawls and ten stutters to every orange,” quoting Captain Shad again.
+
+“I told you you mustn't get him started,” went on Miss Keith, gushingly.
+“He'll talk forever if he has a chance. But you would do it. Asking him
+if he kept pomegranates and bread-fruit! The idea! I'm sure he doesn't
+know what a pomegranate is. You were SO solemn and he was SO ridiculous!
+I thought I should DIE. You really are the drollest person, Crawford
+Smith! I don't know what I shall do with you.”
+
+It was evident that her opinion of young Smith was not different from
+that of other young ladies of her age. Also that Crawford himself was
+not entirely unconscious of that opinion. At eighteen, to be set upon
+a pedestal and worshiped, to have one's feeblest joke hailed as a
+masterpiece of wit, is dangerous for the idol; the effort of sustaining
+the elevated position entails the risk of a fall. Crawford was but
+eighteen and a good fellow, but he had been worshiped a good deal. He
+was quite as sensible as other young chaps of his age, which statement
+means exactly that and no more.
+
+“Well,” he said, with a complacent grin, “we learned how to pronounce
+'pomegranate' at any rate. You begin with a pup-pup-pup, as if you were
+calling a dog, and you finish with a grunt like a pig. I wish I had
+asked him for a persimmon; then he'd have made a noise like a cat.”
+
+Miss Keith, when she recovered from her spasm of merriment, declared her
+companion “perfectly killing.”
+
+“But we must hurry,” she said. “We really must Crawford, you buy the
+things. I should think of that fruit man and laugh all the time, I know
+I should.”
+
+She remained by the door and the young gentleman strolled to the
+counter. He cast an amused glance about the store; its display of stock
+was, thanks to Mary-'Gusta's recent efforts at tidiness, not quite the
+conglomerate mass it had been when the partners were solely responsible,
+but the variety was still strikingly obvious.
+
+“Humph!” observed Crawford; “I've forgotten what we came to buy, but I'm
+sure it is here, whatever it is. Some emporium, this! Introduce me to
+the proprietor, will you, Edna?”
+
+Edna giggled.
+
+“She isn't the proprietor,” she said. “She is just the clerk, that's
+all. Her name is--I've forgotten your name, dear. What is it?”
+
+“Mary Lathrop,” replied Mary-'Gusta, shortly. She objected to being
+addressed as “dear” and she strongly objected to the patronizing tone in
+which it was uttered. Edna Keith was older than she, but not old enough
+to patronize.
+
+“Oh, yes, so it is,” said the young lady. “But that isn't what everyone
+calls you. They call you something else--something funny--Oh, I know!
+Mary-'Gusta, that's it. I knew it was funny. Mary-'Gusta, this is Mr.
+Smith. He wants to buy some things. And he's in a GREAT hurry.”
+
+“Charmed, Mary-'Gusta,” said Mr. Smith. Mary-'Gusta did not appear
+charmed. She asked him what he wanted.
+
+“Search ME,” said the young gentleman, cheerfully. “There was a list,
+wasn't there, Edna? You have it, I think.”
+
+Edna produced the list, scrawled in pencil on the back of an envelope.
+Crawford looked it over.
+
+“Sam's writing isn't exactly print,” he observed, “but I can guess at
+it. Let's see--a pound of butter. Where's the butter department of this
+Bon Marche, Edna?”
+
+Edna, after another convulsion, declared she didn't know.
+
+“No doubt Miss--er--Mary Jane knows,” went on her companion. “Why,
+yes, of course she does. Right there, behind the oilskin jacket. Remove
+jacket, open door--behold, the icebox and the butter. Neat, compact, and
+convenient. One pound only, Elizabeth Eliza. Thank you.”
+
+“Her name isn't Elizabeth Eliza,” giggled Miss Keith. “Isn't he awful,
+Mary-'Gusta! You mustn't mind him.”
+
+“I don't,” said Mary-'Gusta, promptly. “What else do you want?”
+
+Crawford consulted the list. “The next item,” he said, “appears to be
+a--er--certain kind of ham. I blush to mention it, but I must. It is
+deviled ham. Have you that kind of ham, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta took the can of deviled ham from the shelf. Crawford shook
+his head.
+
+“To think that one so young should be so familiar with ham of that
+kind!” he said. “She didn't speak its name, though. Suppose I had asked
+you what kind of ham you had, Miss--er--'Gusta how would you have got
+around it?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta did not answer. She was very angry, but she was determined
+that her tormentor should not know it.
+
+“A young lady of few words,” commented Mr. Smith. “Next item appears to
+be six boxes of marshmallows. Where is the marshmallow department, Mary
+Jane?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta hesitated. The tin boxes of marshmallows were on the
+shelf behind the counter under the candy case. But there was a fresh
+assortment in an unopened packing box in the back room, a box which had
+just come from the wholesale confectioner's in Boston. Her Uncle Zoeth
+had expressed a fear that those beneath the counter were rather stale.
+
+Miss Keith fidgeted. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “This is SO slow. I know
+Sam and the rest won't wait for us at the clam-man's much longer.”
+
+Her companion whistled. “Is the word 'hurry' in the South Harniss
+dictionary, Edna?” he inquired. “How about it, Mary Jane?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta was determined not to hurry. This superior young man wished
+her to do so and that was reason sufficient for delay.
+
+Young Smith sighed resignedly. “Edna,” he said, “suppose we sit down.
+The word is NOT in the dictionary.”
+
+There was but one chair, except those behind the counters, in the store.
+Miss Keith took that with an exclamation of impatience. Crawford Smith,
+whistling a mournful dirge, sauntered to the end of the counter and sat
+down upon a nail keg.
+
+Mary-'Gusta also uttered an exclamation. It is well to look before one
+leaps, also, occasionally, before one sits. That keg had, spread across
+its top, a sheet of the fresh and very sticky fly paper. Before she
+could have protested, even if she had wished to do so, the young
+gentleman's spotless white flannels and the fly paper came in contact,
+close and clinging contact.
+
+Mary-'Gusta put a hand to her mouth. Crawford looked at her, caught the
+direction of her look, and looked in that direction himself. His whistle
+stopped in the middle of a note and his face immediately became a match
+for his socks and tie, a beautiful rich crimson, the chosen color of his
+University.
+
+Miss Keith, from her seat by the door, could not see beyond the end of
+the counter. Consequently she was unaware of the mishap to the white
+flannels. But Mary-'Gusta saw and knew; also she could see that Mr.
+Smith knew.
+
+“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Edna, impatiently. “We are dreadfully late now.
+We'll never get there on time. Sam won't wait for us; I know he won't.
+Where are those marshmallows? Can't you please hurry, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's eyes were sparkling. Her manner was provokingly
+deliberate. She took a box of marshmallows from beneath the counter.
+
+“There are some here,” she said, “but I'm afraid they aren't very fresh.
+The fresh ones, those that have just come, are in a box in the back
+room. That box hasn't been opened yet. If you can wait I'll open it for
+you.”
+
+Young Smith said nothing. Miss Keith, however, spoke her mind.
+
+“Of course we can't wait,” she declared. “I'm sure these will do. They
+will do, won't they, Crawford?”
+
+And still Crawford remained silent. Mary-'Gusta, who was enjoying this
+portion of the interview as much as she had disliked its beginning,
+offered a suggestion.
+
+“If you will just come here and look at these,” she said, with
+mischievous gravity, addressing the young gentleman on the nail keg,
+“perhaps you can tell whether they're fresh enough.”
+
+The young gentleman did not rise. His face retained its brilliant color
+and his lips moved, but his answer was not audible. At his age the dread
+of appearing ridiculous, especially in the presence of a youthful and
+charming female, is above all others hateful. And Edna Keith was not the
+only girl in the picnic party; there were others. She would be certain
+to tell them. Crawford Smith foresaw a horrible day, a day of disgrace
+and humiliation, one in which he was destined to furnish amusement
+without sharing the fun. And Sam Keith, who had remarked upon the
+splendor of his friend's attire, would gloat--not only here in South
+Harniss, but elsewhere--in Cambridge, for instance. An older man would
+have risen, laughed whether he felt like laughing or not--and have
+expressed his opinion of fly paper. Crawford was not yet a man; he was
+in the transition stage, a boy fondly hoping that other people might
+think him a man. So he sat still until it was too late to rise, and then
+wished he had risen in the first place.
+
+“My goodness!” exclaimed the fidgety Miss Keith, “why don't you look at
+them, Crawford? What are you waiting for?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta, the box of marshmallows in her hand, regarded the boy on
+the nail keg. His eyes met hers and in them was a look of such utter
+misery that the girl relented. Her feeling of satisfied resentment
+changed to one almost of pity. She had been made to feel ridiculous
+herself at various times in her short life and she remembered the
+sensation. Mary-'Gusta, as has been mentioned before in this history,
+was old for her years.
+
+She considered a moment. Then she thrust the box beneath the counter.
+
+“I guess I'd better not sell you those, anyway,” she said with decision.
+“Uncle Zoeth said they weren't fresh. I'll open the case in the back
+room.”
+
+Edna stamped her foot.
+
+“We can't wait for that,” she declared. “We must go without them,
+I suppose. Oh, dear! And they depended on us to get them. It's so
+provoking. Now we can't have any toast at all and it would have been
+such fun.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta glanced once more at the occupant of the keg.
+
+“I was thinking,” she said, slowly, “that you needn't both wait unless
+you wanted to. Perhaps Miss Keith might go on and tell the others
+and--er--Mr. Smith could stay here until I opened the box. Then he could
+meet you at the boat.”
+
+Edna hesitated. “Shall I, Crawford?” she asked.
+
+Her companion did not hesitate. “I think perhaps you'd better, Edna,” he
+said. “I--I guess I won't be long.”
+
+Miss Keith hurried out. Mary-'Gusta turned her attention to the
+remaining visitor.
+
+“You can get up now,” she said. “Some of it will tear off, anyway,
+and if you hurry you will have time to run home and change your--your
+clothes.”
+
+Crawford was evidently much surprised, also his embarrassment was not
+lessened; but he rose.
+
+“Then--then you knew?” he stammered.
+
+“Of course I knew. I saw you sit down on it, didn't I? If I'd known what
+you were going to do I'd have told you to look out. But you did it so
+quick I couldn't. Now tear off as much as you can.”
+
+The young gentleman obeyed orders. “Does it show much?” he queried. “I
+can't see. Is there much left?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta smiled. His contortions were as violent as they were vain.
+“There's enough,” she said simply. “Here are the things you bought. Now
+go out of the back door and cut across the fields. It's the shortest way
+home.”
+
+Mr. Smith took his various parcels, including the six boxes of
+marshmallows which Mary-'Gusta produced from beneath the counter. “I
+thought you said these were stale,” he observed, wonderingly.
+
+“I said they weren't real fresh, but they're fresh enough for a toast.
+I said that so that the Keith girl wouldn't wait. I didn't think you
+wanted her to.”
+
+“You bet your life I didn't! So that's why you said you would have to
+open the other box? Just--just to help me out?”
+
+“Yes. Now don't stop any longer. You'll have to run, you know. Go out
+the back way.”
+
+Crawford started for the door of the back room, but at that door he
+paused.
+
+“Say,” he said, feelingly, “this is mighty white of you, do you know it?
+And after the way I guyed you when I first came in! I guess I was rather
+fresh, wasn't I?”
+
+“Yes, you were.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I guess I was. I thought you were just a country kid, you
+know, and I--say, by George, you WERE white. If I'd been you I'd have
+got square. You had the chance; 'twould have served me right for playing
+the smart Aleck. I beg your pardon. You're all RIGHT! And I'm awfully
+sorry I was such a chump.”
+
+It was a straightforward, honest apology and confession of fault.
+Mary-'Gusta was pleased, but she did not show it. He had referred to her
+as a kid and she did not like that.
+
+“If you don't hurry--yes, and run like everything,” she said, “you won't
+have time to get home and change and meet the others at the boat. And
+somebody else will see you, too. You'd better go.”
+
+The young man went without further delay. Mary-'Gusta watching from the
+back door saw him racing across the fields in the direction of the Keith
+cottage. When her uncles returned she said nothing of the occurrence.
+She considered it funny, but she knew Crawford Smith did not, and she
+was sure he would prefer to have the secret kept.
+
+The following afternoon the partners of Hamilton and Company entertained
+a caller at the store. That evening Shadrach spoke of the call to
+Mary-'Gusta.
+
+“That young Smith feller that's been visitin' the Keiths was in today,”
+ said the Captain. “Didn't want to buy nothin'; said he just happened
+in, that's all. Asked where you was, he did. I didn't know he knew you,
+Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta, who was busy clearing the supper table, answered without
+looking round. “He and Edna Keith bought some things at the store
+yesterday,” she said.
+
+“Yes, so he said. He said tell you everything was all right and he had
+a fine time at the picnic. Seemed to cal'late you was a pretty bright
+girl. We knew that afore, of course, but it was nice of him to say so.
+He's leavin' on tomorrow mornin's train. Goin' way out West, he is, to
+Nevada; that's where he and his dad live. His ma's dead, so he told us.
+Must be tough to live so fur off from salt water: I couldn't stand it,
+I know that. Funny thing about that young feller, too; his face looked
+sort of familiar to me and Zoeth. Seemed as if he looked like somebody
+we knew, but of course we didn't know any of his folks; we don't know
+any Smiths from way off there.”
+
+The subject was dropped for the time, but two days later the expressman
+brought a package to the house. The package was addressed to Miss
+Mary Augusta Lathrop and contained a five-pound basket of expensive
+chocolates and bonbons. There was a note with it which read as follows:
+
+
+Hope you'll like these. They are fresh, at least Huyler's people swear
+they are, but I don't believe they are as good as those marshmallows.
+And I KNOW they are not as fresh as a certain person was at a certain
+time. Please eat them and forget the other freshness.
+
+C. S.
+
+You were a perfect little brick not to tell.
+
+
+Mary-'Gusta was obliged to tell then, but she made her uncles and Isaiah
+promise not to do so. She, with the able assistance of the other members
+of the household, ate the contents of the basket in due time. The basket
+itself was taken to the parlor, where it was given a place beside the
+other curiosities. As for the note, that disappeared. And yet, if one
+had investigated the contents of the small drawer of Mary-'Gusta's
+bureau, where she kept her most intimate treasures, the mystery of its
+disappearance might have been solved.
+
+It was the only epistle of its kind the girl had yet received; and,
+after all, good-looking young college men are what they are. And
+Mary-'Gusta, in spite of her queerness, was feminine--and human.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+When Mary-'Gusta was seventeen a great event took place. The happening
+which led to it was trivial enough, but the results were important and
+far-reaching. They led to the second great change in her life, a change
+as important as that brought about by her memorable “visit” to South
+Harniss.
+
+She was a girl in years still, but tall for her age, and in thought and
+manner almost a young woman. Her management of her uncles and Isaiah was
+now complete. They no longer protested, even to each other, against the
+management and, in fact, gloried in it. The cook and steward accepted
+her orders concerning the daily marketing and he and she audited the
+monthly bills. The white house by the shore was a different place
+altogether now and “chicken-pox tablecloths” and tarnished silver were
+things of the forgotten past. At the store she had become almost a
+silent partner, and Hamilton and Company's “emporium” was, thanks to her
+judgment and tact, if not yet an up-to-date establishment, at least a
+shop where commodities to be sold were in places where they might be
+seen by prospective purchasers and readily located by the proprietors.
+
+She spent a good deal of her time, except in school hours, at the store
+and much of the buying as well as the selling was done by her. The
+drummers representing New York and Boston wholesale houses knew her and
+cherished keen respect for her abilities as a selector and purchaser of
+goods.
+
+“Say,” said one of these gentlemen, after a lengthy session during
+which his attempts to work off several “stickers” had been frustrated by
+Mary-'Gusta's common sense and discernment--“Say, that girl of yours is
+a wonder, do you know it? She's the sharpest buyer I ever run across on
+my trips down here. I don't take a back seat for anybody when it comes
+to selling goods, and there's mighty little I can't sell; but I can't
+bluff her. She knows what's what, you hear me!”
+
+Shadrach, to whom this remark was made, chuckled. “You bet you!” he
+declared, with enthusiasm. “Anybody that gets ahead of our Mary-'Gusta
+has got to turn out afore the mornin' watch. She's smart. Zoeth and me
+ain't aboard the same craft with her.”
+
+“I should say not. And you can't get gay with her, either. Most girls of
+her age and as good a looker as she is don't object to a little ragging:
+they're used to it and they like it--but not her. She isn't fishing for
+boxes of candy or invitations to dances. That line of talk means good-by
+and no sale where she is. Business and just business, that's all there
+is to her. How long are you goin' to keep her here?”
+
+“How long? Why, forever, I hope. What are you talkin' about?”
+
+The drummer winked. “That's all right,” he observed. “You want to keep
+her, I don't doubt: but one of these days somebody else'll be wanting
+her more than you do. Mr. Right'll be coming along here some time and
+then--good night! She's young yet, but in a couple of years she'll be a
+queen and then--well, then maybe I'll stand a better chance of unloading
+those last summer caps the house has got in stock. Girls like her don't
+stay single and keep store; there's too much demand and not enough
+competition. Gad! If I wasn't an antique and married already I don't
+know but I'd be getting into line. That's what!”
+
+Captain Shadrach was inclined to be angry, but, although he would
+not have admitted it, he realized the truth of this frank statement.
+Mary-'Gusta was pretty, she was more than that, and the line was already
+forming. Jimmie Bacheldor had long ago ceased to be a competitor; that
+friendship had ended abruptly at the time of David's narrow escape; but
+there were others, plenty of them. Daniel Higgins, son of Mr. Solomon
+Higgins, the local lumber dealer and undertaker, was severely smitten.
+Dan was at work in Boston, where he was engaged in the cheerful and
+remunerative business of selling coffins for the American Casket
+Company. He was diligent and active and his future promised to be
+bright, at least so his proud father boasted. He came home for holidays
+and vacations and his raiment was anything but funereal, but Mary-'Gusta
+was not impressed either by the raiment or the personality beneath it.
+She treated the persistent Daniel as a boy and a former schoolmate.
+When he assumed manly airs she laughed at him and when he invited her to
+accompany him to the Cattle Show at Ostable she refused and said she was
+going with Uncle Zoeth.
+
+Dan Higgins was not the only young fellow who found the store of
+Hamilton and Company an attractive lounging place. Some of the young
+gentlemen not permanent residents of South Harniss also appeared to
+consider it a pleasant place to visit on Summer afternoons. They came to
+buy, of course, but they remained to chat. Mary-'Gusta might have sailed
+or picknicked a good deal and in the best of company, socially speaking,
+if she had cared to do so. She did not so care.
+
+“They don't want me, Uncle Shad,” she said. “And I don't want to go.”
+
+“Course they want you,” declared Shadrach, stoutly. “If they didn't want
+you they wouldn't ask you, 'tain't likely. And I heard that young Keith
+feller askin' you to go out sailin' with him this very afternoon.”
+
+“You didn't hear his sister ask me, did you? There, there, Uncle Shad,
+don't worry about me. I'm having a good time; a very much better time
+than if I went sailing with the Keiths.”
+
+“What's the matter with the Keiths? They're as nice folks as come to
+South Harniss.”
+
+“Of course they are.”
+
+“Well, then! And you're as good as they are, ain't you?”
+
+“I hope so. Uncle Shad, why don't you wear a white flannel suit in hot
+weather? Mr. Keith, Sam's father, wore one at the church garden party
+the other day.”
+
+The Captain stared at her. “Why don't I wear--what?” he stammered.
+
+“A white flannel suit. You're as good as Mr. Keith, aren't you?”
+
+“I guess I am. I don't know why I ain't. But what kind of a question's
+that? I'd look like a plain fool tagged out in one of them things:
+anyway, I'd feel like one. I don't belong in a white flannel suit. I
+ain't no imitation dude.”
+
+“And I don't belong in Sam Keith's yacht. At least Mr. Keith and Edna
+would feel that I didn't. I don't want to be considered an imitation,
+either.”
+
+Shadrach shook his head. “You ain't like anybody else,” he said. “You're
+a funny girl, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+“I suppose I am; but I'm not as funny as I should be if I tried to BE
+somebody else. No, Uncle Shad, you'll just have to bear with me as I am,
+funniness and all.”
+
+A few days after this Keith, senior, came into the store. He was not
+arrayed in the white flannels but was wearing a rather shabby but very
+comfortable tweed jacket and trousers and a white canvas hat of the kind
+which Hamilton and Company sold for fifty cents. His shirt was of the
+soft-collared variety and his shoes were what South Harniss called
+“sneakers.”
+
+John Keith's visits to Cape Cod were neither very frequent nor lengthy.
+His wife and family came in June and remained until late September, but
+his sojourns were seldom longer than a week at a time and there were
+intervals of a month or more between them. In Chicago he was the head
+of a large business and that business demanded close attention. When he
+left it he left his cares with it and enjoyed himself in his own way.
+That way included old clothes, golf, a boat, and just as few tea and
+garden parties as his wife would permit.
+
+He was planning a fishing trip and had stopped at the store to buy
+some tobacco. The partners had gone home for dinner and Mary-'Gusta
+was tending shop. At that moment she was busy with the traveling
+representative of Messrs. Bernstein, Goldberg and Baun, of Providence,
+wholesale dealers in stationery, cards and novelties. The time was
+August, but Mr. Kron, the drummer, was already booking orders for the
+Christmas season. His samples were displayed upon the counter and he and
+Mary-'Gusta were deep in conversation.
+
+“That's what you ought to have,” declared Mr. Kron, with enthusiasm.
+“Believe me, there's goin' to be some call for that line of stuff this
+year. The house can't turn 'em out fast enough.”
+
+“But what is it?” asked Mary-'Gusta. “What's it for?”
+
+“It's a combination calendar and beauty-box,” explained Mr. Kron. “Hang
+it on the wall by your bureau--see? In the mornin' you can't remember
+what day it is. All right, there's the calendar. Then you want to doll
+yourself up for--well, for the party you're goin' to--”
+
+“The same morning?” interrupted Mary-'Gusta.
+
+Mr. Kron grinned. He was a young man and this was his first trip in that
+section. His clothes were neither modest nor retiring and he, himself,
+did not suffer from these failings. Also he prided himself on having a
+way with the ladies, especially the younger ladies. And Mary-'Gusta was
+distinctly the most attractive young person he had met on this trip.
+
+He laughed in appreciation of the joke.
+
+“Say,” he observed, admiringly, “you're up to the minute, ain't you!
+You're some kidder, all right. Are there many more in this burg like
+you? If there are I'm goin' to move in and settle down. What?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta did not laugh, nor did she answer. Instead, she turned to
+the gentleman who had entered the store.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Keith,” she said. “Was there anything you wanted?”
+
+Keith smiled. “No hurry,” he said. “I've got a little time to kill and
+if you don't mind I'll kill it here. I'll sit down and wait, if I may.
+That boatman of mine will be along pretty soon.”
+
+He took the chair by the door. Mr. Kron continued his exploitation of
+the combination calendar and beauty-box.
+
+“You are goin' to a party,” he went on, “either that night or that
+afternoon or sometime. Sure you are! Girls like you ain't handed the
+go-by on many parties in this neck of the woods--am I right? Well, then,
+when the time comes, you pull down the flap. There's your beauty-box,
+lookin'-glass, powder puff and powder, all complete. Now a novelty like
+that will sell--”
+
+“We couldn't use it,” interrupted Mary-'Gusta. “Show me something else.”
+
+Mr. Kron, disappointed but far from discouraged, showed her something
+else--many somethings. Concerning each he was enthusiastic, slangy, and
+familiar. Mary-'Gusta paid little attention to slang or enthusiasm; the
+familiarity she ignored utterly. She selected several of the novelties,
+a rather extensive line of Christmas cards, and in the matters of
+price and cash discounts was keen and businesslike. Keith watched and
+listened, at first with amusement, then with growing admiration for the
+girl's simplicity and good sense.
+
+Mr. Kron's admiration was outspoken.
+
+“Say,” he said, as he repacked his samples, “you're a mighty clever
+buyer, do you know it? That line of stuff you've ordered is the cream,
+that's what it is. You made a mistake in not layin' in a dozen or two of
+those combination beauty-boxes, but that's all right. Here, have one for
+yourself. Take it with my compliments.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta declined. “No, thank you,” she said.
+
+“Why not? It don't come out of my pocket. The firm expects me to hand
+out little keepsakes like that. I've been plantin' 'em with the girls
+all the way down.”
+
+“No, thank you,” she replied.
+
+Mr. Kron, having finished his business as representative of Messrs.
+Bernstein, Goldberg and Baun, attempted a stroke of his own.
+
+“Say,” he said, “I've got a little spare time on my hands this evenin';
+I shan't make the next town until tomorrow. There's a new movie theater
+just opened over to Orham. They tell me it's all to the mustard. I can
+hire a rig here and you and me might drive over tonight and take it in.
+What do you say, Kid?”
+
+“No, thank you,” said Mary-'Gusta again.
+
+“But--”
+
+“No, thank you. Good day.”
+
+She turned away to enter the order she had just given in a book on
+the desk. Mr. Kron tried again, but she did not appear to hear him. He
+grinned, observed “Oh, very well!” and, with a wink at Mr. Keith, went
+out, a suitcase in each hand.
+
+Keith rose from the chair and, walking over to the counter, requested to
+be supplied with the tobacco he had come to buy. Mary-'Gusta gave it
+to him. Her cheeks were red and Keith was surprised to notice that she
+looked almost as if she would like to cry. He guessed the reason.
+
+“That young man will get himself thoroughly kicked some day,” he
+observed; “I'm not sure that I oughtn't to have done it myself just now.
+He annoyed you, I'm afraid.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta answered without looking at him.
+
+“That's all right,” she said. “I'm foolish, I guess. He meant to be
+nice, perhaps. Some girls may like that sort of niceness; I don't.”
+
+“Why didn't you tell him to get out?”
+
+“I wanted to see his samples. It is time for us to buy our Christmas
+things and I had rather choose them myself, that's all.”
+
+“Oh! But Mr. Hamilton or the Captain--I should think--”
+
+“Oh, they might have bought some that we couldn't sell.”
+
+“The beauty-boxes, for instance?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta smiled. “Why, yes,” she admitted; “perhaps.”
+
+“I see. But it was rather an ordeal for you. Do you have to endure much
+of that sort of thing?”
+
+“No more than any girl who keeps store, I guess.”
+
+At the dinner table that evening Keith referred to his experience as
+listener in Hamilton and Company's shop.
+
+“That girl with the queer name,” he said, “a niece of those two old
+chaps who run the place, I believe she is. Do you know anything about
+her, Gertrude?”
+
+Before Mrs. Keith could reply, Edna spoke:
+
+“Ask Sam, Dad,” she said, mischievously. “Sam knows about her. He just
+adores that store; he spends half his time there.”
+
+“Nonsense, Edna!” protested Sam, turning red. “I don't do any such
+thing.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you do. And you know about Mary-'Gusta too. He says she's a
+peach, Daddy.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted her brother, indignantly. “Well, she is one. She's
+got every girl in your set skinned a mile for looks. But I don't know
+anything about her, of course.”
+
+Mrs. Keith broke in. “Skinned a mile!” she repeated, with a shudder.
+“Sam, what language you do use! Yes, John,” she added, addressing her
+husband. “I know the girl well. She's pretty and she is sensible. For
+a girl who has had no opportunities and has lived all her life here in
+South Harniss she is really quite remarkable. Why do you speak of her,
+John?”
+
+Mr. Keith related a part of the conversation between Mary-'Gusta and Mr.
+Kron.
+
+“She handled the fellow splendidly,” he said. “She talked business with
+him and she wouldn't let him talk anything else. But it was plain enough
+to see that she felt insulted and angry. It seems a pity that a girl
+like that should have to put up with that sort of thing. I wonder if her
+uncles, old Mr. Hamilton and Captain Shadrach, realize what happens when
+they're not about? How would they take it, do you think, if I dropped a
+hint?”
+
+Edna laughed. “You would have to be very careful, Daddy,” she said. “Mr.
+Hamilton and the Captain idolize Mary-'Gusta and she just worships them.
+Besides, she isn't really their niece, you know. She is a young lady of
+independent means--at least, so everybody says.”
+
+Her father was surprised. He asked what she meant by “independent
+means.” Mrs. Keith answered.
+
+“The means are not very extensive, I imagine,” she said. “The story is
+that this Mary-'Gusta--why they persist in calling her by that dreadful
+name I can't understand--is the daughter of a former friend and partner.
+Mr. Hamilton and Captain Gould adopted her and she has lived with them
+ever since. She has money of her own, though no two of the townspeople
+agree as to how much. I've heard it estimated all the way from five to
+fifty thousand. She never speaks of it and those queer old uncles of
+hers keep their affairs very much to themselves. But I agree with you,
+John; it is a shame that she should have to spend her life here in South
+Harniss. I think we ought to do something for her, if we can. I shall
+think it over.”
+
+Mrs. Keith was always doing something for somebody. At home in Chicago
+she was president of her women's club and identified with goodness knows
+how many charitable societies. In South Harniss she was active in church
+and sewing circles. Her enthusiasm was always great, but her tact was
+sometimes lacking. South Harniss people, some of them, were inclined
+to consider her as a self-appointed boss interfering where she had no
+business.
+
+Her husband looked a trifle dubious.
+
+“Be careful, Gertrude,” he cautioned. “Look out you don't offend.
+These Cape Codders are self-respecting and touchy, you know. Anyone
+interfering with their private affairs is likely to get into trouble.”
+
+His wife resented the warning. “Don't throw cold water on everything,
+John,” she said. “I know more about Cape Codders than you do. You only
+meet them for a few weeks each summer. I flatter myself that I know them
+and that they know and trust me. Of COURSE I shall be careful. And I
+shall think the Mary-'Gusta matter over.”
+
+She did think it over and a week later she came to her husband
+overflowing with the excitement of a brilliant idea. A cousin of hers,
+a maiden lady of sixty or thereabouts, wealthy and a semi-invalid who
+cherished her ill-health, was in need of a female companion. Mrs. Keith
+was certain that Mary-'Gusta would be just the person to fill that need.
+
+Mr. Keith was by no means so certain. He raised some objections.
+
+“Humph,” he said. “Well, Gertrude, to be frank, I don't think much
+of the scheme. Cousin Clara has had one companion after the other for
+thirty years. None of them has stayed with her very long. She requires
+a sort of combination friend and lady's maid and secretary and waitress,
+and I don't think our Mary-'Gusta would enjoy that sort of job. I
+certainly shouldn't--with Clara.”
+
+His wife was indignant. “I might have known you would be ready with the
+cold water,” she declared. “Clara is--well, cranky, and particular and
+all that, but the opportunity is wonderful. The girl would travel and
+meet the best people--”
+
+“She might remove their wraps, I admit.”
+
+“Nonsense! And if Clara took a fancy to her she might leave her a good
+sum of money when she died.”
+
+“Perhaps, providing the girl didn't die first. No, Gertrude, I'm
+sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think much of your idea. Anyway,
+according to my belief, you're approaching this thing from the wrong
+end. It isn't the girl herself you should try to influence, but her
+uncles, or guardians, or whatever they are. If I know her, and I've been
+making some inquiries, she won't leave them. She will consider that they
+need her at the house and store and she'll stay. They are the ones to
+influence. If the matter of her welfare and future was put to them in
+the right light they might--well, they might sacrifice themselves to
+benefit her.”
+
+“Rubbish! I know I'm right. She'll jump at the opportunity. I shall tell
+her about it this very afternoon.”
+
+“She won't accept; I'll bet on it.”
+
+His principal reason for non-belief in Mary-'Gusta's acceptance was his
+knowledge of his wife's lack of tact. The girl did not consider herself,
+nor was she, a subject of charity. And the position of combination
+friend and servant would not appeal to her. John Keith had an idea of
+his own concerning Mary-'Gusta, but it could wait until his wife's had
+failed.
+
+
+It failed, of course, and Mrs. Keith, that evening, was indignant and
+angry.
+
+“I never was so treated in my life,” she declared. “That girl didn't
+know her place at all. I'm through. I wash my hands of the whole
+matter.”
+
+“Wasn't she polite?” inquired Keith.
+
+“Oh, she was polite enough, as far as that goes, but she wouldn't even
+consider my proposal. Wouldn't even hear me through. She said she had no
+thought of leaving South Harniss. She was quite satisfied and contented
+where she was. One would think I had come to ask a favor instead of
+conferring one. Why, she seemed to think my plan almost ridiculous.”
+
+“Did she say so?”
+
+“No, of course she didn't. She thanked me and all that; but she snubbed
+me just the same. I'm disgusted. I'm through--absolutely and completely
+through trying to help that girl!”
+
+Keith did not say, “I told you so”; in fact, he said little or nothing
+more at the time. But a day or two afterwards he called at the store.
+Zoeth and Captain Shadrach were alone there, their niece having gone
+down to the house, a fact of which the caller was aware.
+
+The partners liked John Keith. They considered him, as Captain Shad
+said, “a first-rate, everyday sort of feller,” who did not patronize nor
+put on airs, even though he was a “summer man” and rich. When he talked
+with them it was of things they understood, local affairs, the cranberry
+crop, fishing, and the doings of the Board of Selectmen. He was willing
+to listen as well as talk and he did not refer to permanent residents as
+“natives,” a habit of his wife's which irritated the Captain extremely.
+
+“Jumpin' fire!” said the latter on one occasion, “every time that woman
+calls us town folks 'natives' I feel as if she cal'lated I lived up a
+tree and chucked coconuts at folks. I don't wonder some of the South Sea
+Islands heathen eat missionaries. If I ATE that woman she might agree
+with me; she don't as 'tis. Every time I say yes she says no, and that
+makes me think yes harder'n ever.”
+
+So Mrs. Keith was not popular with the South Harniss natives, perhaps
+because she tried so hard to be; her husband, who apparently did not try
+to be, was. He and his opinions were liked and respected. When he came
+into the store, therefore, on this occasion, Zoeth and Shad welcomed
+him, asked him to sit down, and the conversation began with the
+astonishing rise in the price of sea-front property and drifted from
+that to other timely and general topics.
+
+Just how it drifted to Mary-'Gusta and her future neither of the
+partners could have told--however, drift there it did, and they found
+themselves chanting her praises to their caller, who seemed much
+interested.
+
+“She is a remarkably capable girl,” observed Mr. Keith. “And before we
+realize it she will be a young woman. Are you planning that she shall
+keep store and keep house for you the rest of her life, or the rest of
+yours?”
+
+Zoeth shook his head. “Why,” he said, mildly, “I don't know's we've
+planned much about it so fur. Those things sort of take care of
+themselves, always seemed to me. Or the Almighty takes care of 'em for
+us.”
+
+Their visitor smiled. “Someone else will be willing and anxious to take
+care of her before many years, or I miss my guess,” he said. “She is
+likely to marry, you know. There must be some promising young fellows
+down here.”
+
+Shadrach sniffed. It was a subject he never discussed with his partner
+and did not like even to think about. The remark of the hat and cap
+drummer concerning the coming of a “Mr. Right” had troubled him not a
+little.
+
+“Ugh!” he grunted; “there's promisin' ones enough. Most of those that
+are contented to stay here in South Harniss are nothin' BUT promise;
+they ain't so strong on makin' good. 'Tain't like 'twas when Zoeth and
+me were young ourselves. Now all the smart, ambitious boys go up to the
+city to work.”
+
+“Some of the girls go up there, too, don't they? To school, or college?
+Didn't I hear that Christopher Mullet's daughter was at school in
+Bridgewater?”
+
+“Ugh!” grunted Shadrach again. “I cal'late you did hear. If you didn't
+you're the only one in town that ain't. Becky Mullet--yes, and Chris,
+too--ain't done anything but brag about their Irene's goin' off to what
+they call 'finishin' school.' Judas! I see HER finish. She ain't got--I
+swan that girl ain't got anything in her head but gas, and every time
+she opens her mouth she loses enough of that to keep a lighthouse lit up
+all night.”
+
+“Shadrach,” murmured Zoeth, “don't say such unlikely things about folks.
+Be charitable as you can.”
+
+“Judas! I am--as much as I can. If I wasn't charitable to that Mullet
+girl I'd be talkin' yet. I hove to afore I'd got scarcely under way.”
+
+Keith put in a word. “Finishing schools are not all bad, by any means,”
+ he said. “There are various kinds and grades, of course, but a good
+private school for girls is a fine thing. It teaches them to meet and
+judge people of all kinds, and that fine feathers don't always make fine
+birds. Then, too, a girl at a good school of that sort is under strict
+discipline and her acquaintances, male acquaintances especially, are
+chosen with care. Sixteen to eighteen is a dangerous age for the average
+girl.
+
+“By the way,” he added, “did your niece tell you of her experience with
+that traveling salesman the other day, the fellow selling Christmas
+novelties? No? Well, I happened to be here at the time. It was rather
+interesting.”
+
+He told of Mary-'Gusta's session with Mr. Kron. The partners listened
+with growing indignation.
+
+“Well, by the jumpin'!” exclaimed Captain Shad. “Did you ever hear such
+brassy talk in your life! I wish to thunder I'd been here. There'd have
+been one mighty sick patient ready for the doctor and he wouldn't have
+been a South Harniss native either. But Mary-'Gusta didn't take none of
+his sauce, I tell you; that girl of ours is all right!”
+
+“Yes, she is all right. But she didn't enjoy the experience, that was
+plain enough, and, so far as I can see, she is likely to have a good
+many others of the same kind. Now it isn't my business, I know that; you
+can tell me to shut up and clear out any time you like, of course; but
+do you think it is just fair to a girl like your niece to condemn her
+to a life of storekeeping or the alternative of marrying one of the
+promising young men you've been talking about? Don't you think such a
+girl as she is deserves a chance; every chance you can give her?”
+
+The two partners stared at him open-mouthed. Shadrach, as usual, spoke
+first.
+
+“Condemn her?” he repeated. “Condemn Mary-'Gusta? A chance? Why--”
+
+“Hush, Shadrach,” interrupted Zoeth. “Mr. Keith ain't done yet. He's
+goin' to tell us what he means. Go on, Mr. Keith, what do you mean?”
+
+Keith, having broken the ice, and found the water not so chilly as he
+had feared it might be, plunged in.
+
+“Well, I mean this,” he said. “I confess frankly that I have been very
+favorably impressed by your niece. She is an unusual girl--unusually
+pretty, of course, but much more than that. She is simple and brave and
+sensible and frank. If she were my daughter I should be very proud of
+her. I know you are. She should have, it seems to me, the opportunity to
+make the most of her qualities and personality. I've been thinking about
+her a great deal ever since my call at the store here the other day. Now
+I've got a suggestion to make. You can take it or leave it, but I assure
+you it is made with the best of intentions and solely in her interest as
+I see it; and I hope you'll take it after you've thought it over. Here
+it is.”
+
+He went on to impart the suggestion. His hearers listened, Zoeth
+silently and Shadrach with occasional mutterings and exclamations.
+
+“So there you are,” said Keith in conclusion. “The school is a good
+one, one of the best in Boston. Two years there will do worlds for your
+niece. It has done worlds for other girls I have known. It is rather
+expensive, of course, but, as I understand it, Mary has money of her
+own of which you, as her guardians, have charge. She couldn't spend a
+portion of that money to better advantage.”
+
+Zoeth said nothing, but he looked at the Captain and the Captain looked
+at him.
+
+“She HAS money of her own, hasn't she?” inquired Mr. Keith. “I have been
+told she was left an independent fortune by her father.”
+
+There was another interval of silence. The partners were quite aware of
+the general belief in Mary-'Gusta's independent fortune. They had not
+discouraged that belief. It was no one's business but theirs and their
+respect and affection for Marcellus Hall had prevented the disclosure of
+the latter's poverty. That secret not even Mary-'Gusta knew; she, too,
+believed that the money which paid for her clothes and board and all the
+rest was her own. Her uncles had helped her to think so.
+
+So when their visitor asked the pointed question Zoeth looked at
+Shadrach and the latter shook his head.
+
+“Yup,” he answered, brusquely, “it's true enough, I cal'late. Marcellus
+left her all he had. But--but look here, Mr. Keith. Do I understand you
+to advise us to send Mary-'Gusta away--to school--for two years? Jumpin'
+fire! How--how could we? She--why, what would we do without her?”
+
+“It would be harder for you here in the store, of course.”
+
+“The store! 'Tain't the store I'm thinkin' about; it's me and Zoeth.
+What'll WE do without her? Why, she--why, no daughter could mean more to
+us than that girl does, and if Zoeth and me was her own--er--mother and
+father we couldn't think more of her. We'd be adrift and out of sight
+of land if Mary-'Gusta went away. No, no, we couldn't think of such a
+thing.”
+
+“Not even for her sake? She's worth a pretty big sacrifice, a girl like
+that.”
+
+A long discussion followed, a discussion interrupted by the arrival of
+occasional customers but resumed as soon as each of these individuals
+departed. Zoeth asked a question.
+
+“This--this Miss--er--What's-her-name's school you're talkin' about,” he
+asked, “a reg'lar boardin' school, is it?”
+
+“Yes, but there are day pupils. It was my idea, provided you two were
+willing to listen to my suggestion at all, to suggest that Mary attend
+as a day pupil. She might live near the school instead of at it. That
+would be much less expensive.”
+
+“Um-hm,” mused Shadrach, “but--but she'd have to live somewheres, and
+I for one would want to be mighty particular what sort of a place she
+lived at.”
+
+“Naturally. Well, I have thought of that, too, and here is suggestion
+number three: I have a cousin--a cousin of my first wife's--who lives on
+Pinckney Street, which is not far from the Misses Cabot's school. This
+cousin--Mrs. Wyeth is her name--is a widow and she hasn't too much
+money. She doesn't keep a boarding house exactly, but she has been known
+to take a few of what she calls 'paying guests.' She's very Bostonian
+and very particular concerning the references and family connections of
+those guests, but I think I could manage that. If your niece were placed
+in her care she would have a real home and meet only the sort of people
+you would wish her to meet.”
+
+He might have added that Mrs. Wyeth, being under many obligations,
+pecuniary and otherwise, to her wealthy Chicago relative, would need
+only a hint from him to give Mary-'Gusta the care and attention of a
+parent, a very particular, Boston first-family parent. But, unlike his
+present wife, he was not in the habit of referring to his charities, so
+he kept this information to himself.
+
+Zoeth sighed. “I declare,” he said, “you're mighty kind in all this,
+Mr. Keith. I know that you're sartin this goin' away to school would do
+Mary-'Gusta a sight of good. But--but I swan I--I can't hardly bear to
+think of our lettin' her go away from us.”
+
+“I don't wonder at that. Just think it over and we'll have another talk
+later.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Mr. Keith and the Captain had that later talk--several talks, in
+fact--and a week after their first one Captain Shadrach suddenly
+announced that he was cal'latin' to run up to Boston just for a day on
+business and that Mary-'Gusta had better go along with him for company.
+Zoeth could tend store and get along all right until they returned. The
+girl was not so certain of the getting along all right, but Mr. Hamilton
+as well as the Captain insisted, so she consented at last. The Boston
+trip was not exactly a novelty to her--she had visited the city a number
+of times during the past few years--but a holiday with Uncle Shad was
+always good fun.
+
+They took the early morning train and reached Boston about ten o'clock.
+Shadrach's business in the city seemed to be of a rather vague nature
+this time. They called at the offices of two or three of his old
+friends--ship-chandlers and marine outfitters on Commercial Street and
+Atlantic Avenue--and then the Captain, looking at his watch, announced
+that it was pretty nigh noontime and he cal'lated they had better
+be cruisin' up towards Pinckney Street. “Got an errand up in that
+latitude,” he added.
+
+Pinckney Street was on the hill in the rear of the Common and the State
+House and was narrow and crooked and old-fashioned.
+
+“What in the world are we doing up here?” queried Mary-'Gusta. “There
+aren't any wholesale houses here, I'm sure. Haven't you made a mistake,
+Uncle Shad?” Shadrach, who had been consulting a page of his pocket
+memorandum book, replied that he cal'lated he'd got his bearin's, and,
+to the girl's astonishment, stopped before a brick dwelling with a
+colonial doorway and a white stone step which actually shone from
+scrubbing, and rang the bell.
+
+The maid who answered the bell wore a white apron which crackled with
+starch. She looked as if she too had, like the step, been scrubbed a few
+minutes before.
+
+“This is No.--, ain't it?” inquired the Captain. “Humph! I thought so.
+I ain't so much of a wreck yet but that I can navigate Boston without a
+pilot. Is Mr. Keith in?”
+
+The maid, who had received the pilot statement with uncomprehending
+astonishment, looked relieved.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she said. “Mr. Keith's here. Are you the ones he's
+expectin'? Walk in, please.”
+
+They entered the house. It was as spotlessly tidy within as without.
+The maid ushered them into a parlor where old mahogany and old family
+portraits in oil were very much in evidence.
+
+“Sit down, please,” she said. “I'll tell Mr. Keith you're here.”
+
+She left the room. Mary-'Gusta turned to the Captain in amazed
+agitation.
+
+“Uncle Shad,” she demanded, “why on earth did you come HERE to see Mr.
+Keith? Couldn't you have seen him at South Harniss?”
+
+Shadrach shook his head. “Not today I couldn't,” he said. “He's up here
+today.”
+
+“But what do you want to see him for?”
+
+“Business, business, Mary-'Gusta. Mr. Keith and me are tryin' to do a
+little stroke of business together. We've got a hen on, as the feller
+said. Say, this is kind of a swell house, ain't it? And clean--my soul!
+Judas! did I move this chair out of place? I didn't mean to. Looks as if
+it had set right in that one spot for a hundred years.”
+
+Keith entered at that moment, followed by an elderly lady whose gown was
+almost as old-fashioned as the furniture. She was a rather thin person
+but her face, although sharp, was not unkind in expression and her
+plainly arranged hair was white. Mary-'Gusta liked her looks; she
+guessed that she might be very nice indeed to people she knew and
+fancied; also that she would make certain of knowing them first.
+
+“Hello, Captain Gould,” hailed Keith. “Glad to see you. Found the place
+all right, I see.”
+
+“Yes--yes, I found it, Mr. Keith.”
+
+“I thought you wouldn't have any difficulty. Mary, how do you do?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta and Mr. Keith shook hands.
+
+“Captain,” said Keith, “I want to introduce you to my cousin, Mrs.
+Wyeth.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth bowed with dignity.
+
+“How do you do, Captain Gould,” she said.
+
+“Why--why, I'm pretty smart, thank you, ma'am,” stammered Shadrach,
+rather embarrassed at all this ceremony. “Pleased to meet you, ma'am.”
+
+“And this young lady,” went on Keith, “is Miss Mary Lathrop. Miss
+Lathrop, this lady is Mrs. Wyeth, my cousin.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta, with the uneasy feeling that Mrs. Wyeth's gaze had been
+fixed upon her since she entered the room, bowed but said nothing.
+
+“And now,” said Mr. Keith, heartily, “we'll have luncheon. You're just
+in time and Mrs. Wyeth has been expecting you.”
+
+The Captain's embarrassment reached its height at this invitation.
+
+“No, no,” he stammered, “we--we can't do that. Couldn't think of it,
+you know. We--we ain't a mite hungry. Had breakfast afore we left home,
+didn't we, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Keith laughed. “Yes, I know,” he said; “and you left home about
+half-past five. I've taken that early train myself. If you're not hungry
+you ought to be and luncheon is ready. Emily--Mrs. Wyeth--has been
+expecting you. She will be disappointed if you refuse.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth herself put in a word here. “Of course they won't refuse,
+John,” she said with decision. “They must be famished. Refuse! The idea!
+Captain Gould, Mr. Keith will look out for you; your niece will come
+with me. Luncheon will be ready in five minutes. Come, Mary. That's your
+name--Mary--isn't it? I'm glad to hear it. It's plain and it's sensible
+and I like it. The employment bureau sent me a maid a week ago and when
+she told me her name I sent her back again. It was Florina. That was
+enough. Mercy! All I could think of was a breakfast food. Come, Mary.
+Now, John, do be prompt.”
+
+That luncheon took its place in Mary-'Gusta's memory beside that of her
+first supper in the house at South Harniss. They were both memorable
+meals, although alike in no other respects. Mrs. Wyeth presided, of
+course, and she asked the blessing and poured the tea with dignity and
+businesslike dispatch. The cups and saucers were of thin, transparent
+China, with pictures of mandarins and pagodas upon them. They looked
+old-fashioned and they were; Mrs. Wyeth's grandfather had bought them
+himself in Hongkong in the days when he commanded a clipper ship
+and made voyages to the Far East. The teaspoons were queer little
+fiddle-patterned affairs; they were made by an ancestor who was a
+silversmith with a shop on Cornhill before General Gage's army was
+quartered in Boston. And cups and spoons and napkins were so clean that
+it seemed almost sacrilegious to soil them by use.
+
+Captain Shadrach did not soil his to any great extent at first. The
+Captain was plainly overawed by the genteel elegance of his surrounding
+and the manner of his hostess. But Mr. Keith was very much at ease and
+full of fun and, after a time, a little of Shadrach's self-consciousness
+disappeared. When he learned that grandfather Wyeth had been a seafaring
+man he came out of his shell sufficiently to narrate, at Keith's
+request, one of his own experiences in Hongkong, but even in the midst
+of his yarn he never forgot to address his hostess as “ma'am” and he did
+not say “Jumpin Judas” once.
+
+After luncheon Mr. Keith and the Captain left the house together.
+“Goin' to attend to that little mite of business I spoke to you about,
+Mary-'Gusta,” explained Shadrach, confidentially. “We'll be back pretty
+soon. I cal'late maybe you'd better wait here, that is,” with a glance
+at Mrs. Wyeth, “if it'll be all right for you to.”
+
+“Of course it will be all right,” declared Mrs. Wyeth promptly. “I shall
+be glad to have her.”
+
+“Thank you, ma'am. If she won't be in the way I--”
+
+“If she were likely to be in the way I should say so. She won't be.”
+
+“Yes--er--yes, ma'am,” stammered Shadrach. “Thank you, ma'am.”
+
+When he and Mr. Keith were out of the house he drew a long breath.
+
+“Judas!” he observed, feelingly. “Say, that cousin of yours don't waste
+any words, does she? When it comes to speakin' what's in her mind she
+don't fool around none. She's as right up and down as a schooner's
+fo'mast.”
+
+Keith laughed heartily. “Emily is blunt and outspoken,” he said. “She
+prides herself on that. But she is as square as a brick. She never says
+one thing to your face and another behind your back.”
+
+“No, I--I judge that's so. Well, that's all right; I ain't got any
+objections to that way of talkin' myself. But say, if every woman was
+like her there wouldn't be many sewin' circles, would there? The average
+sewin' circle meetin' is one part sew and three parts what So-and-so
+said.”
+
+When the little mite of business had been transacted and the pair
+returned to the Wyeth house they found Mrs. Wyeth and Mary-'Gusta
+awaiting them in the parlor. The girl had the feeling that she had
+been undergoing a rather vigorous cross-examination. Mrs. Wyeth had not
+talked a great deal herself and her manner, though brusque and matter
+of fact, was kind; but she had asked questions about Mary-'Gusta's home
+life, about Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton, about school and friends and
+acquaintances. And her comments, when she made any, were direct and to
+the point.
+
+She and Mr. Keith exchanged looks when the latter entered the room.
+Keith raised his eyebrows inquiringly. She nodded as if giving emphatic
+assent to his unspoken question.
+
+Shadrach and Mary-'Gusta left the house soon afterward. While the
+Captain and Mr. Keith were whispering together in the hall, Mrs. Wyeth
+bade the girl good-by.
+
+“I like you, my dear,” said the lady. “You seem to be a sweet, sensible
+girl, and I don't meet as many of that kind nowadays as I could wish. I
+am sure we shall be good friends.”
+
+“And WHAT did she mean by that?” demanded Mary-'Gusta, as she and the
+Captain walked along Pinckney Street together. “Why should we be good
+friends? Probably I'll never meet her again.”
+
+Shadrach smiled. “Oh, you can't always tell,” he said. “Sometimes you
+meet folks oftener'n you think in this world.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta looked at him. “Uncle Shad,” she said, “what does all this
+mean, anyway? Why did you go to her house? And what was the mysterious
+business of yours with Mr. Keith?”
+
+The Captain shook his head. “We've got a hen on, same as I told you,”
+ he declared. “When it's time for the critter to come off the nest you'll
+see what's been hatched same as the rest of us. How'd you like that Mrs.
+Wyeth? Had a pretty sharp edge on her tongue, didn't she?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta considered. “Yes,” she answered; “she was outspoken and
+blunt, of course. But she is a lady--a real lady, I think--and I'm sure
+I should like her very much when I knew her better. I think, though,
+that she would expect a person to behave--behave in her way, I mean.”
+
+“Judas! I should say so. Don't talk! I ain't felt so much as if I was
+keepin' my toes on a chalk mark since I went to school. I don't know
+what her husband died of, but I'll bet 'twasn't curvature of the spine.
+If he didn't stand up straight 'twasn't his wife's fault.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta's curiosity concerning the mysterious business which had
+brought them to the city became greater than ever before it was time to
+take the train for home. Apparently all of that business, whatever it
+might be, had been transacted when her uncle and Mr. Keith took their
+short walk together after luncheon. Captain Shadrach seemed to consider
+his Boston errand done and the pair spent half of the hour before train
+time wandering along Tremont and Washington Streets looking into shop
+windows, and the other half in the waiting room of the South Station.
+
+Great and growing as was her curiosity, the girl asked no more
+questions. She was determined not to ask them. And the Captain, neither
+while in the city nor during the homeward journey, referred to the “hen”
+ in which he and his friend from Chicago were mutually interested. It
+was not until nine o'clock that evening, when supper was over and Zoeth,
+having locked up the store, was with them in the sitting-room, that the
+hitherto secretive fowl came off the nest.
+
+Then Shadrach, having given his partner a look and received one in
+return, cleared his throat and spoke.
+
+“Mary-'Gusta,” he said, “me and your Uncle Zoeth have got some news for
+you. I cal'late you've been wonderin' a little mite what that business
+of Mr. Keith's and mine was, ain't you?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta smiled. “I have wondered--just a little,” she observed, with
+mild sarcasm.
+
+“Yes--yes, I ain't surprised. Well, the business is done and it's
+settled, and it's about you.”
+
+“About me? Why, Uncle Shad! How can it be about me?”
+
+“'Cause it can and it is, that's why. Mary-'Gusta, me and Zoeth have
+been thinkin' about you a good deal lately and we've come to the
+conclusion that we ain't treated you just right.”
+
+“Haven't treated me right? YOU?”
+
+“Yes, us. You're a good girl and a smart girl--the smartest and best
+girl there is in this town. A girl like that ought to do somethin'
+better'n than stay here in South Harniss and keep store. Keepin' store's
+all right for old hulks like Zoeth Hamilton and Shad Gould, but you
+ain't an old hulk; you're a young craft right off the ways and you ought
+to have a chance to cruise in the best water there is.”
+
+“Uncle Shad, what are you talking about? Cruise in the best water?”
+
+“That's what I said. You ought to mix with the best folks and get a fine
+education and meet somebody besides drummers and--and Sol Higgins's son.
+Selling coffins may be a good job, I don't say 'tain't; somebody's got
+to do it and we'll all have to invest in that kind of--er--furniture
+sometime or 'nother. And Dan Higgins is a good enough boy, too. But he
+ain't your kind.”
+
+“My kind! Uncle Shad, what in the world have I got to do with Dan
+Higgins and coffins--and all the rest of it?”
+
+“Nothin', nothin' at all. That's what I'm tryin' to tell you if you'll
+give me a chance. Mary-'Gusta, your Uncle Zoeth and I have decided that
+you must go to school up to Boston, at the Misses Cabot's school there.
+You'll board along with that Mrs. Wyeth, the one we met today. She's
+a good woman, I cal'late, though she is so everlastin' straight up and
+down. You'll board there and you'll go to school to those Cabot women.
+And--”
+
+But Mary-'Gusta interrupted. The hen was off the nest now, there was no
+doubt of that, and of all unexpected and impossible hatchings hers
+was the most complete. The absurdity of the idea, to the girl's mind,
+overshadowed even the surprise of it.
+
+“What?” she said. “Uncle Shad, what--? Do you mean that you and Uncle
+Zoeth have been in conspiracy to send me away to school? To send me away
+to Boston?”
+
+Shadrach nodded.
+
+“No conspiracy about it,” he declared. “Me and Zoeth and Mr. Keith,
+we--”
+
+“Mr. Keith? Yes, yes, I see. It was Mr. Keith who put the idea in your
+head. How perfectly silly!”
+
+“Silly? Why is it silly?”
+
+“Because it is. It's ridiculous.”
+
+“No, it ain't, it's common sense. Other girls go to city finishin'
+schools, don't they? That Irene Mullet's just gone, for one. Don't you
+think we figger to do as much for our girl as Becky Mullet can do for
+hers? Jumpin' fire! If you ain't worth a hogshead of girls like Irene
+Mullet then I miss my guess.”
+
+“Hush, Uncle Shad; what difference does that make?”
+
+And now Zoeth put in a word. “Mary-'Gusta,” he said, “you know what a
+good school like the one Shad's been speakin' of can do for a girl. I
+know you know it. Now, be right down honest; wouldn't you like to have a
+couple of years, say, at a school like that, if you could have 'em just
+as well as not? Didn't you say not more'n a fortni't ago that you was
+glad Irene Mullet was goin' to have such a chance to improve herself?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta had said that very thing; she could not truthfully deny it.
+
+“Of course I did,” she answered. “And I am glad. But Irene's case and
+mine are different. Irene isn't needed at home. I am, and--”
+
+Shadrach broke in. “Ah, ha! Ah, ha! Zoeth,” he crowed, triumphantly.
+“Didn't I tell you she'd say that? I knew she'd say she wouldn't go
+'cause she'd think she'd ought to stay here and look out for us. Well,
+Mary-'Gusta, you listen to me. Zoeth and I are your guardians, lawfully
+appointed. We're your bosses, young lady, for a spell yet. And you're
+goin' to do as we say.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“There ain't any 'buts.' The 'buts' are all past and gone. Mr. Keith
+has arranged for you to board and room along with Mrs. Wyeth and I've
+arranged for your schoolin' at the Cabot place. Yes, and I've done
+more'n that: I paid for your first year's schoolin' this very afternoon.
+So there! THAT'S ended.”
+
+It was not ended, of course. Mary-'Gusta went to her room that night
+declaring she would not leave her uncles to attend any finishing school.
+They went to theirs vowing that she should. The real end came the next
+day when Zoeth put the subject before her in a new light by saying:
+
+“Look here, Mary-'Gusta; just listen to me a minute and think. Suppose
+the boot was on t'other foot: suppose you wanted us to do somethin' to
+please you, you'd expect us to do it, wouldn't you? Anyhow, you know
+mighty well we WOULD do it. Now we want you to do this to please us.
+We've set our hearts on it.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta was silent for a minute or more. The partners watched her
+anxiously. Then she asked an unusual question, one concerning her own
+financial status.
+
+“Can I afford it?” she asked. “Have I money enough of my own?”
+
+Zoeth looked troubled. Shadrach, however, answered promptly and
+diplomatically.
+
+“Haven't I told you,” he said, “that Zoeth and me are your guardians?
+And didn't I say we'd gone into the thing careful and deliberate? And
+didn't I pay your first year's schoolin' yesterday? Don't that alone
+show what we think about the money. Be still, Zoeth; that's enough.
+Well, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Mary-'Gusta considered a moment longer. Then she rose and, crossing the
+room, gave them each a kiss.
+
+“I'll go,” she said, simply. “I'll go because I think you mean it and
+that it will please you. For that reason and no other I'll go.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+The Misses Cabot's school was to open on the fifteenth of September and,
+on the morning of the fourteenth, Mary-'Gusta bade her guardians good-by
+on the platform of the South Harniss railway station. Shadrach had
+intended going to Boston with her, but she had firmly insisted on going
+alone.
+
+“I must get used to being away from you both,” she said, “and you must
+get used to having me go. It will be best for all of us to say good-by
+here. It won't be for VERY long; I'll be home at Christmas, you know.”
+
+The three weeks prior to the fateful fourteenth had been crowded with
+activities. Twice the girl and Captain Shadrach had journeyed to Boston,
+where in company with Mrs. Wyeth, whose services had been volunteered
+in a crisp but kindly note, they visited shops and selected and
+purchased--that is, the feminine members of the party selected and the
+Captain paid for--a suit and waists and hats and other things which it
+appeared were necessary for the wardrobe of a young lady at finishing
+school. Shadrach would have bought lavishly, but Mrs. Wyeth's common
+sense guided the selections and Mary-'Gusta was very particular as to
+price. Shadrach, at the beginning, made a few suggestions concerning
+colors and styles, but the suggestions were disregarded. The Captain's
+taste in colors was not limited; he fancied almost any hue, provided
+it was bright enough. His ward would have looked like an animated crazy
+quilt if he had had his way.
+
+He grumbled a little as they journeyed back to South Harniss.
+
+“She may be all right, that Wyeth woman,” he said, “but she's too
+everlastin' sober-sided to suit me. Take that hat you and she bought;
+why, 'twas as plain, and hadn't no more fuss and feathers than a
+minister's wife's bonnet. You ain't an old maid; no, nor a Boston
+first-family widow, neither. Now, the hat I liked--the yellow and blue
+one--had some get-up-and-git. If you wore that out on Tremont Street
+folks would turn around and look at you.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta laughed and squeezed his hand. “You silly Uncle Shad,” she
+said, “don't you know that is exactly what I don't want them to do?”
+
+Shadrach turned his gaze in her direction. She was at the end of the
+car seat next to the window and against the light of the setting sun her
+face and head were silhouetted in dainty profile. The Captain sighed.
+
+“Well,” he said, philosophically, “I don't know's we need to argue. I
+cal'late they'll look some as 'tis.”
+
+Her parting instructions to her uncles were many and diversified. Zoeth
+must be sure and change to his heavy flannels on the first of October.
+He must not forget rubbers when the ground was damp, and an umbrella
+when it rained. If he caught cold there was the medicine Doctor Harley
+had prescribed. He must not sit up after ten o'clock; he must not try
+to read the paper without first hunting for his spectacles. These were a
+few of his orders. Shadrach's list was even longer. It included going
+to church every other Sunday: keeping his Sunday shoes blacked: not
+forgetting to change his collar every morning: to get his hair cut
+at least once in six weeks: not to eat pie just before going to bed,
+“because you know if you do, you always have the nightmare and groan
+and moan and wake up everyone but yourself”: not to say “Jumpin'” or
+“Creepin' Judas” any oftener than he could help: to be sure and not
+cut prices in the store just because a customer asked him to do so--and
+goodness knows how much more.
+
+As for Isaiah Chase, his list was so lengthy and varied that the
+responsibility quite overwhelmed him.
+
+“Gosh t'mighty!” exclaimed Isaiah, desperately. “I'll never be able to
+live up to all them sailin' orders and I know it. I've put some of 'em
+down on a piece of paper, but I ain't even got them straight, and as for
+the million or two others--whew! I'm to dust every day, and sweep every
+other day, and change the tablecloth, and see that the washin' goes when
+it ought to, and feed the horse the cat--no, no, feed the cat oats--Oh,
+consarn it! Feed the cat and the horse and the hens their reg'lar
+vittles at reg'lar times and--and--Oh, my soul! Yes, and let alone my
+own self and all that's laid onto me, I must keep an eye on Captain Shad
+and Zoeth and see that they do what's been laid onto THEM. I swan to
+man! I'm a hard-workin', painstakin' feller of my age, but I ain't as
+young as I used to be, and I'm human and not a walkin' steam-engyne.
+I'll do the best I can, but--but first thing you know I'll be drove into
+heavin' up my job. THEN this craft'll be on its beam ends, I bet you!
+They'll appreciate me then, when it's too late.”
+
+The farewells at the railway station were brief. They were very hard to
+say and neither the partners nor Mary-'Gusta could trust themselves to
+talk more than was necessary. The train drew up beside the platform;
+then it moved on. A hand waved from the car window; Shadrach and Zoeth
+waved in return. The rear car disappeared around the curve by Solomon
+Higgins' cranberry shanty.
+
+Mr. Hamilton sighed heavily.
+
+“She's gone, Shadrach,” he said. “Mary-'Gusta's gone.”
+
+Shadrach echoed the sigh.
+
+“Yes, she's gone,” he agreed. “I feel as if the best part of you and me
+had gone along with her. Well, t'other parts have got to go back to the
+store and wait on customers, I presume likely. Heave ahead and let's do
+it. Ah, hum! I cal'late we'd ought to be thankful we've got work to do,
+Zoeth. It'll help take up our minds. There are goin' to be lonesome days
+for you and me, shipmate.”
+
+There were lonely days for Mary-'Gusta also, those of that first month
+at Mrs. Wyeth's and at the Misses Cabot's school. For the first time in
+her life she realized what it meant to be homesick. But in the letters
+which she wrote to her uncles not a trace of the homesickness was
+permitted to show and little by little its keenest pangs wore away. She,
+too, was thankful for work, for the study which kept her from thinking
+of other things.
+
+The Misses Cabot--their Christian names were Priscilla and Hortense--she
+found to be middle-aged maiden ladies, eminently prim and proper,
+and the educational establishment over which they presided a sort of
+Protestant nunnery ruled according to the precepts of the Congregational
+Church and the New England aristocracy. Miss Priscilla was tall and thin
+and her favorite author was Emerson; she quoted Emerson extensively and
+was certain that real literature died when he did. Miss Hortense
+was younger, plumper, and more romantic. She quoted Longfellow and
+occasionally Oliver Wendell Holmes, although she admitted she considered
+the latter rather too frivolous at times. Both sisters were learned,
+dignified, and strict disciplinarians. Also, in the eyes of both a male
+person younger than forty-five was labeled “Danger--Keep Away.” But
+one creature of the masculine gender taught in their school; he was
+white-haired Doctor Barnes, professor of the dead languages. It was the
+prevailing opinion among the scholars that Doctor Barnes, when at home,
+occupied an apartment in the Greek Antiquity section of the Art Museum,
+where he slept and ate surrounded by the statues and busts of his
+contemporaries.
+
+As for the scholars themselves, there were about forty of them,
+girls--or young ladies: the Misses Cabot invariably referred to
+and addressed them as “young ladies”--from Boston and New York and
+Philadelphia, even from Chicago and as far south as Baltimore. Almost
+all were the daughters of well-to-do parents, almost all had their homes
+in cities. There were very few who, like Mary-'Gusta, had lived all
+their lives in the country. Some were pretty, some were not; some were
+giddy and giggly, some solemn and studious, some either according to
+mood; some were inclined to be snobbish, others simple and “everyday.”
+ In short, the school was like almost any school of its kind.
+
+Mary-'Gusta entered this school and, doing so, ceased to be Mary-'Gusta,
+becoming Miss Lathrop to her instructors and Mary to her intimates among
+the scholars. And at Mrs. Wyeth's she was Mary or Miss Lathrop or Miss
+Mary, according to the age, length of acquaintance, or station of the
+person addressing her. But she always thought of herself as Mary-'Gusta
+and her letters written to Uncle Shad or Uncle Zoeth were so signed.
+
+She found, after the hard work of beginning, that she could keep abreast
+of her class in studies without undue exertion. Also she found that, the
+snobs excepted, the girls at the Misses Cabot's school were inclined to
+be sociable and friendly. She made no bid for their friendship, being a
+self-respecting young person whose dislike of imitation was as strong as
+ever, but, perhaps because she did not bid or imitate but continued
+to be simply and sincerely herself, friends came to her. Most of these
+friends received monthly allowances far greater than hers, and most of
+them wore more expensive gowns and in greater variety, but she showed
+no envy nor offered apologies, and if she sometimes wished, being human,
+that her wardrobe was a trifle more extensive she kept that wish to
+herself.
+
+Her liking for Mrs. Wyeth grew into a real affection. And the prim and
+practical matron grew more and more fond of her. The girl came to be
+considered, and almost to consider herself, one of the family. The
+“family” consisted of Mrs. Wyeth, Mary, Miss Pease, the other “paying
+guest,” and Maggie, the maid, and Nora, the cook. Miss Pease was an
+elderly spinster without near relatives, possessed of an income and a
+love of travel which she gratified by occasional European trips. She
+and her closest friend, Mrs. Wyeth, disagreed on many subjects, but
+they united in the belief that Boston was a suburb of Paradise and that
+William Ellery Channing was the greatest of religious leaders. They
+at-tended the Arlington Street Unitarian Church, and Mary often
+accompanied them there for Sunday morning or afternoon service.
+
+The conviction of the Misses Cabot that youthful manhood was dangerous
+and to be shunned like the plague Mary soon discovered was not shared
+by the majority of the young ladies. If Miss Priscilla and Miss Hortense
+had had their way Harvard University and the Institute of Technology
+would have been moved forthwith to some remote spot like the North Pole
+or San Francisco. There were altogether too many “cousins” or “sons
+of old family friends” calling at the school to deliver messages from
+parents or guardians or the said friends. These messengers, young
+gentlemen with budding mustaches and full-blown raiment, were rigidly
+inspected and their visits carefully chaperoned: but letters came and
+were treasured and the cheerful inanity of their contents imparted, in
+strict secrecy, to bosom friends of the recipients.
+
+Mary received no such letters. No cousins or family friends called to
+deliver messages to her. No photographs of young fellows in lettered
+sweaters were hidden among her belongings. Her friends in the school
+thought this state of affairs very odd and they sometimes asked pointed
+questions.
+
+Miss Barbara Howe, whose home was in Brookline and whose father was the
+senior partner of an old and well-known firm of downtown merchants, was
+the leading questioner. She liked Mary and the latter liked her. Barbara
+was pretty and full of spirits and, although she was the only child, and
+a rather spoiled one, in a wealthy family, there was no snobbishness in
+her make-up.
+
+“But I can't see,” she declared, “what you have been doing all the time.
+Where have you been keeping yourself? Don't you know ANYBODY?”
+
+Mary smiled. “Oh, yes,” she replied, “I know a good many people.”
+
+“You know what I mean. Don't you know any of the fellows at Harvard, or
+Tech, or Yale, or anywhere? I know dozens. And you must know some. You
+know Sam Keith; you said you did.”
+
+Mary admitted that she knew Sam slightly.
+
+“Isn't he fun! Sam and I are great chums. Doesn't he dance divinely!”
+
+“I don't know. I never saw him dance.”
+
+“Then you've missed something. Do you know his friend, the one on the
+football team--Crawford Smith, his name is--do you know him?”
+
+Mary nodded. “I--I've met him,” she said.
+
+“You HAVE? Don't you think he is perfectly splendid?”
+
+“I don't know. Is he?”
+
+“Of course he is. Haven't you read about him in the papers? He made that
+long run for a touchdown in the Yale game. Oh, you should have seen it!
+I couldn't speak for two days after that game. He was just as cool and
+calm. All the Yale men were trying to get him and he dodged--I never saw
+anyone so cool and who kept his head so well.”
+
+“I thought the papers spoke most of the way he kept his feet.”
+
+“Then you did read about it! Of course you did! I'm just dying to know
+him. All the girls are crazy about him. Where did you meet him? Tell
+me!”
+
+Mary smiled. On the occasion of her only meeting with Crawford Smith
+that young fellow had been anything but cool.
+
+“I met him in my uncle's store at South Harniss,” she said. “It was
+three years ago.”
+
+“And you haven't seen him since? He is a great friend of Sam's. And
+Sam's people have a summer home at the Cape. Perhaps you'll meet him
+there again.”
+
+“Perhaps.”
+
+“Goodness! One would think you didn't want to.”
+
+“Why, I don't know that I do, particularly. Why should I?”
+
+“Why should you! Mary Lathrop, I do think you are the queerest girl. You
+don't talk like a girl at all. Sometimes I think you are as old as--as
+Prissy.” “Prissy” was the disrespectful nickname by which the young
+ladies referred, behind her back, to Miss Priscilla Cabot.
+
+Mary laughed. “Not quite, I hope,” she said. “But I don't see why I
+should be so very anxious to meet Crawford Smith. And I'm sure he isn't
+anxious to meet me. If all the other girls are crazy about him, that
+ought to be enough, I should think.”
+
+This astonishing profession of indifference to the fascination of the
+football hero, indifference which Miss Barbara declared to be only
+make-believe, was made on a Saturday. The next day, as Mrs. Wyeth
+and Mary were on their way home from church, the former made an
+announcement.
+
+“We are to have a guest, perhaps guests, at dinner this noon,” she
+said. Sunday dinner at Mrs. Wyeth's was served, according to New England
+custom, at one o'clock.
+
+“Samuel, Mr. John Keith's son, is to dine with us,” continued Mrs.
+Wyeth. “He may bring a college friend with him. You have met Samuel,
+haven't you, Mary?”
+
+Mary said that she had. She was a trifle embarrassed at the prospect of
+meeting Sam Keith in her new surroundings. At home, in South Harniss,
+they had met many times, but always at the store. He was pleasant
+and jolly and she liked him well enough, although she had refused his
+invitations to go on sailing parties and the like. She knew perfectly
+well that his mother and sister would not have approved of these
+invitations, for in the feminine Keith mind there was a great gulf fixed
+between the summer resident and the native. The latter was to be helped
+and improved but not encouraged socially beyond a certain point. Mary
+sought neither help nor improvement of that kind. Sam, it is true, had
+never condescended or patronized, but he had never called at her home
+nor had she been asked to visit his.
+
+And now she was to meet him in a house where she was considered one of
+the family. His father had been influential in bringing her there. Did
+Sam know this and, if he did, what influence would the knowledge have
+upon his manner toward her? Would he be lofty and condescending or, on
+the other hand, would he pretend a familiar acquaintanceship which did
+not exist? Alone in her room she considered these questions and then put
+them from her mind. Whatever his manner might be, hers, she determined,
+should be what it had always been. And if any embarrassment was evident
+to others at this meeting it should not be on her part.
+
+When she came downstairs, Mrs. Wyeth called to her to come into the
+parlor. As she entered the room two young men rose from the chairs
+beside the mahogany center table. One of these young men was Sam Keith;
+she had expected to see Sam, of course. But the other--the other was the
+very individual in whose daring deeds and glorified personality she had
+expressed a complete lack of interest only the day before, the young
+fellow whom she had last seen racing madly across the fields in the rear
+of Hamilton and Company's store with the larger portion of a sheet of
+sticky fly paper attached to his white flannels. Mr. Crawford Smith was
+taller and broader than on that memorable occasion but she recognized
+him instantly.
+
+It was evident that he did not recognize her. Mrs. Wyeth came to meet
+her.
+
+“Mary,” she said, “you know Samuel, I think. You and he have met before.
+Samuel, will you introduce your friend?”
+
+Sam was staring at Mary with eyes which expressed a variety of emotions,
+intense surprise the most prominent. He was in a state which Barbara
+Howe would have described as “fussed,” one most unusual for him. He had
+known of Mary's presence in the house; after the affair was settled John
+Keith told his family what he had done, facing with serene philosophy
+his wife's displeasure and prophecies of certain regrets. Sam had vivid
+and pleasing recollections of the pretty country girl in the South
+Harniss store. He had not told his college friend that they were to meet
+her that day, one reason being that he was not certain they would meet,
+and the other a secret misgiving that it might be well to wait and
+inspect and listen before boasting of previous acquaintanceship. Sam's
+mother had lectured him on the subject before he left home. “Don't be
+too familiar, Sam,” was her warning. “You may be sorry if you do. The
+girl is well enough here in South Harniss, where she is accustomed
+to her surroundings, but in Boston she may be quite out of place and
+impossible. I have told your father so, but he won't listen, of course.
+Don't YOU be foolish, for my sake.”
+
+But here was no green country girl. The self-possessed young woman who
+stood before him looked no more out of place and impossible in Mrs.
+Wyeth's dignified and aristocratic parlor than she had in the store
+where he had last seen her. Her gown was simple and inexpensive but
+it was stylish and becoming. And her manner--well, her manner was
+distinctly more at ease than his at that moment. Mary had been but eight
+weeks among the Misses Cabot's young ladies, but she had used her eyes
+and her brain during that time; she was adaptable and had learned other
+things than those in the curriculum. Also, she was prepared for this
+meeting and had made up her mind to show no embarrassment.
+
+So the usually blase Samuel was the embarrassed party. He looked and
+stammered. Mrs. Wyeth was surprised and shocked.
+
+“Samuel,” she said sharply, “what is the matter with you? Why don't you
+speak and not stand there staring?”
+
+Sam, with an effort, recovered some of his self-possession.
+
+“Was I staring?” he said. “I beg your pardon, Cousin Emily. Er--How do
+you do, Miss Lathrop?”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth sniffed.
+
+“Mercy!” she exclaimed. “Is your acquaintance as formal as that? I
+thought you knew each other. The boys and girls of this generation are
+beyond me. 'Miss Lathrop,' indeed!”
+
+Mary smiled. “Perhaps he didn't expect to see me here, Mrs. Wyeth,” she
+said. “How do you do, Sam?”
+
+She and Sam shook hands. Mrs. Wyeth asked another question.
+
+“Didn't you know Mary was with me, Samuel?” she asked.
+
+“Oh, yes, Cousin Emily, I knew. I knew she was here, of course. But--but
+I didn't--by George!” with a sudden outburst of his real feelings, “I
+hardly knew her, though. Really, I didn't.”
+
+Mary laughed. “Have I grown so much older in two months?” she asked.
+
+“Oh, you haven't changed that way. I--I--” The young man, realizing that
+he was getting into deep water, seized an opportunity to scramble out.
+“Oh, I forgot!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, Crawford. Mary--Miss Lathrop, I
+want to present my friend, Crawford Smith. He's my roommate at college.”
+
+Mary and Crawford shook hands.
+
+“I have met Mr. Smith, too, before,” she said.
+
+The young gentlemen, both of them, looked astonished.
+
+“Have you?” cried Sam. “Oh, I say! I didn't know that. When was it?”
+
+His friend, too, was plainly puzzled. “I hardly think so,” he said. “I
+don't believe I should have forgotten it. I don't remember--”
+
+“Don't you remember coming into my uncles' store at South Harniss
+with Miss Keith, Sam's sister? You bought some”--with a mischievous
+twinkle--“some marshmallows, among other things. I sold them to you.”
+
+“You? Great Scott! Are you--why that girl's name was--what was it?”
+
+“It was the same as mine, Mary Augusta Lathrop. But in South Harniss
+they call me Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+“That was it! And you are Mary-'Gusta? Yes, of course you are! Well,
+I ought to be ashamed, I suppose, but I didn't recognize you. I AM
+ashamed. I was awfully obliged to you that day. You helped me out of a
+scrape.”
+
+Sam, who had been listening with increasing curiosity, broke in.
+
+“Say, what's all this?” he demanded. “When was this, Crawford? What
+scrape? You never told me.”
+
+“And you didn't tell me that Miss Lathrop was here. You didn't say a
+word about her.”
+
+“Eh? Didn't I? I must have forgotten to mention it. She--she IS here,
+you know.” Mrs. Wyeth shook her head.
+
+“Samuel, you're perfectly idiotic today,” she declared. “Of course she
+is here; anyone with eyes can see she is. She is--ahem--visiting me
+and she is attending the Misses Cabot's school. There! Now, Mr. Smith
+understands, I hope. And dinner is ready. Don't any of you say another
+word until we are at the table. My father used to say that lukewarm soup
+was the worst sort of cold reception and I agree with him.”
+
+During dinner Sam was tremendously curious to discover how and where his
+friend and Mary had met and what the scrape might be to which Crawford
+had referred. But his curiosity was unsatisfied. Mr. Smith refused to
+tell and Mary only smiled and shook her head when questioned.
+
+The young people furnished most of the conversation during the meal.
+The recent football season and its triumphant ending were discussed, of
+course, and the prospects of the hockey team came in for its share. Sam,
+it appeared, was out for a place on the hockey squad.
+
+“You must see some of the games, Mary,” he said. “I'll get tickets for
+you and Cousin Emily. You're crazy about sports, aren't you, Cousin
+Emily.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth regarded him through her eyeglasses.
+
+“I imagine,” she observed, “that that remark is intended as a joke. I
+saw one football game and the spectacle of those boys trampling each
+other to death before my eyes, and of you, Samuel Keith, hopping up and
+down shrieking, 'Tear 'em up' and 'Smash 'em' was the nearest approach
+to insanity I ever experienced. Since that time I have regarded Doctor
+Eliot as President Emeritus of an asylum and NOT a university.”
+
+Sam was hugely delighted. “That's football,” he declared. “I will admit
+that no one but lunatics like Crawford here play football. Hockey, now,
+is different. I play hockey.”
+
+Crawford seemed surprised.
+
+“Do you?” he asked, with eager interest. “No one has ever guessed it,
+not even the coach. You shouldn't keep it a secret from HIM, Sam.”
+
+Miss Pease, having been invited out that day, was not present at dinner.
+After the coffee was served the irrepressible Sam proposed a walk.
+
+“You won't care to go, Cousin Emily,” he said, “but I'm sure Mary will.
+It is a fine afternoon and she needs the air. Crawford isn't much of a
+walker; he can stay and keep Cousin Emily company. We won't be long.”
+
+Before Mary could decline this disinterested invitation Mrs. Wyeth saved
+her the trouble.
+
+“Thank you, Samuel,” she said, crisply. “Your kindness is appreciated,
+particularly by Mr. Smith and myself. I can see that he is delighted
+with the idea. But Mary and I are going to the afternoon service at the
+Arlington Street church. So you will have to excuse us.”
+
+This should have been a squelcher, but it was not. Sam announced that he
+and Crawford would go with them. “We were thinking of going to church,
+weren't we, Crawford? It is just what I suggested, you remember.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth said “Humph,” and that was all. She and Mary went to their
+rooms to get ready. Sam, surprised at the unexpected success of his
+sudden inspiration and immensely tickled, chuckled in triumph. But his
+joy was materially lessened when the quartette left the house.
+
+“These sidewalks are too narrow for four,” declared Mrs. Wyeth. “Samuel,
+you may walk with me. Mary, you and Mr. Smith must keep close at our
+heels and walk fast. I never permit myself or my guests to be late at
+church.”
+
+During the walk Crawford asked a number of questions. How long had his
+companion been in the city? How long did she intend staying? Did she
+plan returning to the school for another year? Where would she spend the
+Christmas vacation? Mary said she was going home, to South Harniss, for
+the holidays.
+
+“It's a bully old place, Cape Cod,” declared Crawford. “I never had a
+better time than I did on that visit at Sam's. Wish I were going there
+again some day.”
+
+“Why don't you?” asked Mary.
+
+The young man shook his head. “Orders from home,” he said. “Father
+insists on my coming home to him the moment the term closes. I made that
+visit to Sam's on my own responsibility and I got fits for doing it. Dad
+seems to have a prejudice against the East. He won't come here himself
+and he doesn't like to have me stay any longer than is absolutely
+necessary. When I wrote him I was at South Harniss he telegraphed me to
+come home in a hurry. He is Eastern born himself, lived somewhere
+this way when he was young, but he doesn't talk about it and has more
+prejudices against Eastern ways and Eastern people than if he'd lived
+all his life in Carson City. Won't even come on to see me play football.
+I doubt if he comes to Commencement next spring; and I graduate, too.”
+
+“I wonder he permitted you to go to Harvard,” said Mary.
+
+“He had to permit it. I've always been for Harvard ever since I thought
+about college. Dad was all for a Western university, but I sat back in
+the stirrups and pulled for Harvard and finally he gave in. He generally
+gives in if I buck hard enough. He's a bully old Dad and we're great
+pals, more like brothers than father and son. The only point where we
+disagree is his confounded sectional prejudice. He thinks the sun not
+only sets in the West but rises there.”
+
+The girl learned that he intended entering the Harvard Medical School in
+the fall.
+
+“I had to fight for that, too,” he said, with a laugh. “I've always
+wanted to be a doctor but Dad wouldn't give in for ever so long. He is
+interested in mining properties there at home and it was his idea that I
+should come in with him when I finished school. But I couldn't see it.
+I wanted to study medicine. Dad says there are almost as many starving
+doctors as there are down-at-the-heel lawyers; if I go in with him, he
+says, I shall have what is practically a sure thing and a soft snap for
+the rest of my days. That doesn't suit me. I want to work; I expect to.
+I want to paddle my own canoe. I may be the poorest M.D. that ever put
+up a sign, but I'm going to put that sign up just the same. And if I
+starve I shan't ask him or anyone else to feed me.”
+
+He laughed again as he said it, but there was a determined ring in his
+voice and a square set to his chin which Mary noticed and liked. He
+meant what he said, that was evident.
+
+“I think a doctor's profession is one of the noblest and finest in the
+world,” she said.
+
+“Do you? Good for you! So do I. It doesn't bring in the dollars as fast
+as some others, but it does seem a man's job to me. The big specialists
+make a lot of money too, but that isn't exactly what I mean. Some of the
+best men I've met were just country doctors, working night and day in
+all sorts of weather and getting paid or not, just as it happened. That
+old Doctor Harley down in your town is one of that kind, I think. I saw
+something of his work while I was there.”
+
+“Did you? I shouldn't have thought you had time for that, with all the
+picnics and sailing parties.”
+
+“I did, though. I met him at Sam's. Mrs. Keith had a cold or a cough or
+something. He and I got to talking and he asked me to come and see him.
+I went, you bet! Went out with him on some of his drives while he made
+his calls, you know. He told me a lot of things. He's a brick.”
+
+“It's queer,” he went on, after a moment, “but I felt really at home
+down there in that little place. Seemed as if I had been there before
+and--and--by George, almost as if I belonged there. It was my first
+experience on and around salt water, but that seemed natural, too. And
+the people--I mean the people that belong there, not the summer crowd--I
+liked them immensely. Those two fine old cards that kept the store--Eh,
+I beg pardon; they are relatives of yours, aren't they? I forgot.”
+
+“They are my uncles,” said Mary, simply. “I have lived with them almost
+all my life. They are the best men in the world.”
+
+“They seemed like it. I'd like to know them better. Hello! here's that
+confounded church. I've enjoyed this walk ever so much. Guess I've done
+all the talking, though. Hope I haven't bored you to death gassing about
+my affairs.”
+
+“No, you haven't. I enjoyed it.”
+
+“Did you really? Yes, I guess you did or you wouldn't say so. You don't
+act like a girl that pretends. By George! It's a relief to have someone
+to talk to, someone that understands and appreciates what a fellow is
+thinking about. Most girls want to talk football and dancing and all
+that. I like football immensely and dancing too, but there is something
+else in life. Even Sam--he's as good as they make but he doesn't care to
+listen to anything serious--that is, not long.”
+
+Mary considered. “I enjoyed listening,” she said, “and I was glad to
+hear you liked South Harniss and my uncles.”
+
+On the way home, after the service, it was Sam Keith who escorted Mary,
+while Mrs. Wyeth walked with Mr. Smith. Sam's conversation was not
+burdened with seriousness. Hockey, dances, and good times were the
+subjects he dealt with. Was his companion fond of dancing? Would she
+accompany him to one of the club dances some time? They were great fun.
+Mrs. Wyeth could chaperon them, of course.
+
+Mary said she was afraid she would be too busy to accept. As a matter
+of fact, knowing what she did of his mother's feelings, she would have
+accepted no invitations from Sam Keith even if nothing else prevented
+her doing so.
+
+“My studies take a good deal of my time,” she said.
+
+Sam laughed. “You'll get over that,” he declared. “I studied like blue
+blazes my freshman year, but after that--I should worry. Say, I'm
+mighty glad I came over here today. I'm coming again. I'll be a regular
+boarder.”
+
+The young men said good-by at the Wyeth door. Mrs. Wyeth did not ask
+them in, although the persistent Samuel threw out some pointed hints.
+
+Crawford Smith and Mary shook hands.
+
+“I've had an awfully good time,” declared the former. Then, turning to
+Mrs. Wyeth, he asked: “May I call occasionally?”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth's answer was, as usual, frank and unmistakable.
+
+“Yes,” she said. “I shall be very glad to see you--occasionally.”
+
+Crawford turned to Mary.
+
+“May I?” he asked.
+
+Mary scarcely knew how to reply. There was no real reason why he should
+not call; she liked him so far. His frankness and earnestness of purpose
+appealed to her. And yet she was not at all sure that it was wise to
+continue the acquaintance. In her mind this coming to Boston to school
+was a very serious matter. Her uncles had sent her there to study; they
+needed her at home, but that need they had sacrificed in order that
+she might study and improve. Nothing else, friendships or good times or
+anything, must interfere with the purpose with which she had accepted
+the sacrifice.
+
+So she hesitated.
+
+“May I?” repeated Crawford.
+
+“Why, I don't know. I imagine I shall be very busy most of the time.”
+
+“That's all right. If you're busy you can send word for me to vamoose.
+That will be part of the bargain. Good-by.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth's first remark, after entering, was concerning Sam's friend.
+
+“I rather like that young person,” she said. “Samuel idolizes him, of
+course, but Samuel would worship a hyena if it played football. But this
+Smith boy”--in Mrs. Wyeth's mind any male under thirty was a boy--“seems
+to have some common sense and a mind of his own. I don't approve of his
+name nor the howling wilderness he comes from, but he can't help those
+drawbacks, I suppose. However, if he is to call here we must know
+something about him. I shall make inquiries.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+The school term ended on a Saturday morning in mid-December. Mary's
+trunk was packed and ready, and she and it reached the South Station
+long before train time. She was going home, home for the holidays, and
+if she had been going on a trip around the world she could not have been
+more delighted at the prospect. And her delight and anticipations were
+shared in South Harniss. Her uncles' letters for the past fortnight had
+contained little except joyful announcements of preparations for her
+coming.
+
+
+We are counting the minutes [wrote Zoeth]. The first thing Shadrach does
+every morning is to scratch another day off the calendar. I never saw
+him so worked up and excited and I calculate I ain't much different
+myself. I try not to set my heart on things of this world more than I
+ought to, but it does seem as if I couldn't think of much else but our
+girl's coming back to us. I am not going to worry the way Shadrach does
+about your getting here safe and sound. The Lord's been mighty good to
+us and I am sure He will fetch you to our door all right. I am contented
+to trust you in His hands.
+
+P.S. One or both of us will meet you at the depot.
+
+
+Captain Shad's epistle was more worldly but not more coherent.
+
+
+Be sure and take the train that comes right on through [he wrote]. Don't
+take the one that goes to Woods Hole. Zoeth is so fidgety and nervous
+for fear you will make a mistake that he keeps me on pins and needles.
+Isaiah ain't much better. He swept out the setting-room twice last week
+and if he don't roast the cat instead of the chicken he is calculating
+to kill, it will be a mercy. I am the only one aboard the ship that
+keeps his head and I tell them not to worry. Be sure you take that
+through train. And look out for them electric cars, if you come to the
+depot in one. Better settle on the one you are going to take and then
+take the one ahead of it so as to be sure and not be late. Your train
+leaves the dock at quarter-past four. The Woods Hole one is two minutes
+earlier. Look out and not take that. Zoeth is afraid you will make a
+mistake, but I laugh at him. Don't take the wrong train.
+
+
+Mary laughed when she read these letters, but there was a choke in the
+laugh. In spite of the perils of travel by the electrics and the New
+Haven railroad, she reached South Harniss safe, sound, and reasonably
+on time. The first person she saw on the platform of the station was
+Captain Shadrach. He had been pacing that platform for at least forty
+minutes.
+
+He spied her at the same time and came rushing to greet her, both hands
+outstretched.
+
+“And here you be!” he exclaimed with enthusiasm.
+
+Mary laughed happily.
+
+“Yes, Uncle Shad, here I am,” she said. “Are you glad to see me?”
+
+Shadrach looked at her.
+
+“JUMPIN'!” was the only answer he made, but it was fervent and
+sufficient.
+
+They rode home together in the old buggy. As they reached the corner by
+the store Mary expected the vehicle to be brought to a halt at the curb,
+but it was not. The Captain chirruped to the horse and drove straight
+on.
+
+“Why, Uncle Shad!” exclaimed the girl. “Aren't you going to stop?”
+
+“Eh? Stop? What for?”
+
+“Why, to see Uncle Zoeth, of course. He's at the store, isn't he?”
+
+Shadrach shook his head.
+
+“No, he ain't,” he said. “He's to home.”
+
+Mary was amazed and a trifle alarmed. One partner of Hamilton and
+Company was there in the buggy with her. By all the rules of precedent
+and South Harniss business the other should have been at the store. She
+knew that her uncles had employed no clerk or assistant since she left.
+
+“But--but is Uncle Zoeth sick?” she asked.
+
+“Sick? No, no, course he ain't sick. If he didn't have no better sense
+than to get sick the day you come home I'd--I'd--I don't know's
+I wouldn't drown him. HE ain't sick--unless,” he added, as an
+afterthought, “he's got Saint Vitus dance from hoppin' up and down to
+look out of the window, watchin' for us.”
+
+“But if he isn't sick, why isn't he at the store? Who is there?”
+
+The Captain chuckled.
+
+“Not a solitary soul,” he declared. “That store's shut up tight and
+it's goin' to stay that way this whole blessed evenin'. Zoeth and me
+we talked it over. I didn't know but we'd better get Abel Snow's boy or
+that pesky Annabel or somebody to stay while we was havin' supper. You
+see, we was both sot on eatin' supper with you tonight, no matter store
+or not, and Isaiah, he was just as sot as we was. But all to once Zoeth
+had an idea. 'Shadrach,' he says, 'in Scriptur' times when people was
+real happy, same as we are now, they used to make a sacrifice to the
+Almighty to show how glad and grateful they was. Let's you and me make a
+sacrifice; let's sacrifice this evenin's trade--let's shut up the store
+on account of our girl's comin' home.' 'Good idea!' says I, so we did
+it.”
+
+Mary looked at him reproachfully.
+
+“Oh, Uncle Shad,” she said, “you shouldn't have done that. It was dear
+and sweet of you to think of it, but you shouldn't have done it. It
+didn't need any sacrifice to prove that you were glad to see me.”
+
+Shadrach winked over his shoulder.
+
+“Don't let that sacrifice worry you any,” he observed. “The sacrifice is
+mainly in Zoeth's eye. Fur's I'm concerned--well, Jabez Hedges told
+me yesterday that Rastus Young told him he cal'lated he'd have to be
+droppin' in at the store some of these nights to buy some rubber boots
+and new ileskins. We sold him the ones he's got four years ago and he
+ain't paid for 'em yet. No, no, Mary-'Gusta, don't you worry about that
+sacrifice. I can sacrifice Rastus Young's trade eight days in the week
+and make money by it. Course I didn't tell Zoeth that; have to humor
+these pious folks much as we can, you know.”
+
+Mary smiled, but she shook her head. “It's no use your talking to me in
+that way, Uncle Shad,” she said. “I know you too well. And right in the
+Christmas season, too!”
+
+Zoeth's welcome was as hearty, if not as exuberant, as Captain Shad's.
+He met her at the door and after the first hug and kiss held her off at
+arm's length and looked her over.
+
+“My! my! my!” he exclaimed. “And this is our little Mary-'Gusta come
+back again! It don't seem as if it could be, somehow.”
+
+“But it is, Uncle Zoeth,” declared Mary, laughing. “And ISN'T it good
+to be here! Well, Isaiah,” turning to Mr. Chase, who, aproned and
+shirtsleeved as usual, had been standing grinning in the background,
+“haven't you anything to say to me?”
+
+Isaiah had something to say and he said it.
+
+“Glad to see you,” he announced. “Feelin' pretty smart? Got a new hat,
+ain't you? Supper's ready.”
+
+During the meal Mary was kept busy answering questions concerning school
+and her life at Mrs. Wyeth's. In her letters she had endeavored to tell
+every possible item of news which might be interesting to her uncles,
+but now these items were one by one recalled, reviewed, and discussed.
+
+“'Twas kind of funny, that young Smith feller's turnin' up for dinner
+that time,” observed Mr. Hamilton. “Cal'late you was some surprised to
+see him, wan't you?”
+
+Mary smiled. “Why, yes,” she said, “but I think he was more surprised to
+see me, Uncle Zoeth.”
+
+Captain Shad laughed heartily. “Shouldn't wonder,” he admitted. “Didn't
+bring any fly paper along with him, did he? No? Well, that was an
+oversight. Maybe he thought fly time was past and gone. He seemed to be
+a real nice kind of young feller when he was down here that summer. He's
+older now; does he seem that way yet?”
+
+“Why, yes, I think so. I only saw him for a little while.”
+
+Isaiah seemed to think it time for him to put in a question.
+
+“Good lookin' as ever, I cal'late, ain't he?” he observed.
+
+Mary was much amused. “Why, I suppose he is,” she answered. “But why in
+the world are you interested in his good looks, Isaiah?”
+
+Mr. Chase did his best to assume an expression of deep cunning. He
+winked at his employers.
+
+“Oh, I ain't interested--not 'special,” he declared, “but I didn't know
+but SOME folks might be. Ho, ho!”
+
+He roared at his own pleasantry. Captain Shadrach, however, did not
+laugh.
+
+“Some folks?” he repeated, tartly. “What are you talkin' about? What
+folks?”
+
+“Oh, I ain't sayin' what folks. I'm just sayin' SOME folks. Ho, ho! You
+know what I mean, don't you, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+Before Mary could reply the Captain cut in again.
+
+“No, she don't know what you mean, neither,” he declared, with emphasis.
+“That's enough of that now, Isaiah. Don't be any bigger fool than you
+can help.”
+
+The self-satisfied grin faded from Isaiah's face and was succeeded by a
+look of surprised and righteous indignation.
+
+“Wha--what's that?” he stammered. “What's that you're callin' me?”
+
+“I ain't callin' you nothin'. I'm givin' you some free advice, that's
+all. Well, Mary-'Gusta, I cal'late, if you've had supper enough, you and
+me and Zoeth will go into the settin'-room, where we can all talk and I
+can smoke. I can always talk better under a full head of steam. Come on,
+Zoeth, Isaiah wants to be clearin' the table.”
+
+But Mr. Chase's thoughts were not concerned with table clearing just
+then. He stepped between Captain Shadrach and the door leading to the
+sitting-room.
+
+“Cap'n Shad Gould,” he sputtered, “you--you said somethin' about a fool.
+Who's a fool? That's what I want to know--who's a fool?”
+
+The Captain grunted.
+
+“Give it up,” he observed. “I never was any hand at riddles. Come, come,
+Isaiah! Get out of the channel and let us through.”
+
+“You hold on, Cap'n Shad! You answer me afore you leave this room. Who's
+a fool? I want to know who's a fool.”
+
+Captain Shad grinned.
+
+“Well, go up to the post-office and ask some of the gang there,” he
+suggested. “Tell 'em you'll give 'em three guesses. There, there!” he
+added, good-naturedly, pushing the irate Mr. Chase out of the “channel.”
+ “Don't block the fairway any longer. It's all right, Isaiah. You and
+me have been shipmates too long to fight now. You riled me up a little,
+that's all. Come on, folks.”
+
+Two hours later, after Mary had answered the last questions even Captain
+Shad could think of, had received answers to all her own, and had
+gone to her room for the night, Mr. Hamilton turned to his partner and
+observed mildly:
+
+“Shadrach, what made you so dreadful peppery to Isaiah this evenin'? I
+declare, I thought you was goin' to take his head off.”
+
+The Captain grunted. “I will take it off some time,” he declared, “if he
+don't keep the lower end of it shut when he'd ought to. You heard what
+he said, didn't you?”
+
+“Yes, I heard. That about the Smith boy's good looks, you mean?”
+
+“Sartin. And about Mary-'Gusta's noticin' how good-lookin' he was.
+Rubbish!”
+
+“Yes--yes, I know, but Isaiah was only jokin'.”
+
+“Jokin'! Well, he may LOOK like a comic almanac, but he needn't try to
+joke like one while that girl of ours is around. Puttin' notions about
+fellers and good looks and keepin' company into her head! You might
+expect such stuff from them fool drummers that come to the store, but an
+old leather-skinned image like Isaiah Chase ought to have more sense. We
+don't want such notions put in her head, do we?”
+
+Zoeth rubbed his chin. He did not speak and his silence seemed to
+irritate his partner.
+
+“Well, do we?” repeated the latter, sharply.
+
+Zoeth sighed. “No, Shadrach,” he admitted. “I guess likely we don't,
+but--”
+
+“But what?”
+
+“Well, we've got to realize that those kind of notions come--come sort
+of natural to young folks Mary-'Gusta's age.”
+
+“Rubbish! I don't believe that girl's got a single one of 'em in her
+mind.”
+
+“Maybe not, but they'll be there some day. Ah, well,” he added, “we
+mustn't be selfish, you and me, Shadrach. It'll be dreadful hard to give
+her up to somebody else, but if that somebody is a good man, kind and
+straight and honest, why, I for one will try not to complain. But, Oh,
+Shadrach! Suppose he should turn out to be the other thing. Suppose SHE
+makes the mistake that I--”
+
+His friend interrupted.
+
+“Shh! shh!” he broke in, quickly. “Don't talk so, Zoeth. Come on to
+bed,” he added, rising from his chair. “This very evenin' I was callin'
+Isaiah names for talkin' about 'fellers' and such, and here you and I
+have been sittin' talkin' nothin' else. If you hear me say 'fool' in my
+sleep tonight just understand I'm talkin' to myself, that's all. Come on
+aloft, Zoeth, and turn in.”
+
+The following morning Mary astonished her uncles by announcing that
+as soon as she had helped Isaiah with the breakfast dishes and the bed
+making she was going up to the store.
+
+“What for?” demanded Captain Shad. “Course we'll be mighty glad to have
+your company, but Zoeth and me presumed likely you'd be for goin' round
+callin' on some of the other girls today.”
+
+“Well, I'm not. If they want to see me they can call on me here. I'm
+going up to the store with you and Uncle Zoeth. I want to help sell
+those Christmas goods of ours.”
+
+The partners looked at each other. Even Zoeth was moved to protest.
+
+“Now, Mary-'Gusta,” he said, “it ain't likely that your Uncle Shadrach
+and I are goin' to let you sell goods in that store. We won't hear of
+it, will we, Shadrach?”
+
+“Not by a thunderin' sight!” declared Shadrach, vehemently. “The idea!”
+
+“Why not? I've sold a good many there.”
+
+“I don't care if you have. You shan't sell any more. 'Twas all right
+when you was just a--a girl, a South Harnisser like the rest of us, but
+now that you're a Boston young lady, up to a fin--er--what-d'ye-call-it
+--er--endin' school--”
+
+“Finishin' school, Shadrach,” corrected Mr. Hamilton.
+
+“Well, whatever 'tis; I know 'twould be the end of ME if I had to live
+up to the style of it. 'Anyhow, now that you're there, Mary-'Gusta, a
+young lady, same as I said, we ain't--”
+
+But Mary interrupted. “Hush, Uncle Shad,” she commanded. “Hush, this
+minute! You're talking nonsense, I AM a South Harniss girl and I'm NOT
+a Boston young lady. My chief reasons for being so very happy at the
+thought of coming home here for my Christmas vacation were, first, that
+I should see you and Uncle Zoeth and Isaiah and the house and the horse
+and the cat and the hens, and, next, that I could help you with the
+Christmas trade at the store. I know perfectly well you need me. I'm
+certain you have been absolutely lost without me. Now, really and truly,
+haven't you?”
+
+“Not a mite,” declared the Captain, stoutly, spoiling the effect of the
+denial, however, by adding, although his partner had not spoken: “Shut
+up, Zoeth! We ain't, neither.”
+
+Mary laughed. “Uncle Shad,” she said, “I don't believe you. At any rate,
+I'm going up there this minute to see for myself. Come along!”
+
+She made no comment on what she saw at the store, but for the remainder
+of the forenoon she was very busy. In spite of the partners' protests,
+in fact paying no more attention to those perturbed men of business than
+if they were flies to be brushed aside when bothersome, she went ahead,
+arranging, rearranging, dusting, writing price tickets, lettering
+placards, doing all sorts of things, and waiting on customers in the
+intervals. At noon, when she and her Uncle Zoeth left for home and
+dinner, she announced herself in a measure satisfied. “Of course there
+is a great deal to do yet,” she said, “but the stock looks a little more
+as if it were meant to sell and less as if it were heaped up ready to be
+carted off and buried.”
+
+That afternoon the store of Hamilton and Company was visited by a goodly
+number of South Harniss residents. That evening there were more. The
+news that Mary-'Gusta Lathrop was at home and was “tendin' store” for
+her uncles spread and was much discussed. The majority of those who came
+did so not because they contemplated purchasing extensively, but because
+they wished to see what effect the fashionable finishing school had had
+upon the girl. The general opinion seemed to be that it “hadn't changed
+her a mite.” This result, however, was considered a desirable one by the
+majority, but was by some criticized. Among the critics was Mrs. Rebecca
+Mullet, whose daughter Irene also was away at school undergoing the
+finishing process.
+
+“Well!” declared Mrs. Mullet, with decision, as she and her husband
+emerged from the store together. “Well! If THAT'S a sample of what
+the school she goes to does for them that spend their money on it, I'm
+mighty glad we didn't send our Rena there, ain't you, Christopher?”
+
+Mr. Chris Mullet, who had received that very week a bill for his
+daughter's “extras,” uttered a fervent assent.
+
+“You bet you!” he said. “It costs enough where Rena is, without sendin'
+her to no more expensive place.”
+
+This was not exactly the reply his wife had expected.
+
+“Umph!” she grunted, impatiently. “I do wish you could get along for
+two minutes without puttin' on poor mouth. I suppose likely you tell
+everybody that you can't afford a new overcoat account of Rena's goin'
+away to school. You'd ought to be prouder of your daughter than you are
+of an overcoat, I should think.”
+
+Mr. Mullet muttered something to the effect that he was dum sure he was
+not proud of his present overcoat. His wife ignored the complaint.
+
+“And you'll be proud of Irene when she comes home,” she declared. “She
+won't be like that Mary-'Gusta, standin' up behind the counter and
+sellin' goods.”
+
+“Why, now, Becky, what's the matter with her doin' that? She always used
+to sell goods, and behind that very counter, too. And she certainly can
+SELL 'em!” with a reminiscent chuckle.
+
+Mrs. Mullet glared at him. “Yes,” she drawled, with sarcasm, “so she
+can--to some folks. Look at you, with all that Christmas junk under your
+arm! You didn't need to buy that stuff any more'n you needed to fly.
+What did you buy it for? Tell me that.”
+
+Chris shook his head. “Blessed if I know,” he admitted. “I hadn't any
+idea of buyin' it, but she and me got to talkin', and she kept showin'
+the things to me, and I kept lookin' at 'em and--”
+
+“Yes, and kept lookin' at her, too! Don't talk to ME! There's no fool
+like an old fool--and an old man fool is the worst of all.”
+
+Her husband, usually meek and long-suffering under wifely discipline,
+evinced unwonted spirit.
+
+“Well, I tell you this, Becky,” he said. “Fur's I can see, Mary-'Gusta's
+all right. She's as pretty as a picture, to begin with; she's got money
+of her own to spend; and she's been away among folks that have got a lot
+more. All them things together are enough to spoil 'most any girl, but
+they haven't spoiled her. She's come home here not a mite stuck-up, not
+flirty nor silly nor top-lofty, but just as sensible and capable and
+common-folksy as ever she was, and that's sayin' somethin'. If our Rena
+turns out to be the girl Mary-'Gusta Lathrop is I WILL be proud of her,
+and don't you forget it!”
+
+Which terminated conversation in the Mullet family for that evening.
+
+But if the few, like Mrs. Mullet, were inclined to criticize, the many,
+like her husband, united in declaring Mary to be “all right.” And her
+rearranging and displaying of the Christmas goods helped her and her
+uncles to dispose of them. In fact, for the three days before Christmas
+it became necessary to call in the services of Annabel as assistant
+saleslady. The store was crowded, particularly in the evenings, and
+Zoeth and Captain Shad experienced for the first time in months the
+sensation of being the heads of a prosperous business.
+
+“Looks good to see so many young folks in here, don't it, Zoeth?”
+ observed the Captain. “And not only girls, but fellers, too. Don't know
+when I've seen so many young fellers in here. Who's that young squirt
+Mary-'Gusta's waitin' on now? The one with the whittled-in back to his
+overcoat. Say, Solomon in all his glory wasn't arrayed like one of him!
+Must be some city feller, eh? Nobody I know.”
+
+Zoeth looked at his niece and her customer.
+
+“Humph!” he said. “Guess you ain't rubbed your glasses lately, Shadrach.
+That's Dan Higgins.”
+
+Mr. Higgins it was, home for a few days' relaxation from the fatigues
+of coffin selling, and garbed as usual in city clothes the splendor of
+which, as Captain Shad said afterwards, “would have given a blind man
+eyestrain.” Daniel's arms were filled with purchases and he and Mary
+were standing beside the table where the toys and games were displayed.
+Mary was gazing at the toys; Mr. Higgins was--not.
+
+The partners regarded the pair for a moment. Shadrach frowned.
+
+“Humph!” he grunted.
+
+“Daniel's tryin' to find somethin' his little brother'll like,”
+ explained Zoeth.
+
+“Yes,” observed the Captain, dryly. “Well, he looks as if he'd found
+somethin' HE liked pretty well. Here, Mary-'Gusta, I'll finish waitin'
+on Dan. You just see what Mrs. Nickerson wants, will you, please?”
+
+Christmas Eve ended the rush of business for Hamilton and Company. The
+following week, the last of Mary's vacation, was certain to be dull
+enough. “Nothin' to do but change presents for folks,” prophesied
+Captain Shad. “Give them somethin' they want and take back somethin'
+we don't want. That kind of trade is like shovelin' fog up hill, more
+exercise than profit.”
+
+Christmas was a happy day at the white house by the shore, a day of
+surprises. To begin with, there were the presents which were beside the
+plates at breakfast. Mary had brought gifts for all, Captain Shadrach,
+Zoeth, and Isaiah. There was nothing expensive, of course, but each had
+been chosen to fit the taste and liking of the recipient and there was
+no doubt that each choice was a success. Isaiah proudly displayed a
+jacknife which was a small toolchest, having four blades, a corkscrew,
+a screwdriver, a chisel, a button-hook and goodness knows what else
+besides.
+
+“Look at that!” crowed Isaiah, exhibiting the knife, bristling like a
+porcupine, on his open palm. “Look at it! By time, there ain't nothin' I
+can't do with that knife! Every time I look at it I find somethin'
+new. Now, I wonder what that is,” pointing to a particularly large and
+ferocious-looking implement which projected from the steel tangle. “I
+cal'late I've sized up about everything else, but I can't seem to make
+out what that's for. What do you cal'late 'tis, Cap'n Shad?”
+
+Shadrach looked.
+
+“Why, that's simple,” he said, gravely. “That's a crust crowbar.”
+
+“A what?”
+
+“A crust crowbar. For openin' one of them cast-iron pies same as you
+made for us last week. You drill a hole in the crust nigh the edge of
+the plate and then put that thing in and pry the upper deck loose. Good
+idea, Isaiah! I--”
+
+“Aw, go to grass!” interrupted the indignant Mr. Chase. “I notice you
+always eat enough of my pies, decks--yes, and hull and riggin', too.”
+
+Then there was THE great surprise, that which the partners had prepared
+for their idolized niece. Mary found beside her plate a small, oblong
+package, wrapped in tissue paper and labeled, “To Mary-'Gusta, from
+Uncle Shadrach and Uncle Zoeth, with a Merry Christmas.” Inside the
+paper was a pasteboard box, inside that a leather case, and inside THAT
+a handsome gold watch and chain. Then there was much excited exclaiming
+and delighted thanks on Mary's part, and explanations and broad grins on
+that of the givers.
+
+“But you shouldn't have done it! Of course you shouldn't!” protested
+Mary. “It's perfectly lovely and I wanted a watch more than anything;
+but I KNOW this must have cost a great deal.”
+
+“Never, neither,” protested the Captain. “We got it wholesale. Edgar
+Emery's nephew is in the business up to Providence and he picked it out
+for us. Didn't begin to cost what we cal'lated 'twould, did it, Zoeth?
+When you buy things wholesale that way you can 'most always cal'late to
+get 'em lower than you cal'late to.”
+
+Mary smiled at this somewhat involved statement, but she shook her head.
+
+“I'm sure it cost a great deal more than you should have spent,” she
+said.
+
+“But you like it, don't you?” queried Zoeth, hopefully.
+
+“Like it! Oh, Uncle Zoeth, don't you KNOW I like it! Who could help
+liking such a beautiful thing?”
+
+“How's it show up alongside the watches the other girls have up to that
+Boston school?” asked Shadrach, with ill-concealed anxiety. “We wouldn't
+want our girl's watch to be any cheaper'n theirs, you know.”
+
+The answer was enthusiastic enough to satisfy even the Captain and Mr.
+Hamilton.
+
+“I'm sure there isn't another girl in the school whose watch means to
+her what this will mean to me,” declared Mary. “I shall keep it and love
+it all my life.”
+
+The partners heaved a sigh of relief. Whether or not the watch was fine
+enough for their Mary-'Gusta had been a source of worriment and much
+discussion. And then Isaiah, with his customary knack of saying the
+wrong thing, tossed a brickbat into the puddle of general satisfaction.
+
+“That's so,” he said; “that's so, Mary-'Gusta. You can keep it all
+your life, and when you get to be an old woman and married and have
+grandchildren then you can give it to them.”
+
+Captain Shadrach, who had taken up his napkin preparatory to tucking
+it under his chin, turned in his chair and glared at the unconscious
+steward.
+
+“Well, by the jumpin' fire!” he exclaimed, with conviction. “The feller
+is sartinly possessed. He's lovesick, that's what's the matter with him.
+All he can talk about is somebody's gettin' married. Are YOU cal'latin'
+to get married, Isaiah?”
+
+“Me? What kind of fool talk is that?”
+
+“Who's the lucky woman?”
+
+“There ain't no lucky woman. Don't talk so ridic'lous! All I said was
+that when Mary-'Gusta was old and married and had--”
+
+“There you go again! Married and children! Say, did it ever run acrost
+your mind that you was a little mite previous?”
+
+“I never said children. What I said was when she was old and had
+grandchildren.”
+
+“Grandchildren! Well, that's a dum sight MORE previous. Let's have
+breakfast, all hands, for the land sakes! Isaiah'll have us cruisin'
+along with the third and fourth generation in a few minutes. I'M
+satisfied with this one!”
+
+That evening, at bedtime, as the partners separated in the upper hall to
+go to their respective rooms, Zoeth said:
+
+“Shadrach, this has been a mighty nice Christmas for us all, ain't it?”
+
+Captain Shad nodded emphatically. “You bet!” he declared. “Don't seem to
+me I ever remember a nicer one.”
+
+“Nor I, neither. I--I wonder--”
+
+“Well, heave ahead. What are you waitin' for? What do you wonder?”
+
+“I was just wonderin' if 'twas right for us to be so happy.”
+
+“Right?”
+
+“Yes. Have we been--well, good enough this past year to deserve
+happiness like this?”
+
+Shadrach grinned.
+
+“I ain't puttin' in any testimony on my own hook,” he said, dryly, “but
+I don't seem to remember your bein' desperately wicked, Zoeth. Course
+you MAY have got drunk and disorderly that time when Mary-'Gusta and I
+left you and went to Boston, but I kind of doubt it.”
+
+“Hush, hush, Shadrach! Don't joke about serious things. What I mean is
+have you and I walked the Lord's way as straight as we'd ought to? We've
+tried--that is, seems 's if we had--but I don't know. Anyhow, all this
+afternoon I've had a funny feelin' that you and me and Mary-'Gusta
+was--well was as if the tide had been comin' in for us all these years
+since she's been livin' with us, and as if now 'twould begin to go out
+again.”
+
+The Captain laughed. “And that's what you call a FUNNY feelin'!” he
+exclaimed. “Zoeth, I've got a funny feelin', too, but I know what's the
+reason for it--the reason is turkey and plum puddin' and mince pie and
+the land knows what. When a couple of old hulks like you and me h'ist
+in a cargo of that kind it's no wonder we have feelin's. Good night,
+shipmate.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+The day after New Year's Mary went back to Boston and to school. The
+long winter term--the term which Madeline Talbott, whose father was a
+judge, called “the extreme penalty”--began. Boston's famous east winds,
+so welcome in summer and so raw and penetrating in winter, brought their
+usual allowance of snow and sleet, and the walks from Pinckney Street
+to the school and back were not always pleasant. Mrs. Wyeth had a slight
+attack of tonsillitis and Miss Pease a bronchial cold, but they united
+in declaring these afflictions due entirely to their own imprudence
+and not in the least to the climate, which, being like themselves,
+thoroughly Bostonian, was expected to maintain a proper degree of chill.
+
+Mary, fortunately, escaped colds and illness. The walks in all sorts of
+weather did her good and her rosy cheeks and clear eyes were competent
+witnesses to her state of health. She was getting on well with her
+studies, and the Misses Cabot, not too easy to please, were apparently
+pleased with her. At home--for she had come to consider Mrs. Wyeth's
+comfortable house a home, although not of course to be compared with the
+real home at South Harniss--at Mrs. Wyeth's she was more of a favorite
+than ever, not only with the mistress of the house, but with Miss Pease,
+who was considered eccentric and whose liking was reported hard to win.
+The two ladies had many talks concerning the girl.
+
+“She is remarkable,” declared Miss Pease on one occasion. “Considering
+her lack of early advantages, I consider her ease of manner and
+self-possession remarkable. She is a prodigy.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth sniffed. She enjoyed hearing Mary praised, but she objected
+to her friend's choice of words.
+
+“For mercy sake, Letitia,” she said, “don't call her that. The word
+'prodigy' always reminds me of the Crummles infant, the one with the
+green parasol and the white--er--lingerie, in 'Nicholas Nickleby.'”
+
+Miss Pease smiled with the superiority of the corrected who is about to
+correct.
+
+“I don't see why that should bring the individual you mention to mind,”
+ she said. “If I remember correctly--and I was brought up on Dickens--she
+was a 'phenomenon,' not a prodigy. However, it makes no material
+difference what you and I call Mary Lathrop, the fact remains that she
+is an exceptionally well-behaved, good-mannered, polite--”
+
+“Sweet, healthy girl,” interrupted Mrs. Wyeth, finishing the sentence.
+“I know that as well as you do, Letitia Pease. And you know I know
+it. Now, what have you in your mind concerning Mary? I know there is
+something, because you have been hinting at it for more than a week.
+What is it?”
+
+Miss Pease looked wise.
+
+“Oh, I have a plan,” she said. “I can't tell even you, Emily, just what
+it is as yet. You see, it isn't really a plan, but only an idea so far.
+She doesn't know it herself, of course.”
+
+“Hum! Is it a pleasant plan--or idea, whichever you call it? That is,
+will she think it pleasant when she learns what it is?”
+
+“I certainly hope so.”
+
+“Look here, Letitia,” with sudden suspicion, “you aren't planning some
+ridiculous sentimental nonsense for that child, are you? You're not
+trying to make a match for her, I hope?”
+
+“Match? What are you talking about? If you mean am I trying to get her
+married to some MAN,” with a scornful emphasis on the word, “I most
+certainly am not.
+
+“Humph! Well, if she ever is married, I presume it will be to a man, or
+an imitation of one. All right, Letitia. I am glad your great idea isn't
+that, whatever it is.”
+
+“It is not. You know my opinion of marriage, Emily Wyeth. And, so far
+as matchmaking is concerned, I should say you were a more likely subject
+for suspicion. That young relative of yours, Sam Keith, appears to be
+coming here a great deal of late. He MAY come solely to see you, but I
+doubt it.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth smiled grimly.
+
+“Samuel has been rather prevalent recently,” she admitted, “but don't
+let that trouble you, Letitia. I have had my eye on the young man.
+Samuel is as susceptible to pretty girls as children are to the measles.
+And his attacks remind me of the measles as much as anything, sudden
+outbreak, high fever and delirium, then a general cooling off and a
+rapid recovery. This seizure isn't alarming and there is absolutely no
+danger of contagion. Mary doesn't take him seriously at all.”
+
+“And how about that other young man?--Smith, I think his name is. He has
+called here twice since Christmas.”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth seemed to be losing patience.
+
+“Well, what of it?” she demanded.
+
+“Why, nothing that I know of, except, perhaps--”
+
+“There is no perhaps at all. The Smith boy appears to be a very nice
+young fellow, and remarkably sensible for a young person in this
+hoity-toity age. From what I can learn, his people, although they
+do live out West--down in a mine or up on a branch or a ranch
+or something--are respectable. Why shouldn't he call to see Mary
+occasionally, and why shouldn't she see him? Goodness gracious! What
+sort of a world would this be if young people didn't see each other?
+Don't tell me that you never had any young male acquaintances when you
+were a girl, Letitia, because I shan't believe you.”
+
+Miss Pease straightened in her chair.
+
+“It is not likely that I shall make any such preposterous statement,”
+ she snapped.
+
+So the “young male acquaintance” called occasionally--not too
+often--Mrs. Wyeth saw to that; probably not so often as he would
+have liked; but he did call and the acquaintanceship developed into
+friendship. That it might develop into something more than friendship
+no one, except possibly the sentimental Miss Pease, seemed to suspect.
+Certainly Mary did not, and at this time it is doubtful if Crawford did,
+either. He liked Mary Lathrop. She was a remarkably pretty girl but,
+unlike other pretty girls he had known--and as good-looking college
+football stars are privileged beyond the common herd, he had known at
+least several--she did not flirt with him, nor look admiringly up into
+his eyes, nor pronounce his jokes “killingly funny,” nor flatter him in
+any way. If the jokes WERE funny she laughed a healthy, genuine laugh,
+but if, as sometimes happened, they were rather feeble, she was quite
+likely to tell him so. She did not always agree with his views, having
+views of her own on most subjects, and if he asked her opinion the
+answer he received was always honest, if not precisely what he expected
+or hoped.
+
+“By George! You're frank, at any rate,” he observed, rather ruefully,
+after asking her opinion as to a point of conduct and receiving it
+forthwith.
+
+“Didn't you want me to be?” asked Mary. “You asked me what I thought you
+should have done and I told you.”
+
+“Yes, you did. You certainly told me.”
+
+“Well, didn't you want me to tell you?”
+
+“I don't know that I wanted you to tell me just that.”
+
+“But you asked me what I thought, and that is exactly what I think.
+Don't YOU think it is what you should have done?”
+
+Crawford hesitated; then he laughed. “Why yes, confound it, I do,” he
+admitted. “But I hoped you would tell me that what I did do was right.”
+
+“Whether I thought so or not?”
+
+“Why--well--er--yes. Honestly now, didn't you know I wanted you to say
+the other thing?”
+
+It was Mary's turn to hesitate; then she, too, laughed.
+
+“Why, yes, I suppose--” she began; and finished with, “Yes, I did.”
+
+“Then why didn't you say it? Most girls would.”
+
+“Perhaps that is why. I judge that most girls of your acquaintance say
+just about what you want them to. Don't you think it is good for you to
+be told the truth occasionally?”
+
+It was good for him, of course, and, incidentally, it had the
+fascination of novelty. Here was a girl full of fun, ready to take a
+joke as well as give one, neither flattering nor expecting flattery, a
+country girl who had kept store, yet speaking of that phase of her life
+quite as freely as she did of the fashionable Misses Cabot's school,
+not at all ashamed to say she could not afford this or that, simple and
+unaffected but self-respecting and proud; a girl who was at all times
+herself and retained her poise and common sense even in the presence of
+handsome young demigod who had made two touchdowns against Yale.
+
+It was extremely good for Crawford Smith to know such a girl. She helped
+him to keep his feet on the ground and his head from swelling. Not that
+there was much danger of the latter happening, for the head was a
+pretty good one, but Mary Lathrop's common sense was a stimulating--and
+fascinating--reenforcement to his own. As he had said on the Sunday
+afternoon of their first meeting in Boston, it was a relief to have
+someone to talk to who understood and appreciated a fellow's serious
+thoughts as well as the frivolous ones. His approaching graduation from
+Harvard and the work which he would begin at the Medical School in the
+fall were very much in his mind just now. He told Mary his plans and she
+and he discussed them. She had plans of her own, principally concerning
+what she meant to do to make life easier for her uncles when her school
+days were over, and these also were discussed.
+
+“But,” he said, “that's really nonsense, after all, isn't it?”
+
+“What?”
+
+“Why, the idea of your keeping store again. You'll never do that.”
+
+“Indeed I shall! Why not?”
+
+“Why, because--”
+
+“Because what?”
+
+“Because--well, because I don't think you will, that's all. Girls like
+you don't have to keep a country store, you know--at least, not for
+long.”
+
+The remark was intended to please; it might have pleased some girls,
+but it did not please this one. Mary's dignity was offended. Anything
+approaching a slur upon her beloved uncles, or their place of business,
+or South Harniss, or the Cape Cod people, she resented with all her
+might. Her eyes snapped.
+
+“I do not HAVE to keep store at any time,” she said crisply, “in the
+country or elsewhere. I do it because I wish to and I shall continue to
+do it as long as I choose. If my friends do not understand that fact and
+appreciate my reasons, they are not my friends, that is all.”
+
+Crawford threw up both hands. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “Don't shoot; I'll
+come down! Great Scott! If you take a fellow's head off like that when
+he pays you a compliment what would you do if he dared to criticize?”
+
+“Was that remark of yours intended as a compliment?”
+
+“Not exactly; more as a statement of fact. I meant--I meant--Oh, come
+now, Mary! You know perfectly well what I meant. Own up.”
+
+Mary tried hard to be solemn and severe, but the twinkle in his eye was
+infectious and in spite of her effort her lips twitched.
+
+“Own up, now,” persisted Crawford. “You know what I meant. Now, don't
+you?”
+
+“Well--well, I suppose I do. But I think the remark was a very silly
+one. That is the way Sam Keith talks.”
+
+“Eh? Oh, does he!”
+
+“Yes. Or he would if I would let him. And he does it much better than
+you do.”
+
+“Well, I like that!”
+
+“I don't. That is why I don't want you to do it. I expect you to be
+more sensible. And, besides, I won't have you or anyone making fun of my
+uncles' store.”
+
+“Making fun of it! I should say not! I have a vivid and most respectful
+memory of it, as you ought to know. By the way, you told me your uncles
+had sent you their photographs. May I see them?”
+
+Mary brought the photographs from her room. They had been taken by the
+photographer at Ostable in compliance with what amounted to an order
+on her part, and the results showed two elderly martyrs dressed in
+respectable but uncomfortable Sunday clothes and apparently awaiting
+execution. On the back of one mournful exhibit was written, “Mary
+Augusta from Uncle Shadrach,” and on the other, “Uncle Zoeth to Mary
+Augusta, with much love.”
+
+“Now, don't laugh,” commanded Mary, as she handed the photographs to
+Crawford. “I know they are funny, but if you laugh I'll never forgive
+you. The poor dears had them taken expressly to please me, and I am
+perfectly sure either would have preferred having a tooth out. They ARE
+the best men in the world and I am more certain of it every day.”
+
+Crawford did not laugh at the photographs. He was a young gentleman of
+considerable discretion and he did not smile, not even at Captain Shad's
+hands, the left with fingers separated and clutching a knee as if to
+keep it from shaking, the right laid woodenly upon a gorgeously bound
+parlor-table copy of “Lucille.” Instead of laughing he praised the
+originals of the pictures, talked reminiscently of his own visit
+in South Harniss, and finally produced from his pocketbook a small
+photographic print, which he laid upon the table beside the others.
+
+“I brought that to show you,” he said. “You were asking about my father,
+you know, and I told you I hadn't a respectable photograph of him. That
+was true; I haven't. Dad has another eccentricity besides his dislike of
+the East and Eastern ways of living; he has a perfect horror of having
+his photograph taken. Don't ask me why, because I can't tell you. It
+isn't because he is ugly; he's a mighty good-looking man for his age, if
+I do say it. But he has a prejudice against photographs of himself
+and won't even permit me to take a snapshot if he can prevent it. Says
+people who are always having their pictures taken are vain, conceited
+idiots, and so on. However, I catch him unawares occasionally, and this
+is a snap I took last summer. He and I were on a fishing trip up in the
+mountains. We're great pals, Dad and I--more than most fathers and sons,
+I imagine.”
+
+Mary took the photograph and studied it with interest. Mr. Smith,
+senior, was a big man, broad-shouldered and heavy, with a full gray
+beard and mustache. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, which shaded his
+forehead somewhat, but his eyes and the shape of his nose were like his
+son's.
+
+Mary looked at the photograph and Crawford looked at her.
+
+“Well, what do you think of him?” asked the young man after an interval.
+
+“Think?” repeated Mary absently, still staring at the photograph. “Why,
+I--I don't know what you mean.”
+
+“I mean what is your opinion of my respected dad? You must have one
+by this time. You generally have one on most subjects and you've been
+looking at that picture for at least five minutes.”
+
+“Have I? I beg your pardon; I didn't realize. The picture interested me.
+I have never seen your father, have I? No, of course I haven't. But it
+almost seems as if I had. Perhaps I have seen someone who looks like
+him.”
+
+“Shouldn't wonder. Myself, for instance.”
+
+“Of course. That was stupid of me, wasn't it? He looks like an
+interesting man, one who has had experiences.”
+
+“He has. Dad doesn't talk about himself much, even to me, but he had
+some hard rubs before he reached the smooth places. Had to fight his
+way, I guess.”
+
+“He looks as if he had. But he got his way in the end, I should imagine.
+He doesn't look like one who gives up easily.”
+
+“He isn't. Pretty stubborn sometimes, Dad is, but a brick to me, just
+the same.”
+
+“Was your mother an Eastern woman?”
+
+“No. She was a Westerner, from California. Dad was married twice. His
+first wife came from New England somewhere, I believe. I didn't know
+there had been another wife until I was nearly fifteen years old, and
+then I found it out entirely by accident. She was buried in another
+town, you see. I saw her name first on the gravestone and it made an
+impression on me because it was so odd and old-fashioned--'Patience,
+wife of Edwin Smith.' I only mention this to show you how little Dad
+talks about himself, but it was odd I should find it out that way,
+wasn't it? But there! I don't suppose you're interested in the Smith
+genealogy. I apologize. I never think of discussing my family affairs
+with anyone but you, not even Sam. But you--well, somehow I seem to tell
+you everything. I wonder why?”
+
+“Perhaps because I ask too many questions.”
+
+“No, it isn't that. It is because you act as if you really cared to have
+me talk about my own affairs. I never met a girl before that did. Now, I
+want to ask you about that club business. There's going to be the deuce
+and all to pay in that if I'm not careful. Have you thought it over?
+What would you do if you were I?”
+
+The matter in question was a somewhat delicate and complicated one,
+dealing with the admission or rejection of a certain fellow to one of
+the Harvard societies. There was a strong influence working to get him
+in and, on the other hand, there were some very good objections to
+his admission. Crawford, president of the club and one of its most
+influential members, was undecided what to do. He had explained the
+case to Mary upon the occasion of his most recent visit to the
+Pinckney Street house, and had asked her advice. She had taken time
+for consideration, of course--she was the old Mary-'Gusta still in
+that--and now the advice was ready.
+
+“It seems to me,” she said, “that I should try to settle it like this.”
+
+She explained her plan. Crawford listened, at first dubiously and then
+with steadily growing enthusiasm.
+
+“By George!” he exclaimed, when she had finished. “That would do it, I
+honestly believe. How in the world did you ever think of that scheme?
+Say, you really are a wonder at managing. You could manage a big
+business and make it go, I'm sure. How do you do it? Where do you get
+your ideas?”
+
+Mary laughed. His praise pleased her.
+
+“I don't know,” she answered. “I just think them out, I guess. I do
+like to manage things for people. Sometimes I do it more than I should,
+perhaps. Poor Isaiah Chase, at home in South Harniss, says I boss him to
+death. And my uncles say I manage them, too--but they seem to like it,”
+ she added.
+
+“I don't wonder they do. I like it, myself. Will you help manage my
+affairs between now and Commencement? There'll be a whole lot to manage,
+between the club and the dance and all the rest of it. And then when you
+go to Commencement you can see for yourself how they work out.”
+
+“Go to Commencement? Am I going to Commencement?”
+
+“Of course you are! You're going with me, I hope. I thought that was
+understood. It's a long way off yet, but for goodness' sake don't say
+you won't come. I've been counting on it.”
+
+Mary's pleasure showed in her face. All she said, however, was:
+
+“Thank you very much. I shall be very glad to come.”
+
+But Commencement was, as Crawford said, still a good way off and in the
+meantime there were weeks of study. The weeks passed, some of them, and
+then came the Easter vacation. Mary spent the vacation in South Harniss,
+of course, and as there was no Christmas rush to make her feel that
+she was needed at the store, she rested and drove and visited and had a
+thoroughly happy and profitable holiday. The happiness and profit were
+shared by her uncles, it is unnecessary to state. When she questioned
+them concerning business and the outlook for the coming summer, they
+seemed optimistic and cheerful.
+
+“But Isaiah says there are two new stores to be opened in the village
+this spring,” said Mary. “Don't you think they may hurt your trade a
+little?”
+
+Captain Shadrach dismissed the idea and his prospective competitors with
+a condescending wave of the hand. “Not a mite,” he declared scornfully.
+“Not a mite, Mary-'Gusta. Hamilton and Company's a pretty able old
+craft. She may not show so much gilt paint and brass work as some of the
+new ones just off the ways, but her passengers know she's staunch and
+they'll stick by her. Why, Isaiah was sayin' that a feller was tellin'
+him only yesterday that it didn't make any difference how many new
+stores was started in this town, he'd never trade anywheres but with
+Hamilton and Company. That shows you, don't it?”
+
+“Who was it said that, Uncle Shad?” asked Mary.
+
+“Eh? Why, I don't know. Isaiah was tellin' me about it and we was
+interrupted. Who was it, Isaiah?”
+
+“'Twas Rastus Young,” replied Mr. Chase promptly.
+
+Even the Captain was obliged to laugh, although he declared that Mr.
+Young's constancy was a proof that the firm's prospects were good.
+
+“Rats'll always leave a sinkin' ship,” he said, “and if Zoeth and me was
+goin' under Rat Young would be the first to quit.”
+
+Zoeth, when his niece questioned him, expressed confidence that the new
+competitors would not prove dangerous. “The Almighty has looked after
+us so far,” he added, “unworthy as we be, and I guess he'll carry us the
+rest of the way. Put your trust in Him, Mary-'Gusta; I hope they teach
+you that up to school.”
+
+So Mary, who had been rather troubled at the news of Hamilton and
+Company's rivals in the field, dismissed her fears as groundless. Her
+uncles were old-fashioned and a little behind the times in business
+methods, but no doubt those methods were suited to South Harniss and
+there was no cause for worry concerning the firm's future. She made
+Isaiah promise to keep her posted as to developments and went back to
+Boston and her schoolwork.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+The spring term was an interesting one and there were other interests
+as well. Crawford called more frequently, the plans for Commencement
+requiring a great deal of discussion. Mary's fondness for managing was,
+or should have been, gratified, for the talent was in constant demand.
+Sam Keith, who, after meeting Mary at his cousin's house, had at first
+developed an amazing fondness for that relative's society, now came less
+often. He was in the second stage of the pretty-girl disease mentioned
+by his aunt; the fever and delirium had passed, and he was now cooling
+off. It cannot be said that the fever had been in the least encouraged.
+Mary was pleasant and agreeable when he called, but she would not
+treat him as a confidant or an intimate; she did not accept any of his
+invitations to dances or the theater, and she would not flirt even the
+least little bit. The last was the most unsatisfactory drawback, because
+the susceptible Samuel was fond of flirtations and usually managed to
+keep at least three going at the same time. Therefore, the cooling-off
+process was, in this case, a bit more rapid than usual. Sam's calls and
+dinners at his cousin Emily's residence had decreased from two or three
+times a week to an uncertain once a fortnight. Mary, of course, noticed
+this, but she felt no regret. Crawford, Sam's roommate, must have
+noticed it also, but if he felt regret he managed to conceal the feeling
+remarkably well.
+
+Early in May Captain Shadrach came up to the city to buy summer goods
+for the store. He positively refused to make his headquarters at Mrs.
+Wyeth's, although that lady sent an urgent invitation to him to do so.
+And, even when Mary added her own plea to that of her landlady, the
+Captain still refused.
+
+
+Don't ask me, Mary-'Gusta [he wrote]. For the dear land sakes don't ask
+me to come to that place and stay. I'd do 'most anything for you, and I
+will do that if you are dead sot on it, but I do hope you ain't. I will
+come up there and see you of course and I'll even stay to supper if I
+get asked, but DON'T ask me to drop anchor and stay there night and day.
+I couldn't stand it. My backbone's sprung backwards now from settin' up
+so straight last time I was there.
+
+
+So Mary had pity upon him and he took a room at the Quincy House where,
+as he said, he didn't have to keep his nose dead on the course every
+minute, but could “lay to and be comf'table” if he wanted to. He was
+invited to supper at the Wyeth house, however, and while there Mrs.
+Wyeth found an opportunity to take him aside and talk with him on a
+subject which he found interesting and a trifle disquieting.
+
+“Now mind,” said the lady, “I am by no means convinced that the affair
+is anything but a mere boy and girl friendship, or that it is ever
+likely to be more than that. But I did think I ought to tell you about
+it and that you should meet the young man. You have met him, you say?”
+
+“Yes, ma'am,” said Shadrach, “I've met him. 'Twan't much more'n that--he
+just came into our store down home, that's all. But I did meet him and I
+must say I thought he was a real likely young feller.”
+
+“I am glad you thought so. So do I. Has Mary written you of his calls
+here?”
+
+“Oh, yes, ma'am, she's written. She ain't the kind of girl to keep
+anything back from us; at least, if she is, she's changed a heap since
+she came away to school. She's told us about his comin' here and about
+you and him and her goin' to that--what-d'ye-call-it--hookey game. She
+wrote all about that 'way last February.”
+
+“Yes, we did go to the hockey game. Samuel, my cousin John Keith's boy,
+played in it. Now, Captain Gould, I have a suggestion to make. It has
+been some years since you met Crawford Smith and I think, everything
+considered, you should meet him again and decide for yourself whether
+or not you still consider him a proper young person to call upon your
+niece. Suppose you dine with us again tomorrow evening and I invite
+young Smith also. Then--”
+
+But the Captain interrupted. He had a plan of his own for the following
+evening and another meal at Mrs. Wyeth's was not a part of it.
+
+“Er--er--excuse me, ma'am,” he cut in hastily, “but I had a--a kind of
+notion that Mary-'Gusta and me might get our supper at a--a eatin'-house
+or somewhere tomorrow night and then maybe we'd take in--I mean go to
+a show--a theater, I should say. I didn't know but I'd ask this young
+Smith feller to go along. And--and--” remembering his politeness, “of
+course we'd be real glad if you'd come, too,” he added.
+
+But Mrs. Wyeth, although she thanked him and expressed herself as
+heartily in favor of the supper and theater party, refused to become a
+member of it. The Captain bore the shock of the refusal with, to say the
+least, manful resignation. He had a huge respect for Mrs. Wyeth, and
+he liked her because his beloved Mary-'Gusta liked her so well, but his
+liking was seasoned with awe and her no in this case was a great relief.
+
+So the following evening at six Mary and her uncle met Crawford at the
+Quincy House and the three dined together, after which they saw the
+performance of “The Music Master” at the Tremont Theater. Crawford found
+the dinner quite as entertaining as the play. Captain Shadrach was in
+high good humor and his remarks during the meal were characteristic.
+He persisted in addressing the dignified waiter as “Steward” and in
+referring to the hotel kitchen as the “galley.” He consulted his young
+guests before ordering and accepted their selections gracefully if not
+always silently.
+
+“All right, Mary-'Gusta,” he observed. “All right, just as you say.
+You're the skipper of this craft tonight, and me and Crawford here are
+just passengers. If you say we've got to eat--what is it?--consummer
+soup--why, I suppose likely we have. I'll take my chances if Crawford
+will. Course, if I was alone here, I'd probably stick to oyster stew and
+roast beef. I know what they are. And it's some comfort to be sure of
+what you're gettin', as the sick feller said when the doctor told him he
+had the smallpox instead of the measles. You don't mind my callin' you
+'Crawford,' do you?” he added, turning to that young gentleman. “I'm old
+enough to be your father, for one thing, and for another a handle's all
+right on a jug or a sasspan, but don't seem as if 'twas necessary to
+take hold of a friend's name by. And I hope we're goin' to be friends,
+we three.”
+
+Crawford said he hoped so, too, and he said it with emphasis.
+
+“Good!” exclaimed the Captain with enthusiasm. “And we'll cement
+the friendship--the book fellers are always tellin' about cementin'
+friendships--with this supper of ours, eh? If we only had some of
+Isaiah's last batch of mincemeat we could sartinly do it with that; it
+was the nighest thing to cement ever I saw put on a table. I asked him
+if he filled his pies with a trowel and you ought to have heard him
+sputter. You remember Isaiah, don't you, Crawford? Tall, spindlin'
+critter, sails cook for Zoeth and me at the house down home. He ain't
+pretty, but his heart's in the right place. That's kind of strange,
+too,” he added with a chuckle, “when you consider how nigh his
+shoulder-blades are to the top of his legs.”
+
+Between his stories and jokes he found time to ask his male guest a
+few questions and these questions, although by no means offensively
+personal, were to the point. He inquired concerning the young man's home
+life, about his ambitions and plans for the future, about his friends
+and intimates at college. Crawford, without being in the least aware
+that he was being catechized, told a good deal, and Captain Shadrach's
+appraising regard, which had learned to judge men afloat and ashore,
+read more than was told. The appraisal was apparently satisfactory for,
+after the young man had gone and the Captain and Mary were saying good
+night in the Wyeth parlor, Shadrach said:
+
+“A nice boy, I should say. Yes, sir, a real nice young feller, as young
+fellers go. I like him fust-rate.”
+
+“I'm glad, Uncle Shad,” said Mary. “I like him, too.”
+
+Shadrach regarded her with a little of the questioning scrutiny he had
+devoted to Crawford during dinner.
+
+“You do, eh?” he mused. “How much?”
+
+“How much?” repeated Mary, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean how much do you like him? More'n you do your Uncle Zoeth and me,
+for instance?”
+
+She looked up into his face. What she saw there brought the color to her
+own. He might have said more, but she put her finger-tips upon his lips.
+
+“Nonsense!” she said hotly. “What wicked, silly nonsense, Uncle Shad!
+Don't you ever, ever say such a thing to me again. You KNOW better.”
+
+Shadrach smiled and shook his head.
+
+“All right, Mary-'Gusta,” he said; “I won't say it again--not till you
+say it to me fust, at any rate. There, there, dearie! Don't blow me
+clean out of the water. I was only jokin', the same as Isaiah was tryin'
+to that night when you came home for your Christmas vacation.”
+
+“I don't like that kind of joking. I think it's silly.”
+
+“I guess maybe 'tis--for a spell, anyhow. We'll heave the jokes
+overboard. Yes, I like that Crawford Smith fust-rate. But the funniest
+thing about him is the way he reminds me of somebody else. Who that
+somebody is I can't make out nor remember. Maybe I'll think sometime or
+other, but anyhow I like him now for his own sake. I asked him to come
+down and see us sometime this summer. Wonder if he will.”
+
+Mary-'Gusta wondered, too, but she would have wondered more had she
+known what that coming summer was to mean to her. The morning after the
+theater party Captain Shadrach called to say good-by to Mrs. Wyeth. That
+lady asked some questions and listened with interest and approval to his
+report concerning Crawford Smith.
+
+“I'm glad you were so favorably impressed with the boy,” she said. “As I
+told you, I like him myself. And you approve of his friendship with your
+niece?”
+
+The Captain rubbed his chin. “Why, yes, ma'am,” he said. “I approve
+of that, all right, and I cal'late Zoeth would, too. Fact is, where
+Mary-'Gusta's concerned 'tain't nothin' BUT friendship, so fur, and I
+guess likely 'tain't on his part, either. If it ever should be more,
+then--well, then, if he turned out to be all that he'd ought to be I
+can't see where we old folks have much right to put our oar in, do you,
+ma'am?”
+
+Perhaps Mrs. Wyeth was tired of the subject; perhaps she objected
+to being addressed as one of the old folks; at any rate, she made no
+answer, but asked a question instead.
+
+“Captain Gould,” she said, “what plans have you and Mr. Hamilton made
+for Mary this summer?”
+
+“Plans, ma'am? Why, I don't know's we've made any. Of course, we're
+countin' on her comin' down to South Harniss when she gets through her
+school, and--”
+
+“Just a moment, Captain. I have a friend who is very anxious to have you
+change that plan for one of hers. Come in, Letitia. Captain Gould, this
+is my friend, Miss Pease. Now, Letitia, tell the Captain your plan--the
+one you told me last night.”
+
+Miss Pease told of her plan and Captain Shad listened, at first with
+astonishment, then with a troubled expression and at last with a
+combination of both.
+
+“There,” said Miss Pease, in conclusion, “that is my plan. It means a
+great deal to me and I hope it may mean something to Mary.”
+
+“It will be a wonderful opportunity for her,” declared Mrs. Wyeth
+emphatically.
+
+“What do you think of it, Captain Gould?” asked Miss Pease.
+
+Shadrach drew a long breath. “I--I don't know hardly what to say,
+ma'am,” he answered. “I can't hardly realize it yet, seems so. It
+sartinly would be a wonderful chance for her and it's somethin' me and
+Zoeth could never give her or think of givin'. But--but--”
+
+“Of course,” said Miss Pease, as he hesitated, “if she is needed very
+much at home--if you feel you cannot spare her--”
+
+“'Tain't that, ma'am,” interrupted the Captain quickly. “Land knows
+Zoeth and me would miss her awful, but we wouldn't let that stand in the
+way--not of anything like this. But--but--well, to be right down honest,
+ma'am, I don't know's we'd feel like havin' somebody else do so much
+for her. Course we ain't well off, Zoeth and I ain't, but we ain't right
+down poor, either. We've been used to doin' for ourselves and--”
+
+And then Miss Pease had an inspiration.
+
+“Oh, dear me!” she broke in hastily. “I do hope you haven't made a
+mistake, Captain Gould. I hope you don't think I am offering this as a
+charity or purely as a favor to Mary. No, indeed! I am asking it as a
+favor to myself. I must have a companion, otherwise I cannot go. And
+Mary is just the companion I need. I am very fond of her and I think she
+likes me. I am not going to urge too much, Captain Gould, but I do hope
+you will consider the matter with Mr. Hamilton and let me hear from you
+soon. And I am hoping you will consent. I promise to take good care of
+your girl and bring her back safe and sound in September. And I shall
+not say one word of my great plan to her until you write me that I may.”
+
+So Captain Shadrach, the troubled expression still on his face, returned
+on the afternoon train to South Harniss to tell his friend and partner
+of Miss Pease's plan. Mary, who accompanied him to the Boston station,
+wondered why he seemed so preoccupied and quiet. If she had known what
+his thoughts were she would have wondered no longer.
+
+Miss Pease planned to travel through Europe during the summer months,
+and she had asked the Captain's permission to take Mary with her as her
+guest and friend and companion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+If time and space did not matter, and if even more important happenings
+in Mary-'Gusta's life were not as close at hand to claim attention, it
+would be interesting to describe at length those of that spring and the
+summer which followed it. Summarized in chronological order, they were
+these: First, the lengthy discussions between the partners concerning
+Miss Pease's plan, discussions which ended by Zoeth, as senior partner,
+writing Miss Pease:
+
+
+Shadrach and I say yes. We ought to have said it afore but flesh is weak
+and we found it kind of hard to make up our minds to spare our girl all
+summer. But we know we ought to spare her and that it will be a splendid
+chance for her. So we say she shall go and we thank you more than we can
+say. She will need clothes and fixings to take with her and Shadrach and
+I wish to ask if you will be kind enough to help her pick out what she
+needs. Maybe Mrs. Wyeth will help too. It will be a great favor if you
+two will do this, Shadrach and I not being much good at such things. We
+will send the money and will pay for all.
+
+
+Then came the breaking of the news to Mary herself. At first, after
+she could be made to believe the whole idea a perfectly serious one
+and realized that a trip to Europe--her dearest day-dream, even when a
+little girl, and the favorite play with the dolls in the attic at South
+Harniss--when she at last realized the opportunity that was hers, even
+then she hesitated to accept it. There were her uncles--they needed her
+so much in the store--they would miss her so dreadfully. She could not
+go and leave them. The united efforts of Miss Pease and Mrs. Wyeth could
+not alter her determination to remain at home; only a joint declaration,
+amounting to a command and signed by both partners of Hamilton and
+Company, had that effect. She consented then, but with reluctance.
+
+The steamer sailed from Boston--Miss Pease's civic loyalty forbade her
+traveling on a New York boat--on the thirtieth of June, the week after
+Commencement. Mary and Mrs. Wyeth attended the Commencement exercises
+and festivities as Crawford's guest. Edwin Smith, Crawford's father, did
+not come on from Carson City to see his son receive his parchment from
+his Alma Mater. He had planned to come--Crawford had begun to believe he
+might come--but at the last moment illness had prevented. It was nothing
+serious, he wrote; he would be well and hearty when the boy came West
+after graduating.
+
+
+God bless you, son [the letter ended]. If you knew what it means for
+your old dad to stay away you'd forgive him for being in the doctor's
+care. Come home quick when it's over. There's a four-pound trout waiting
+for one of us up in the lake country somewhere. It's up to you or me to
+get him.
+
+
+Crawford showed the letter to Mary. He was disappointed, but not so much
+so as the girl expected.
+
+“I never really dared to count on his coming,” he explained. “It has
+been this way so many times. Whenever Dad has planned to come East
+something happens to prevent. Now it has happened again; I was almost
+sure it would. It's a shame! I wanted you to meet him. And I wanted him
+to meet you, too,” he added.
+
+Mary also was a little disappointed. She had rather looked forward to
+meeting Mr. Smith. He was her friend's father, of course, and that of
+itself made him an interesting personality, but there was something
+more--a sort of mystery about him, inspired in her mind by the
+photograph which Crawford had shown her, which made her curious. The man
+in the photograph resembled Crawford, of course, but she had the feeling
+that he resembled someone else even more--someone she had known or whose
+picture she had seen. She was sorry she was not to meet him.
+
+Commencement was a wonderful time. Mary was introduced to dozens of
+young fellows, attended spreads and sings and proms, danced a great
+deal, was asked to dance ever so much more, chatted and laughed and
+enjoyed herself as a healthy, happy, and pretty girl should enjoy a
+college commencement. And on the following Tuesday she and Miss Pease,
+looking down from the steamer's deck, waved their handkerchiefs to Mrs.
+Wyeth and Zoeth and Captain Shadrach and Crawford who, standing on the
+wharf, waved theirs in return as the big ship moved slowly out of the
+dock and turned her nose toward Minot's Light and the open sea. For the
+first time since Hamilton and Company put up a sign both partners had
+come to Boston together.
+
+“Annabel's keepin' store,” explained Shadrach, “and Isaiah's helpin'.
+It'll be the blind leadin' the blind, I cal'late, but we don't care, do
+we, Zoeth? We made up our mind we'd see you off, Mary-'Gusta, if we had
+to swim to Provincetown and send up sky-rockets from Race P'int to let
+you know we was there. Don't forget what I told you: If you should get
+as fur as Leghorn be sure and hunt up that ship-chandler name of Peroti.
+Ask him if he remembers Shad Gould that he knew in '65. If he ain't dead
+I bet you he'll remember.”
+
+So Mary-'Gusta sailed away and for ten marvelous weeks daydreams came
+true and attic make-believes turned to realities. War had not yet come
+to sow its seed of steel and fire and reap its harvest of blood and
+death upon the fair valleys and hills of France, and the travelers
+journeyed leisurely from village to cathedral town and from the Seine
+to the Loire. They spent three weeks in Switzerland and two in Italy,
+returning for the final week to London where, under Miss Pease's expert
+guidance, Mary visited the shops, the big ones on Regent and Oxford
+Streets and the smaller, equally fascinating--and more expensive--ones
+on Bond Street and Piccadilly, buying presents and remembrances for the
+folks at home. And, at last, came the day when, leaning upon the rail,
+she saw the misty headlands of Ireland sink beneath the horizon and
+realized that her wonderful holiday was over and that she was homeward
+bound.
+
+The voyage was rather rough and stormy, as westerly voyages are likely
+to be, but the ship was comfortable and speedy and they made good
+time. Mary spent but one day in Boston and, on the morning of the next,
+started for South Harniss. She had one week before school opened and
+that week was to be spent with her uncles; no one else, she vowed,
+should have a minute of it.
+
+Great were the rejoicings in the white house by the shore that day, and
+marvelous was the dinner Isaiah served in honor of the occasion. Mary
+was obliged to relate the story of her trip from start to finish, while
+three rapt listeners nodded and exclaimed in sympathy or broke in to
+ask questions. She had written faithfully, but, as Isaiah said, “writin'
+ain't tellin'.” So Mary told and her uncles and Mr. Chase listened and
+questioned. It was twelve o'clock that night before anyone thought of
+going to bed, and next morning at the breakfast table the questioning
+began all over again.
+
+“Mrs. Wyeth was down at the dock, I presume likely, to meet you when
+your ship made port?” queried Zoeth.
+
+“Yes, she was there,” replied Mary.
+
+“Anybody else? How about that young Smith feller? Wa'n't he there, too?”
+ asked Captain Shadrach with elaborate innocence.
+
+Mary colored just a little. She knew it was foolish; there was no reason
+in the world why she should be embarrassed, but she could not help it.
+
+“No, Uncle Shad,” she answered. “He wasn't there. He has not returned
+from the West yet, but he will be in Boston next week when the Medical
+College opens.”
+
+“Been havin' a good time out West there, has he?” inquired the Captain,
+still with studied unconcern.
+
+“Yes. At least he writes me that he has.” She looked from one to the
+other of her trio of listeners and then added: “I have some of his
+letters here with me. If you'd like to hear them I'll read them aloud.”
+
+“No, no, you needn't do that,” protested Shadrach hastily. But after
+another look at him Mary said, “I think I will,” and departed in search
+of the letters.
+
+Captain Shad, looking a trifle guilty, glanced at his partner.
+
+“She needn't read 'em unless she wants to, need she, Zoeth?” he said.
+“I--I didn't mean for her to do that.”
+
+Mr. Hamilton's face expressed doubt and disapproval.
+
+“Humph!” he said and that was all.
+
+Mary returned bearing the packet of letters, some of which she proceeded
+to read. Crawford had spent the summer either at his home in Carson
+City or in camping with his father in the Sierras, where he had shot and
+fished and apparently enjoyed himself hugely. The letters were frank
+and straightforward, full of fun and exuberance, the sort of letters
+a robust, clean-minded young fellow ought to write and sometimes does.
+They were not sentimental; even Isaiah, with what Captain Shadrach
+termed his “lovesick imagination,” would not have called them so.
+
+The partners and Mr. Chase listened with interest to the reading of the
+letters and expressed their approval. Shadrach's applause was loudest of
+all, but he seemed to find difficulty in meeting his niece's eye. Just
+before bedtime, after Zoeth and Isaiah had gone upstairs and he
+was locking up for the night, Mary, whom he supposed had gone also,
+reentered the dining-room and stood before him.
+
+“Uncle Shad,” she said severely, “come here a minute and sit down. I
+want to talk with you.”
+
+She led him to the big rocker. Then she took the little one beside it.
+
+“Now, look me in the face,” she commanded. “No,” not out of the
+window--here. Um . . . yes. I don't wonder you turn red. I should think
+you might be ashamed.”
+
+“I--I--what's that?” stammered Shadrach, turning redder than ever. “What
+do you mean? Turnin' red! Who's turnin' red?”
+
+“You are,” said the young lady, firmly, “and you know it. Now, look me
+straight in the eye. Uncle Shad Gould, don't you think it would have
+been more honorable, if you wished to know whether Crawford Smith and
+I corresponded, to have asked me instead of hinting? Don't you think it
+would?”
+
+“Hintin'? Why--why, Mary-'Gusta, what-what--?”
+
+His face was a study in expression. Mary bit her lip, but she managed to
+appear solemn.
+
+“Yes, hinting,” she said. “Instead of asking if Crawford and I had
+written each other you hinted. Well, now you know that we did write, and
+have heard his letters to me, have you any objection?”
+
+“Objection? No, no, course not. Why--I--I think 'twas a fine thing. I--I
+like to get letters; a heap better than I do to write 'em,” he added
+truthfully.
+
+“Then why?”
+
+“Well--well--I--I--”
+
+“And aren't you ashamed?” repeated Mary.
+
+“Why--why, yes, by the jumpin' fire, I am! There! I was ashamed when I
+done it.”
+
+“Then why did you do it?”
+
+“Well--well, you see, Mary-'Gusta, I just wanted to know. Your Uncle
+Zoeth and me have been actin' as your pilots for a consider'ble spell.
+Course you're gettin' big enough now to cruise on your own hook--that
+is, in reason, you understand--but--but--well, we've got so used to
+takin' an observation every noontime, seein' how you're layin' your
+course, you know, that it's hard to lose the habit. Not that Zoeth was
+in on this,” he added honestly. “He didn't do any of the hintin', as you
+call it. I imagine he'll preach my head off for doin' it, when he gets
+me alone.”
+
+“You deserve to have it preached off--or partly off, at any rate. Do you
+beg my pardon?”
+
+“Sartin sure. I'd beg it on my bended knees if 'twa'n't for the
+rheumatiz.”
+
+“And you won't hint any more?”
+
+“Nary a hint.”
+
+“That's right. If you want me to tell you anything, please ask. You must
+trust me, Uncle Shad. I shall always tell--when there is anything to
+tell.”
+
+“I know you will, Mary-'Gusta. I'm ashamed of my hintin'. God bless you,
+dearie. Now kiss me good night.”
+
+He kissed her and, holding her in his arms, looked fondly down into her
+eyes. And, as she returned his look, suddenly she blushed crimson and
+hid her face in his jacket. Then she broke away and with a good night
+ran from the room and up the stairs.
+
+Shadrach looked after her, sighed, and, after finishing his locking up,
+went upstairs himself. There was a light in his partner's room and he
+entered to find Mr. Hamilton sitting at the little table with several
+sheets of paper covered with figures spread out before him. The Captain
+was so busy with his own thoughts that, for the moment, he did not
+notice the papers.
+
+“Zoeth,” he said, “our Mary-'Gusta's changed into a grown-up woman. Even
+this last summer has changed her. She don't look any older, and she's
+prettier than ever, but she thinks different, and I have a notion that,
+no matter how much we may want to, you and me ain't goin' to be able
+to keep her to ourselves as we--Eh?” suddenly becoming aware of his
+friend's occupation. “Are you still fussin' over those things? Didn't I
+tell you not to worry any more, but to turn in and sleep?”
+
+Zoeth shook his head. His usually placid, gentle face had lost some of
+its placidity. He looked worn and worried and the shadows thrown by
+the lamp deepened the lines in his forehead. He looked up over his
+spectacles.
+
+“Shadrach,” he said, “I can't help it. I try not to worry and I try to
+heave my burdens onto the Almighty, same as we're commanded, but I can't
+seem to heave the whole of 'em there. If things don't pick up pretty
+soon, I don't know--I don't know--and I don't dare think,” he added
+despairingly.
+
+The sheet of paper he was holding rattled as his hand shook. Captain
+Shad scowled.
+
+“If we didn't have our winter goods to buy,” he muttered. “Our credit's
+good, that's one comfort.”
+
+“It is up to now, because the Boston folks don't know. But WE know, or
+we're afraid we know, and that makes it worse. How can we go on buyin'
+from folks that has stood our friends ever since we went into business,
+knowin' as we do that--”
+
+His partner interrupted.
+
+“We don't know anything yet,” he declared. “Keep a stiff upper lip,
+Zoeth. Nine chances to one we'll weather it all right. WHAT a summer
+this has been! And when I think,” he added savagely, “of how well we got
+along afore those new stores came it makes me nigh crazy. I'll go out
+with a card of matches some night and burn 'em down. Damn pirates!
+Callin' themselves good Cape Cod names--names that don't belong to 'em!
+Baker's Bazaar! Ugh! Rheinstein's Robbers' Roost would be nigher the
+truth. . . . Say, Zoeth, we mustn't hint a word to Mary-'Gusta about
+this. We've got cash enough on hand to pay her clearance charges up
+there at school, ain't we?”
+
+“Yes, Shadrach, I've looked out for that. I don't know's I'd ought to.
+The money maybe had ought to go somewheres else, but--but right or wrong
+it's goin' for her and I hope the Lord'll forgive me. And what you say's
+true, she mustn't know we're worried. She's so conscientious she might
+be for givin' up her schoolin' and comin' down here to help us. She'd be
+just as liable to do it as not.”
+
+“You're right, she would. Good thing she thinks she's got money of her
+own and that that money is payin' her schoolin' bills. She'd be frettin'
+all the time about the expense if 'twa'n't for that. You and I must
+pretend everything's lovely and the goose hangin' high when she's
+around. And we mustn't let Isaiah drop any hints.”
+
+“No. Isaiah has asked me two or three times lately if the new stores
+was hurtin' our trade. I shouldn't wonder if he had some suspicions down
+inside him.”
+
+“Umph! Well, that's all right, so long as they stay inside. If I see
+signs of one of those suspicions risin' above his Adam's apple I'll
+choke 'em down again. I'll put a flea in Isaiah's ear, and I'll put
+mucilage on its feet so's 'twill stick there.”
+
+So although Mary did notice that the two new shops in the village seemed
+to be prospering and that business at Hamilton and Company's was
+not rushing even for September, the answers to her questions were so
+reassuring that her uneasiness was driven away. Her Uncle Zoeth evaded
+direct reply and Captain Shadrach prevaricated whole-heartedly and
+cheerfully. Even Isaiah declared that “everything and all hands was
+doin' fine.” But Mary made him promise that should it ever be otherwise
+than fine he would write her immediately. He gave the promise with some
+reluctance.
+
+“I cal'late if Cap'n Shad caught me tellin' tales out of school he'd go
+to work and turn to and bust me over the head with a marlinespike,” said
+Mr. Chase, with the air of one stating a fact.
+
+Mary laughed. “Oh, no, he wouldn't,” she declared. “I'll stand back of
+you, Isaiah. Now mind, you are to keep me posted on JUST how things are
+here.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Mary went back to Boston and to school, where old acquaintances were
+renewed and new ones made. The Misses Cabot welcomed her with fussy and
+dignified condescension. Barbara Howe hugged and kissed her and vowed
+she had not seen a girl all summer who was half so sweet.
+
+“Why in the world someone doesn't run off with you and marry you this
+very minute I cannot see,” declared the vivacious young lady. “If I were
+a man I should.”
+
+Mary, who was used to Miss Howe's outbursts, merely smiled.
+
+“Oh, no, you wouldn't,” she replied. “I should hope you would be more
+sensible. No one will run off with me; at least I wouldn't run off with
+them.”
+
+“Why not? Don't you think an elopement is perfectly splendid--so
+romantic and all that? Suppose you were head over heels in love with
+someone and his people were dead set against his marrying you, wouldn't
+you elope then?”
+
+“I think I shouldn't. I think I should try to find out why they were so
+opposed to me. Perhaps there might be some good reason. If there were no
+good reason, then--why, then--well, I don't know. But I should hesitate
+a long while before I came between a person and his family. It must be
+dreadful to do that.”
+
+Barbara laughed. “Nonsense!” she cried. “It's done every day in the best
+families, my dear. And then the reconciliation is all the sweeter. You
+just wait! Some of these days I expect to read: 'Elopement in South
+Harniss High Life. Beautiful Society Maiden Weds Famous Former
+Football--er--er--I want another F--Oh, yes, Famous Former Football
+Favorite.' Isn't that beautiful? Dear me, how you blush! Or is it
+sunburn? At any rate, it's very becoming.”
+
+The Famous Former Football Favorite called at Mrs. Wyeth's on the
+evening following that of Mary's return to Boston. He was as big and
+brown as ever and declared that he had had a wonderful vacation.
+
+“And you're looking awfully well, too,” he exclaimed, inspecting her
+from head to foot. “She is, isn't she, Mrs. Wyeth?”
+
+Mrs. Wyeth admitted that she thought so. Crawford nodded emphatically.
+
+“By George, you are!” he repeated.
+
+There was no doubt of his sincerity. In fact, the admiration in his
+voice and look was so obvious and unconcealed that Mary, although
+she could not help being pleased, was a little embarrassed. The
+embarrassment wore away, however, when he began to tell of his summer
+in the Sierras and to ask for additional particulars concerning her
+European trip. He stayed longer than usual that evening and came again
+a few evenings later--to show them some photographs he had taken in
+the mountains, so he said. And the following Sunday he dropped in to
+accompany them to church. And--but why particularize? Perhaps it will
+be sufficient to say that during that fall and winter the boy and girl
+friendship progressed as such friendships are likely to do. Miss Pease,
+the romantic, nodded and looked wise and even Mrs. Wyeth no longer
+resented her friend's looks and insinuations with the same indignant
+certainty of denial.
+
+“I don't know, Letitia,” she admitted. “I don't know. I'm beginning to
+think he cares for her and may be really serious about it. Whether or
+not she cares for him is quite another thing and I am sure I shan't
+presume to guess. If she does she keeps it to herself, as she does so
+many other things. She knows how to mind her own business and that is a
+gift possessed by few, Letitia Pease.”
+
+Mary went home for the Christmas vacation and spent the holidays, as
+she had spent those of the previous year, in helping her uncles at the
+store. The Christmas trade, although not so brisk as she had seen it,
+was not so bad as to alarm her, and the partners were optimistic as
+ever. Isaiah, who had been talked to like a Dutch uncle by Captain Shad
+and was consequently in deadly fear of the latter's wrath, declared
+that as far as he could see everything was all right. So Mary left South
+Harniss and returned to school and the duties of the winter term with
+few misgivings concerning matters at home. Crawford met her at the train
+and came to the Pinckney Street house that evening to hear the news from
+the Cape. It was surprising, the interest in Cape Cod matters manifested
+of late by that young man.
+
+On a day in early April, Mary, hurrying to Mrs. Wyeth's after school,
+found a letter awaiting her. She glanced at the postmark, which was
+South Harniss, and the handwriting, which was Isaiah's, and then laid it
+aside to be read later on at her leisure. After many postponements and
+with considerable reluctance she had accepted an invitation to dine with
+Barbara Howe at the latter's home in Brookline and this evening was the
+time appointed. It would be her first plunge into society--the home
+life of society, that is. The Howes were an old family, wealthy and
+well-connected, and Mary could not help feeling somewhat nervous at
+the ordeal before her. She knew something of the number and variety
+of expensive gowns possessed by her young hostess and her own limited
+wardrobe seemed doubly limited and plain by comparison. But she summoned
+her unfailing common sense to her rescue and found consolation in the
+fact that Barbara and her people knew she was, comparatively speaking,
+a poor girl, and therefore could hardly have invited her with the
+expectation of seeing her arrayed in fine clothes. And if they had done
+so--here was a bit of the old Mary-'Gusta philosophy--their opinion
+was not worth consideration anyhow, and the sooner they and she reached
+mutual disgust and parting the better.
+
+But although her best gown was not new nor expensive, and her jewels
+were conspicuous by their absence, the picture she made as she stood
+before the mirror giving the last touches to her hair was distinctly not
+an unpleasing one. Maggie, the maid, who entered the room to announce a
+caller, was extravagant in her praises.
+
+“Ah, sure, Miss, you look fine,” she declared. “You're that sweet one
+look at you would sugar a cup of tea. Ah, he'll be that proud of you and
+he ought to be, too. But he's a fine young man, and--”
+
+“Who? What are you talking about, Maggie?” interrupted Mary. “Who will
+be proud of me and who is a fine young fellow?”
+
+“Who? Why, Mr. Smith, of course; who else? He's down in the parlor
+waitin' for you now. I'll tell him you'll be down.”
+
+Before Mary could stop her she had left the room and was on her way
+downstairs. Mary followed a moment later. She had not expected a visit
+from Crawford, who had called already that week. She wondered why he had
+come.
+
+She found him in the parlor. Mrs. Wyeth was out shopping with Miss
+Pease, and he and she were alone. He rose to meet her as she entered.
+
+“Why, Crawford,” she said, “what is the matter? Has anything happened?
+Why do you look so serious?”
+
+He smiled ruefully. “I guess because I am rather serious,” he answered.
+“I've had some news and I came to tell you about it.” Then, noticing her
+gown, he added: “But you're going out, aren't you?”
+
+“I am going out by and by. I am going to dine and spend the evening with
+Barbara Howe. But I am not going yet. Won't you sit down?”
+
+“I will if you're sure you can spare the time. I hope you can,
+because--well, because I do want to talk to you. I've had bad news from
+home. My father is ill--and in the doctor's care.”
+
+“Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope it isn't serious.”
+
+“I don't know whether it is or not. It can't be desperately serious,
+because he wrote the letter himself. But at any rate it's serious enough
+for me. He wants me to give up my work here at the Harvard Medical and
+come West.”
+
+Mary gasped. “Give it up!” she repeated. “Give up your studies? Give up
+medicine? Surely he doesn't want you to do that!”
+
+Crawford shook his head. “No, not quite that,” he replied. “I wouldn't
+do that, even for him. But he writes that he is not well and is not
+likely to be better for a good while, if ever, and he would be very much
+happier if I were nearer at hand. He wants me to give up here at the
+Harvard Med. and take up my work again at Denver or Salt Lake City or
+somewhere out there. Even Chicago would seem much nearer, he says. It's
+a pitiful sort of letter. The old chap seems dreadfully down in the
+dumps. He wants me, that's plain enough, and he seems to think he needs
+me. Says if I were at Denver I could come home every little while,
+whereas here I can't. What ought I to do? I hate to say no, and I hate
+just as much to say yes.”
+
+Mary considered.
+
+“I think you must decide for yourself,” she said after a moment. “You
+have your career to consider, of course.”
+
+“Yes, I have. But, to be perfectly honest, I suppose my career would
+not be influenced greatly if I went. There are plenty of good medical
+colleges in the West. It is only that I am a Harvard man and I hoped to
+finish at the Harvard school, that is all. But I COULD go. What do you
+advise?”
+
+Again Mary took time for consideration. Her face now was as grave as
+his. At last she said, without raising her eyes: “I think you ought to
+go.”
+
+He groaned. “I was afraid you would say that,” he admitted. “And I
+suppose you are right.”
+
+“Yes, I think I am. If your father needs you and wants you, and if your
+career will not be influenced for harm, I--well, I think you should do
+as he wishes.”
+
+“And my own wishes shouldn't count, I suppose?”
+
+“Why, no, not in this case; not much, at any rate. Do you think they
+should?”
+
+“Perhaps not. But--but yours?”
+
+“Mine?”
+
+“Yes. Do YOU want me to go away?” He leaned forward in his chair and
+repeated earnestly: “Do you, Mary?”
+
+She looked at him and her eyes fell before the look in his. Her heart
+began to beat quickly and she glanced apprehensively toward the partly
+opened door. He rose and closed it. Then he came close to her.
+
+“Mary,” he said, earnestly, “do you know why this appeal of Dad's has
+hit me so very hard? Why it is going to be so mighty difficult to say
+yes and leave here? It isn't because I hate to give up Harvard. I do
+hate that, of course, but I'd do it in a minute for Dad. It isn't that.
+It's because I can't--I just can't think of leaving you. You have come
+to be--”
+
+She interrupted. “Please don't,” she begged. “Please!”
+
+He went on, unheeding:
+
+“You have come to mean about all there is in life for me,” he declared.
+“It isn't money or success or reputation I've been working and plugging
+for these last few months; it's just you. I didn't think so once--I used
+to think such things were just in books--but now I know. I love you,
+Mary.”
+
+Again she protested. “Oh, Crawford,” she begged, “please!”
+
+“No; you've got to hear me. It's true; I love you, and if you can care
+for me, I am going to marry you. Not now, of course; I've got my way to
+make first; but some day, if I live.”
+
+His teeth set in the determined fashion she had learned to know meant
+unswerving purpose. She looked up, saw the expression of his face, and
+for the instant forgot everything except her pride in him and her joy
+that she should have awakened such feelings. Then she remembered other
+things, things which she had spent many hours of many nights in debating
+and considering. As he bent toward her she evaded him and rose.
+
+“Don't, Crawford! Please!” she said again. “You mustn't say such things
+to me. It isn't right that you should.”
+
+He looked puzzled. “Why not?” he asked. “At any rate, right or wrong, I
+must say them, Mary. I've been holding them in for months and now I've
+just got to say them. I love you and I want to marry you. May I?”
+
+“Oh, no, Crawford! No! It is impossible.”
+
+“Impossible! Why? Is it--is it because you don't care for me? Don't you,
+Mary?”
+
+She did not answer.
+
+“Don't you?” he repeated. “Look at me! Can't you care, Mary?”
+
+She was silent. But when he took a step toward her she raised her hands
+in protest.
+
+“Please don't!” she pleaded. “No, you mustn't--we mustn't think--Oh, no,
+it is impossible!”
+
+“It isn't impossible. If you love me as I do you it is the only possible
+thing in the world. Listen, dear--”
+
+“Hush! I mustn't listen. Be sensible, Crawford! think! We are both so
+young. You are only beginning your studies. It will be years before you
+can--before you should consider marrying.”
+
+“But we can wait. I am willing to wait if you will only promise to wait
+for me. I'll work--HOW I'll work!--and--”
+
+“I know, but we both have others besides ourselves to consider. I have
+my uncles. They have done everything for me. And you have your father.
+Does he know--about me--about what you have just said to me?”
+
+And now Crawford hesitated. Not long, but long enough for Mary to know
+what the answer would be before it was spoken.
+
+“He doesn't know,” she said. “I thought not. Do you think he will
+approve?”
+
+“I hope he will. There is every reason why he should and absolutely none
+why he shouldn't. Of course he'll approve; he's sensible.”
+
+“Yes, but he may have plans of his own for you, and your marrying
+an Eastern girl may not be one of them. You have often told me how
+prejudiced he is against the East and Eastern people. He may disapprove
+strongly.”
+
+Crawford squared his shoulders. There was no hesitation or doubt in his
+next speech.
+
+“If he does it will make no difference,” he declared. “I care a whole
+lot for Dad and I'd do anything on earth for him--anything but the one
+thing, that is: I won't give you up--provided you care for me--for him
+or for anyone else. That's final.”
+
+He certainly looked as if it were. But Mary only shook her head. In the
+new thoughts and new imaginings which had come to her during the past
+winter there had been a vague foreshadowing of a possible situation
+somewhat like this. She had her answer ready.
+
+“Oh, no, it isn't,” she said. “You are his son, his only child,
+Crawford. He cares so much for you. You have often told me that,
+and--and I know he must. And you and he have been so happy together. Do
+you think I would be the cause of breaking that relationship?”
+
+He waved the question aside and asked one of his own.
+
+“Do you love me, Mary?” he asked.
+
+“You mustn't ask me, Crawford. Write your father. Tell him everything.
+Will you?”
+
+“Yes, I will. I should have done it, anyway. If I go home, and I suppose
+I must, I shall tell him; it will be better than writing. But I want
+your answer before I go. Won't you give it to me?”
+
+He looked very handsome and very manly, as he stood there pleading. But
+Mary had made up her mind.
+
+“I can't, Crawford,” she said. “Perhaps I don't know. I do know that it
+would not be right for me to say what you want me to say--now. Go home
+to your father; he needs you. Tell him everything and then--write me.”
+
+He looked at her, a long, long look. Then he nodded slowly.
+
+“All right,” he said; “I will. I will tell him that I mean to marry you.
+If he says yes--as he will, I'm sure--then I'll write you that. If he
+says no, I'll write you that. But in either case, Mary Lathrop, I shall
+marry you just the same. Your own no will be the only thing that can
+prevent it. And now may I come and see you tomorrow evening?”
+
+“Not tomorrow, Crawford. When will you start for home?”
+
+“Saturday, I think. May I come the day after tomorrow? Just to say
+good-by, you know.”
+
+Mary was troubled. She could not deny him and yet she was certain it
+would be better for them both if he did not come.
+
+“Perhaps,” she said doubtfully. “But only to say good-by. You must
+promise that.”
+
+There was a ring at the bell. Then Maggie, the maid, appeared to
+announce that the Howe motor car was waiting at the curb. A few moments
+later Mary was in her room adjusting her new hat before the mirror.
+Ordinarily, adjusting that hat would have been an absorbing and
+painstaking performance; just now it was done with scarcely a thought.
+How devoutly she wished that the Howe car and the Howe dinner were
+waiting for anyone in the wide world but her! She did not wish to meet
+strangers; she did not wish to go anywhere, above all she did not wish
+to eat. That evening, of all evenings in her life, she wished to be
+alone. However, accepted invitations are implied obligations and Mary,
+having adjusted the hat, gave her eyes a final dab with a handkerchief
+and cold water and hastened down to answer the call to social martyrdom.
+
+It was not excruciating torture, that dinner in the Howe dining-room,
+even to a young lady who had just listened to a proposal of marriage and
+desired to think of nothing less important. Mr. Howe was big and jolly.
+Mrs. Howe was gray-haired and gracious and Barbara was--Barbara. Also,
+there was a friend of Mr. Howe's, an elderly gentleman named Green, who
+it seemed was one of a firm of wholesale grocers downtown, and who
+told funny stories and, by way of proving that they were funny, laughed
+heartiest of all at the ending of each. He sat next Mrs. Howe during
+dinner, but later, when they were all in the handsome drawing-room, he
+came over and seated himself upon the sofa next Mary and entered into
+conversation with her.
+
+“You are not a born Bostonian, I understand, Miss Lathrop,” he observed.
+“An importation, eh? Ho, ho! Yes. Well, how do you like us?”
+
+Mary smiled. “Oh, I like Boston very much, Mr. Green,” she answered. “I
+know it better than any other American city, perhaps that is why. It was
+the only city I had ever seen until quite recently. I am imported--as
+you call it--from not so far away. My home is on Cape Cod.”
+
+Mr. Green regarded her with interest.
+
+“So?” he said. “From Cape Cod, eh? That's rather peculiar. I have been
+very much interested in the Cape for the past day or so. Something has
+occurred in connection with my business which brought the Cape to mind.
+My attention has been--er--as you may say, gripped by the strong right
+arm of Massachusetts. Eh? Ho, ho!”
+
+He chuckled at his own joke. Mary was rather bored, but she tried not to
+show it.
+
+“What part of the Cape has interested you, Mr. Green?” she inquired for
+the sake of saying something.
+
+“Eh? Oh--er--South Harniss. Little town down near the elbow. Do you know
+it?”
+
+Mary was surprised, of course. The answer which was on the tip of her
+tongue was naturally, “Why, yes, I live there.” But she did not make
+that answer, although she has often wondered, since, why. What she said
+was: “Yes, I know South Harniss.”
+
+“Do you, indeed?” went on Green. “Well, I don't, but I have known some
+people who live there for ever so long. My father knew them before me.
+They were customers of his and they have been buying of our firm for
+years. Two old chaps who keep what I believe they would call a 'general
+store.' Fine old fellows, both of them! Different as can be, and
+characters, but pure gold inside. I have had some bad news concerning
+them. They're in trouble and I'm mighty sorry.”
+
+Mary was bored no longer. She leaned forward and asked breathlessly:
+
+“What are their names, Mr. Green?”
+
+“Eh? Oh, the firm name is Hamilton and Company. That is simple and sane
+enough, but the names of the partners were cribbed from the book of
+Leviticus, I should imagine--Zoeth and Shadrach! Ho, ho! Think of it!
+Think of wishing a name like Shadrach upon a helpless infant. The S. P.
+C. A. or C. C. or something ought to be told of it. Ho, ho!”
+
+He laughed aloud. Mary did not laugh.
+
+“They--you said they were in trouble,” she said slowly. “What sort of
+trouble?”
+
+“Eh? Oh, the usual kind. The kind of goblin, young lady, which is likely
+to get us business men if we don't watch out--financial trouble. The
+firm of Hamilton and Company has not kept abreast of the times, that's
+all. For years they did a good business and then some new competitors
+with up-to-date ideas came to town and--puff!--good-by to the old
+fogies. They are in a bad way, I'm afraid, and will have to go under,
+unless--eh? But there! you aren't particularly interested, I dare say.
+It was your mention of Cape Cod which set me going.”
+
+“Oh, but I am interested; I am, really. They must go under, you say?
+Fail, do you mean?”
+
+“Yes, that is what I mean. I am very sorry. Our firm would go on
+selling them goods almost indefinitely for, as I have said, they are old
+customers and in a way old friends. But they are absolutely honest and
+they will not buy what they cannot pay for. We have some pitiful letters
+from them--not whining, you know, but straightforward and frank. They
+don't ask favors, but tell us just where they stand and leave it to us
+to refuse credit if we see fit. It is just one of the little tragedies
+of life, Miss Lathrop, but I'm mighty sorry for those two old friends of
+my father's and mine. And the worst of it is that, from inquiries I
+have made, it would seem that they have been sacrificing themselves by
+spending their money lavishly and uselessly on someone else. They have a
+girl in the family, a sort of adopted niece, whatever that is, and, not
+content with bringing her up like a sensible, respectable country girl,
+they must dress her like a millionaire's daughter and send her off to
+some extravagantly expensive seminary where--Why, what is the matter?
+Eh? Good heavens! What have I been saying? You don't know these people,
+do you?”
+
+Mary turned a very white face toward his.
+
+“They are my uncles,” she said. “My home is at South Harniss. Please
+excuse me, Mr. Green.”
+
+She rose and walked away. A few minutes later, when Mr. Howe approached
+the sofa, he found his friend sitting thereon, staring at nothing in
+particular and fervently repeating under his breath, “The devil! The
+devil! The devil!”
+
+Mary got away as soon as she could. Her looks attracted Barbara's
+attention and the young lady asked if she were not feeling well. Mary
+replied that she was not, and although it was not serious please might
+she be permitted to go home at once? She was sent home in the automobile
+and when she reached her own room her first act was to find and open
+Isaiah's letter which had arrived that afternoon. With trembling fingers
+she held it beneath the gas jet and this is what she read:
+
+
+DEAR MARY AUGUSTA:
+
+I had not ought to write you this and your Uncles would pretty nigh kill
+me if they knew I done so but I am going to just the same. Busines has
+gone to rack and ruin. Hamilton & Co. thanks to those and other darned
+stores, ain't making enough to keep boddy and soul together and they are
+making themselves sick over it. I don't know what will become of them to
+if something or someboddy does not think up some way to help them over
+the shoals. They do not tell anyone and least of all they wouldent want
+you to be told, but I think you ought to be. They have done a whole lot
+for you. Can't you think up some way to do something for them. For god
+Sakes write right off.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+ISAIAH CHASE.
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+People grow older, even on the Cape, where hurry--except by the
+automobiles of summer residents--is not considered good form and where
+Father Time is supposed to sit down to rest. Judge Baxter, Ostable's
+leading attorney-at-law, had lived quietly and comfortably during the
+years which had passed since, as Marcellus Hall's lawyer, he read the
+astonishing letter to the partners of Hamilton and Company. He was over
+seventy now, and behind his back Ostable folks referred to him as “old
+Judge Baxter”; but although his spectacles were stronger than at that
+time, his mental faculties were not perceptibly weaker, and he walked
+with as firm, if not so rapid, a stride. So when, at eleven in the
+forenoon of the day following Mary's dinner at the Howes' home, the
+Judge heard someone enter the outer room of his offices near the Ostable
+courthouse, he rose from his chair in the inner room and, without
+waiting for his clerk to announce the visitor, opened the door himself.
+
+The caller whose question the clerk was about to answer, or would
+probably have answered as soon as he finished staring in awestruck
+admiration, was a young lady. The Judge looked at her over his
+spectacles and then through them and decided that she was a stranger. He
+stepped forward.
+
+“I am Judge Baxter,” he said. “Did you wish to see me?”
+
+She turned toward him. “Yes,” she said simply. “I should like to talk
+with you for a few moments if you are not too busy.”
+
+The Judge hesitated momentarily. Only the week before a persistent and
+fluent young female had talked him into the purchase of a set of
+“Lives of the Great Jurists,” the same to be paid for in thirty-five
+installments of two dollars each. Mrs. Baxter had pronounced the “Great
+Jurists” great humbugs, and her husband, although he pretended to find
+the “Lives” very interesting, was secretly inclined to agree with her.
+So he hesitated. The young woman, evidently noticing his hesitation,
+added:
+
+“If you are engaged just now I shall wait. I came to see you on a matter
+of business, legal business.”
+
+Judge Baxter tried to look as if no thought of his visitor's having
+another purpose had entered his mind.
+
+“Oh, yes, certainly! Of course!” he said hastily, and added: “Will you
+walk in?”
+
+She walked in--to the private office, that is--and the Judge, following
+her, closed the door. His clerk stared wistfully at his own side of that
+door for a full minute, then sighed heavily and resumed his work, which
+was copying a list of household effects belonging to a late lamented who
+had willed them, separately and individually, to goodness knew how many
+cousins, first, second, and third.
+
+In the private office the Judge asked his visitor to be seated. She took
+the chair he brought forward. Then she said:
+
+“You don't remember me, I think, Judge Baxter. I am Mary Lathrop.”
+
+The Judge looked puzzled. The name sounded familiar, but he could not
+seem to identify its owner.
+
+“Perhaps you would remember me if I told you my whole name,” suggested
+the latter. “I am Mary Augusta Lathrop. I think perhaps you used to call
+me Mary-'Gusta; most people did.”
+
+Then the Judge remembered. His astonishment was great.
+
+“Mary-'Gusta Lathrop!” he repeated. “Mary-'Gusta! Are you--? Why, it
+scarcely seems possible! And yet, now that I look, I can see that it is.
+Bless my soul and body! How do you do? It must be almost--er--seven or
+eight years since I have seen you. South Harniss is only a few miles
+off, but I am getting--er--older and I don't drive as much as I used to.
+But there! I am very glad to see you now. And how are Captain Gould and
+Mr. Hamilton? There is no need to ask how you are. Your looks are the
+best answer to that.”
+
+Mary thanked him and said she was very well. Her uncles, too, were well,
+she added, or they were when she last heard.
+
+“I am on my way home to them now,” she added. “For the past two years I
+have been at school in Boston. I left there this morning and got off
+the train here because I wished very much to see you, Judge Baxter.
+Yesterday--last evening--I heard something--I was told something which,
+if it is true, is--is--”
+
+She bit her lip. She was evidently fighting desperately not to lose
+self-control. The Judge was surprised and disturbed.
+
+“Why, Mary!” he exclaimed. “I suppose I may call you Mary still; as an
+old friend I hope I may. What is the matter? What did you hear? What do
+you wish to see me about?”
+
+She was calm enough now, but her earnestness was unmistakable.
+
+“I heard something concerning myself and my uncles which surprised and
+shocked me dreadfully,” she said. “I can hardly believe it, but I must
+know whether it is true or not. I must know at once! You can tell me
+the truth, Judge Baxter, if you only will. That is why I came here this
+morning. Will you tell it to me? Will you promise that you will answer
+my questions, every one, with the exact truth and nothing else? And
+answer them all? Will you promise that?”
+
+The Judge looked even more surprised and puzzled. He rubbed his chin and
+smiled doubtfully.
+
+“Well, Mary,” he said, “I think I can promise that if I answer your
+questions at all I shall answer them truthfully. But I scarcely like
+to promise to answer them without knowing what they are. A lawyer has a
+good many secrets intrusted to him and he is obliged to be careful.”
+
+“I know. But this is a secret in which I am interested. I am interested
+in it more than anyone else. I must know the truth about it! I MUST! If
+you won't tell me I shall find out somehow. WILL you tell?”
+
+Judge Baxter rubbed his chin again.
+
+“Don't you think you had better ask your questions?” he suggested.
+
+“Yes; yes, I do. I will. How much money did my stepfather, Captain
+Marcellus Hall, have when he died?”
+
+The Judge's chin-rubbing ceased. His eyebrows drew together.
+
+“Why do you want to know?” he asked, after a moment.
+
+“Because I do. Because it is very important that I should. It is my
+right to know. Was he a rich man?”
+
+“Um--er--no. I should not call him that. Hardly a rich man.”
+
+“Was he very poor?”
+
+“Mary, I don't exactly see why--”
+
+“I do. Oh, Judge Baxter, please don't think I am asking this for any
+selfish reasons. I am not, indeed I'm not! All my life, ever since I was
+old enough to think of such things at all, I have supposed--I have been
+led to believe that my stepfather left me plenty of money--money enough
+to pay my uncles for taking care of me, for my clothes and board, and
+now, during these last two years, for my studies in Boston. I never,
+never should have consented to go to that school if I hadn't supposed I
+was paying the expenses myself. I knew my uncles were not well-to-do; I
+knew they could not afford to--to do what they had already done for me,
+even before that. And now--last night--I was told that--that they were
+in great financial trouble, that they would probably be obliged to fail
+in business, and all because they had been spending their money on me,
+sacrificing themselves and their comfort and happiness in order that
+'an adopted niece with extravagant ideas' might be educated above her
+station; that is the way the gentleman who told me the story put it. Of
+course he didn't know he was talking to the niece,” she added, with a
+pathetic little smile; “but, oh, Judge, can't you see now why I must
+know the truth--all of the truth?”
+
+Her fingers clasped and unclasped in her lap. The Judge laid his own
+hand upon them.
+
+“There, there, my dear,” he said soothingly. “Tut, tut, tut! What's all
+this about your uncles failing in business? That isn't possible, is it?
+Tell me the whole thing, just as it was told to you.”
+
+So Mary told it, concluding by exhibiting Isaiah Chase's letter.
+
+“It must be very bad, you see,” she said. “Isaiah never would have
+written if it had not been. It is hard enough to think that while I was
+enjoying myself in Europe and at school they were in such trouble and
+keeping it all to themselves. That is hard enough, when I know how
+they must have needed me. But if it should be true that it is
+their money--money they could not possibly spare--that I have been
+spending--wasting there in Boston, I--I--Please tell me, Judge Baxter!
+Have I any money of my own? Please tell me.”
+
+The Judge rose and walked up and down the floor, his brows drawn
+together and his right hand slapping his leg at each turn. After seven
+or eight of these turns he sat down again and faced his caller.
+
+“Mary,” he said, “suppose this story about your uncles' financial and
+business troubles should be true, what will you do?”
+
+Mary met his look bravely. Her eyes were moist, but there was no
+hesitation in her reply.
+
+“I shall stay at home and help them in any way I can,” she said. “There
+will be no more Boston and no more school for me. They need me there at
+home and I am going home--to stay.”
+
+“Whether it is your money or theirs which has paid for your education?”
+
+“Certainly. Of course I never should have gone away at all if I had
+not supposed my own money were paying the expenses. Judge, you haven't
+answered my question--and yet I think--I am afraid that you have
+answered it. It was their money that paid, wasn't it?”
+
+Judge Baxter was silent for a moment, as if in final deliberation. Then
+he nodded, solemnly.
+
+“Yes, Mary,” he said, “it was their money. In fact, it has been their
+money which has paid for most things in your life. Shadrach Gould and
+Zoeth Hamilton aren't, maybe, the best business men in the world, but
+they come pretty near to being the best MEN, in business or out of
+it, that I have met during seventy odd years on this planet. I think,
+perhaps, it will be well for you to know just how good they have been to
+you. Now, listen!”
+
+He began at the beginning, at the day of Marcellus Hall's funeral,
+when he read the letter to Shadrach and Zoeth, the letter intrusting
+Mary-'Gusta to their care. He told of Marcellus's unfortunate
+investments, of the loss of the latter's fortune, and how, when the
+estate was settled, there were but a few hundreds where it was expected
+there might be a good many thousands.
+
+“Don't make any mistake, Mary,” he said earnestly. “Your uncles knew
+there was little or no money when they decided to take you. They took
+you simply for yourself, because they cared so much for you, not because
+they were to make a cent from the guardianship. Everything you have
+had for the past two years their money has paid for and you may be
+absolutely certain they never have grudged a penny of it. The last time
+I saw Captain Gould he was glorying in having the smartest and best girl
+in Ostable County. And Mr. Hamilton--”
+
+She interrupted him. “Don't, please!” she said chokingly. “Please don't
+tell me any more just now. I--I want to think.”
+
+“There isn't any more to tell,” he said gently. “I am going into the
+next room. I shall be back in a few minutes. Then, if you care to, we
+can talk a little more.”
+
+When he returned she had risen and was standing by the window looking
+out into the back yard. She was calm and even smiled a little as he
+entered, although the smile was a rather pitiful one. Of the two the
+Judge looked the more perturbed.
+
+“Whew!” he exclaimed, after carefully closing the door behind him. “I've
+been doing a little thinking my self, young lady, since I left you here.
+I've been thinking that I had better take a trip to Canada or China or
+somewhere and start in a hurry, too. When your uncles find out that I
+told you this thing they have succeeded in keeping from you all this
+time--well, it will be high time for me to be somewhere else.” He
+laughed and then added gravely: “But I still think I was right in
+telling you. Under the circumstances it seems to me that you should
+know.”
+
+“Of course I should. If you had not told me I should have found it out,
+now that my suspicions were aroused. Thank you, Judge Baxter. Now I must
+go.”
+
+“Go? Go where?”
+
+“Home--to South Harniss.”
+
+“Nonsense! You're not going to South Harniss yet awhile. You're going to
+have dinner with my wife and me.”
+
+“Thank you. I can't. I must go at once. By the next train.”
+
+“There isn't any train until nearly four o'clock.” Then, noticing her
+look of disappointment, he went on to say: “But that shan't make any
+difference. I'll send you over in my nephew's automobile. I'm not
+sufficiently up-to-date to own one of the cussed--excuse me things, but
+he does and I borrow it occasionally. I don't drive it; good heavens,
+no! But his man shall drive you over and I'll guarantee you beat the
+train. If you don't, it won't be because you go too slow. Now, of
+course, you'll stay to dinner.”
+
+But Mary shook her head. “You're very kind, Judge,” she said, “and I
+thank you very much, but--”
+
+“Well, but what?”
+
+“But I--I can't. I--I--Oh, don't you see? I couldn't eat, or even try
+to--now. I want to get home--to them.”
+
+“And so you shall, my dear. And in double-quick time, too. Here, Jesse,”
+ opening the door to the outer office and addressing the clerk, “you
+step over and tell Samuel that I want to borrow his car and Jim for two
+hours. Tell him I want them now. And if his car is busy go to Cahoon's
+garage and hire one with a driver. Hurry!”
+
+“And now, Mary,” turning to her, “can you tell me any more about your
+plans, provided you have had time to make any? If this story about your
+uncles' business troubles is true, what do you intend doing? Or don't
+you know?”
+
+Mary replied that her plans were very indefinite, as yet.
+
+“I have some ideas,” she said; “some that I had thought I might use
+after I had finished school and come back to the store. They may not
+be worth much; they were schemes for building up the business there and
+adding some other sorts of business to it. The first thing I shall do is
+to see how bad the situation really is.”
+
+“I hope it isn't bad. Poor Zoeth certainly has had trouble enough in his
+life.”
+
+There was a significance in his tone which Mary plainly did not
+understand.
+
+“What trouble do you mean?” she asked.
+
+The Judge looked at her, coughed, and then said hastily: “Oh, nothing in
+particular; every one of us has troubles, I suppose. But, Mary, if--if
+you find that the story is true and--ahem--a little money might help
+to--er--tide the firm over--why, I--I think perhaps that it might
+be--ahem--arranged so that--”
+
+He seemed to be having difficulty in finishing the sentence. Mary did
+not wait to hear the end.
+
+“Thank you, Judge,” she said quickly. “Thank you, but I am hoping it may
+not be so bad as that. I am going back there, you know, and--well, as
+Uncle Shadrach would say, we may save the ship yet. At any rate, we
+won't call for help until the last minute.”
+
+Judge Baxter regarded her with admiration.
+
+“Shadrach and Zoeth are rich in one respect,” he declared; “they've got
+you. But it is a wicked shame that you must give up your school and your
+opportunities to--”
+
+She held up her hand.
+
+“Please don't!” she begged. “If you knew how glad I am to be able to do
+something, if it is only to give up!”
+
+The car and Jim were at the door a few minutes later and Mary, having
+said good-by to the Judge and promised faithfully to keep him posted as
+to events at home, climbed into the tonneau and was whizzed away. Jim,
+the driver, after a few attempts at conversation, mainly concerning the
+“unseasonableness” of the weather, finding responses few and absently
+given, relapsed into silence. Silence was what Mary desired, silence and
+speed, and Jim obliged with the latter.
+
+Over the road by which, a dozen years before, she had driven in the old
+buggy she now rode again. Then, as now, she wondered what she should
+find at her journey's end. Here, however, the resemblance ceased,
+for whereas then she looked forward, with a child's anticipations, to
+nothing more definite than new sights and new and excitingly delightful
+adventures, now she saw ahead--what? Great care and anxiety and
+trouble certainly, these at the best; and at the worst, failure
+and disappointment and heartbreak. And behind her she was leaving
+opportunity and the pleasant school life and friends, leaving them
+forever.
+
+She was leaving Crawford, too, leaving him without a word of
+explanation. She had had no time to write even a note. Mrs. Wyeth, after
+protesting vainly against her guest's decision to leave for the Cape by
+the earliest train in the morning, had helped to pack a few essential
+belongings; the others she was to pack and send later on, when she
+received word to do so. The three, Mrs. Wyeth, Miss Pease, and Mary, had
+talked and argued and planned until almost daylight. Then followed an
+hour or two of uneasy sleep, a hurried breakfast, and the rush to the
+train. Mary had not written Crawford; the shock of what she had been
+told at the Howes' and her great anxiety to see Judge Baxter and learn
+if what she had heard was true had driven even her own love story from
+her mind. Now she remembered that she had given him permission to call,
+not this evening but the next, to say good-by before leaving for the
+West. He would be disappointed, poor fellow. Well, she must not think of
+that. She must not permit herself to think of anyone but her uncles or
+of anything except the great debt of love and gratitude she owed them
+and of the sacrifice they had made for her. She could repay a little of
+that sacrifice now; at least she could try. She would think of that and
+of nothing else.
+
+And then she wondered what Crawford would think or say when he found she
+had gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+The main street of South Harniss looked natural enough as the motor car
+buzzed along it. It was but a few months since Mary had been there,
+yet it seemed ever so much more. She felt so much older than on those
+Christmas holidays. When the store of Hamilton and Company came in sight
+she sank down on the back seat in order not to be seen. She knew her
+uncles were, in all probability, there at the store, and she wished to
+see Isaiah and talk with him before meeting them.
+
+Isaiah was in the kitchen by the cookstove when she opened the door. He
+turned, saw her, and stood petrified. Mary entered and closed the door
+behind her. By that time Mr. Chase had recovered sufficiently from his
+ossification to speak.
+
+“Eh--eh--by time!” he gasped. “I snum if it ain't you!”
+
+Mary nodded. “Isaiah,” she asked quickly, “are you alone? Are my uncles,
+both of them, at the store?”
+
+But the cook and steward had not yet completely got over the effect of
+the surprise. He still stared at her.
+
+“It IS you, ain't it!” he stammered. “I--I--by time, I do believe you've
+come home, same as I asked you to.”
+
+“Of course I've come home. How in the world could I be here if I
+hadn't? DON'T stare at me like that, with your mouth open like a--like a
+codfish. Tell me, are Uncle Shad and Uncle Zoeth at the store?”
+
+“Eh--Yes, I cal'late they be. Ain't neither of 'em come home to dinner
+yet. I'm expectin' one of 'em 'most any minute. I'll run up and fetch
+'em. Say! How in the nation did you get here this time of day?”
+
+“I shall tell you by and by. No, I don't want you to get my uncles. I
+want to talk with you alone first. Now, Isaiah, sit down! Sit down
+in that chair. I want you to tell me just how bad things are. Tell me
+everything, all you know about it, and don't try to make the situation
+better than it is. And please HURRY!”
+
+Isaiah, bewildered but obedient, sat down. The command to hurry had the
+effect of making him so nervous that, although he talked enough to have
+described the most complicated situation, his ideas were badly snarled
+and Mary had to keep interrupting in order to untangle them. And, after
+all, what he had to tell was not very definite. Business was bad at the
+store; that was plain to everyone in town. “All hands” were trading
+at the new stores where prices were lower, stocks bigger and more
+up-to-date, and selling methods far, far in advance of those of Hamilton
+and Company.
+
+“About the only customers that stick by us,” declared Isaiah, “are folks
+like 'Rastus Young and the rest of the deadbeats. THEY wouldn't leave us
+for nothin'--and nothin's what they pay, too, drat 'em!”
+
+The partners had not told him of their troubles, but telling was not
+necessary. He had seen and heard enough.
+
+“They are right on the ragged edge of goin' on the rocks,” vowed Isaiah.
+“Zoeth, he's that thin and peaked 'twould make a sick pullet look fleshy
+alongside of him. And Cap'n Shad goes around with his hands rammed down
+in his beckets--”
+
+“In his what?”
+
+“In his britches pockets, and he don't scurcely speak a word for hours
+at a stretch. And they're up all times of the night, fussin' over
+account books and writin' letters and I don't know what all. It's plain
+enough what's comin'. Everybody in town is on to it. Why, I was up to
+the store t'other day settin' outside on the steps and Ab Bacheldor came
+along. He hates Cap'n Shad worse'n pizen, you know. 'Hello, Isaiah!' he
+says to me, he says. 'Is that you?' he says. 'Course it's me,' says I.
+Who'd you think 'twas?' 'I didn't know but it might be the sheriff,'
+he says. 'I understand he's settin' round nowadays just a-waitin'.' And
+Zoeth was right within hearin', too!”
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed Mary indignantly.
+
+“Yup, that's what he said,” went on Isaiah. “But I got in one dig on my
+own hook. 'The sheriff don't wait much down to your house, Abner, does
+he?' says I. 'You bet he don't,' says he; 'he don't have to.' 'Well,
+he'd starve to death if he waited there long,' says I. Ho, ho! His
+wife's the stingiest woman about her cookin' that there is on the Cape.
+Why, one time she took a notion she'd keep boarders and Henry Ryder,
+that drives the fruit cart, he started to board there. But he only
+stayed two days. The fust day they had biled eggs and the next day
+they had soup made out of the shells. Course that probably ain't
+true--Henry's an awful liar--but all the same--”
+
+“Never mind Henry Ryder, or Abner Bacheldor, either,” interrupted Mary.
+“How did you happen to send for me, Isaiah?”
+
+“Eh? Oh, that just came of itself, as you might say. I kept gettin' more
+and more tittered up and worried as I see how things was goin' and I
+kept wishin' you was here, if 'twas only to have somebody to talk it
+over with. But I didn't dast to write and when you was home Christmas I
+never dast to say nothin' because Cap'n Shad had vowed he'd butcher me
+if I told tales to you about any home troubles. That's it, you see! All
+through this their main idea has been not to trouble you. 'She mustn't
+know anything or she'll worry,' says Zoeth, and Cap'n Shad he says,
+'That's so.' They think an awful sight of you, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+Mary did not trust herself to look up.
+
+“I know,” she said. “Go on, Isaiah.”
+
+“Well, I kept thinkin' and thinkin' and one day last week Ezra Hopkins,
+that's the butcher cart feller, he and me was talkin' and he says:
+'Trade ain't very brisk up to the store, is it?' he says. 'Everybody
+says 'tain't.' 'Then if everybody knows so much what d'ye ask me for?'
+says I. 'Oh, don't get mad,' says he. 'But I tell you this, Isaiah,'
+he says, 'if Mary-'Gusta Lathrop hadn't gone away to that fool Boston
+school things would have been different with Hamilton and Company. She's
+a smart girl and a smart business woman. I believe she'd have saved the
+old fellers,' he says. 'She was up-to-date and she had the know-how,'
+says he. Well, I kept thinkin' what he said and--and--well, I wrote. For
+the land sakes don't tell Shad nor Zoeth that I wrote, but I'm glad I
+done it. I don't know's you can do anything, I don't know's anybody can,
+but I'm mighty glad you're here, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+Mary sighed. “I'm glad I am here, too, Isaiah,” she agreed, “although I,
+too, don't know that I can do anything. But,” she added solemnly, “I
+am going to try very hard. Now we mustn't let Uncle Shad or Uncle Zoeth
+know that I have heard about their trouble. We must let them think I am
+at home for an extra holiday. Then I shall be able to look things over
+and perhaps plan a little. When I am ready to tell what I mean to do I
+can tell the rest. . . . Sshh! Here comes one of them now. It's Uncle
+Zoeth. Look happy, Isaiah! HAPPY--not as if you were choking to death!
+Well, Uncle Zoeth, aren't you surprised to see me?”
+
+Surprised he certainly was; at first, like Isaiah, he could scarcely
+believe she was really there. Then, naturally, he wished to know WHY
+she was there. She dodged the questions as best she could and Zoeth,
+innocent and truthful as always, accepted without a suspicion her vague
+explanation concerning an opportunity to run down and see them for a
+little while. Dinner was put on the table and then Isaiah hastened up to
+relieve Shadrach at the store in order that the partners and Mary might
+eat together.
+
+The Captain arrived a few minutes later, red-faced, vociferous, and
+joyful.
+
+“Well,” he shouted, throwing his arms about her and kissing her with a
+smack which might have been heard in Abner Bacheldor's yard, “if THIS
+ain't a surprise! Zoeth said this mornin' he felt as if somethin' was
+goin' to happen, and then Isaiah upset the tea kittle all over both my
+feet and I said I felt as if it HAD happened. But it hadn't, had it!
+Well, if it ain't good to look at you, Mary-'Gusta! How'd you happen to
+come this time of year? Has the schoolhouse foundered?”
+
+Mary repeated the excuse she had given Mr. Hamilton. It was sufficient.
+The partners were too happy at having her with them to be overcurious
+concerning her reasons for coming. Captain Shad talked and joked and
+laughed and Zoeth nodded and smiled in his quiet way. If Mary had not
+known their secret she would not have guessed it but, as it was, she
+noticed how pale and worn Mr. Hamilton looked and how the Captain had
+become prone to fits of unwonted silence from which he seemed to arouse
+himself with an effort and, after a glance at her, to talk and laugh
+louder than ever, Once she ventured to ask how business was and it would
+have been almost funny if it had not been so pathetic, the haste with
+which they both assured her that it was about the same.
+
+After dinner she announced her intention of going up to the store. Her
+uncles exchanged looks and then Zoeth said:
+
+“What makes you do that, Mary-'Gusta? Nice day like this I'd be out of
+door if I was you. We don't need you at the store, do we, Shadrach?”
+
+“Not more'n a fish needs a bathin' suit,” declared the Captain,
+with conviction. “You go see some of the girls and have a good time,
+Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+But Mary declined to go and see any of the girls. She could have a
+better time at the store than anywhere else, she said. She went to the
+store and spent the afternoon and evening there, watching and listening.
+There was not much to watch, not more than a dozen customers during
+the entire time, and those bought but little. The hardest part of the
+experience for her was to see how eager her uncles were to please
+each caller and how anxiously each watched the other's efforts and the
+result. To see Zoeth at the desk poring over the ledger, his lips moving
+and the pencil trembling in his fingers, was as bad as, but no worse
+than, to see Captain Shadrach, a frown on his face and his hands in his
+pockets, pace the floor from the back door to the front window, stop,
+look up the road, draw a long breath that was almost a groan, then turn
+and stride back again.
+
+At six o'clock Mary, who had reasons of her own for wishing to be left
+alone in the store, suggested that she remain there while her uncles
+went home for supper. Neither Mr. Hamilton nor the Captain would
+consent, so she was obliged to go to the house herself and send Isaiah
+up once more to act as shopkeeper. But at eleven that night, after
+unmistakable sounds from their rooms were furnishing proofs that both
+partners of Hamilton and Company were asleep, she tiptoed downstairs,
+put on her coat and hat, took the store keys from the nail where Zoeth
+always hung them, and went out. She did not return until almost three.
+
+The next day she spent, for the most part, at the store. She wrote
+several letters and, in spite of her uncles' protests, waited upon
+several customers. That evening, as she sat behind the counter thinking,
+a boy whom Captain Shadrach identified as Zenas Atkins' young-one rushed
+breathlessly into the store to announce between gasps that “Mary-'Gusta
+Lathrop's wanted on the phone. It's long distance, too, and--and--you've
+got to scrabble 'cause they're holdin' the wire.” Mary hurried out and
+to the telephone office. She had not answered Shadrach's question as
+to who she thought was calling. She did not know, of course, but she
+suspected, and for a cool-headed young business woman, a girl who had
+ruthlessly driven all thoughts except those of business from her mind,
+her heart beat surprisingly fast as she entered the closet which acted
+as a substitute for a telephone booth, and took down the receiver. Yet
+her tone was calm enough as she uttered the stereotyped “Hello.”
+
+The wire hummed and sang, fragments of distant conversation became
+audible and were lost, and then a voice, the voice which she was
+expecting but, in a way, dreading to hear, asked: “Hello! Is this Miss
+Lathrop?”
+
+“Yes, Crawford.”
+
+“Mary, is that you?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I have just called at Mrs. Wyeth's and learned that you had gone. I
+am awfully disappointed. I leave for home tomorrow and I had counted on
+seeing you before I went. Why did you go without a word to me?”
+
+“Didn't Mrs. Wyeth tell you?”
+
+“She told me a good deal, but I want to know more. Is it true--that
+about your uncles?”
+
+“I am afraid it is.”
+
+“Great Scott, that's too bad! I am mighty sorry to hear it. Look here,
+isn't there something I can do? Do they need--”
+
+“Sshh! we mustn't talk about it over the phone. No, there is nothing you
+can do. I have some plans partially worked out; something may come of
+them. Please don't ask more particulars now.”
+
+“All right, I understand; I won't. But mayn't I come down and see you?
+I can start West the day after tomorrow just as well and that would give
+me time--”
+
+“No, Crawford, no. You mustn't come.”
+
+“I've a good mind to, whether or no.”
+
+“If you do I shall not see you--then or at any other time. But you
+won't, will you?”
+
+“No, Mary, I won't. It's mighty hard, though.”
+
+Perhaps it was quite as hard for her, but she did not reply.
+
+“Will you write me--every day?” he went on. . . . “Why don't you
+answer?”
+
+“I was thinking what would be best for me to do,” she said; “best for us
+both, I mean. I shall write you one letter surely.”
+
+“ONE!”
+
+“One surely. I want you to understand just what my coming here means and
+what effect it may have upon my future. You should know that. Afterward,
+whether I write you or not will depend.”
+
+“Depend! Of course you'll write me! Depend on what?”
+
+“On what seems right to me after I have had time to think, and after you
+have seen your father. I must go, Crawford. Thank you for calling me. I
+am glad you did. Good-by.”
+
+“Wait! Mary, don't go! Let me say this--”
+
+“Please, Crawford! I'd rather you wouldn't say any more. You understand
+why, I'm sure. I hope you will have a pleasant trip home and find your
+father's health much improved. Good-by.”
+
+She hung up the receiver and hastened back to the store. Shadrach and
+Zoeth looked at her questioningly. Finally the former said:
+
+“Anything important, was it?”
+
+“No, Uncle Shad, not very important.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+A short interval of silence, then--
+
+“Mrs. Wyeth callin', I presume likely, eh?”
+
+“No, Uncle Shad.”
+
+Shadrach asked no more questions, and Zoeth asked none. Neither of
+them again mentioned Mary's call to the phone, either to her or to each
+other. And she did not refer to it. She had promised her Uncle Shadrach,
+when he questioned her the year before concerning Crawford, to tell him
+“when there was anything to tell.” But was there anything to tell now?
+With the task which she had set herself and the uncertainty before her
+she felt that there was not. Yet to keep silence troubled her. Until
+recently there had never been a secret between her uncles and herself;
+now there were secrets on both sides.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+At twelve o'clock on a night late in the following week Captain
+Shadrach, snoring gloriously in his bed, was awakened by his partner's
+entering the room bearing a lighted lamp. The Captain blinked, raised
+himself on his elbow, looked at his watch which was on the chair by the
+bed's head, and then demanded in an outraged whisper:
+
+“What in the nation are you prowlin' around this hour of the night
+for? You don't want to talk about those divilish bills and credits and
+things, I hope. What's the use? Talkin' don't help none! Jumpin' fire!
+I went to bed so's to forget 'em and I was just beginnin' to do it. Now
+you--”
+
+Zoeth held up his hand. “Sshh! sshh!” he whispered. “Hush, Shadrach!
+I didn't come to talk about those things. Shadrach, there's--there's
+somethin' queer goin' on. Get up!”
+
+The Captain was out of bed in a moment.
+
+“What's the matter?” he demanded, in a whisper. “What's queer?”
+
+“I--I don't exactly know. I heard somebody movin' downstairs and--”
+
+Shadrach grunted. “Isaiah!” he exclaimed. “Walkin' in his sleep again,
+I'll bet a dollar!”
+
+“No, no! It ain't Isaiah. Isaiah ain't walked in his sleep since he was
+a child.”
+
+“Well, he's pretty nigh his second childhood now, judgin' by the way
+he acts sometimes. It was Isaiah of course! Who else would be walkin'
+around downstairs this time of night?”
+
+“That's what I thought, so I went and looked. Shadrach, it was
+Mary-'Gusta. Hush! Let me tell you! She had her things on, hat and all,
+and she took the lantern and lit it and went out.”
+
+“Went OUT!”
+
+“Yes, and--and up the road. Now, where--?”
+
+Shadrach's answer was to stride to the window, pull aside the shade and
+look out. Along the lane in the direction of the village a fiery spark
+was bobbing.
+
+“There she goes now,” he muttered. “She's pretty nigh to the corner
+already. What in the world can she be up to? Where is she bound--at
+twelve o'clock?”
+
+Zoeth did not answer. His partner turned and looked at him.
+
+“Humph!” he exclaimed. “Why don't you tell me the whole of it while
+you're about it? You're keepin' somethin' back. Out with it! Do YOU know
+where she's bound?”
+
+Zoeth looked troubled--and guilty. “Why, no, Shadrach,” he faltered, “I
+don't know, but--but I kind of suspect. You see, she--she did the same
+thing last night.”
+
+“She DID! And you never said a word?”
+
+“I didn't know what to say. I heard her go and I looked out of the
+window and saw her. She come back about three. I thought sure she'd
+speak of it this mornin', but she didn't and--and--But tonight I watched
+again and--Shadrach, she's taken the store keys. Anyhow, they're gone
+from the nail.”
+
+The Captain wiped his forehead. “She's gone to the store, then,” he
+muttered. “Jumpin'! That's a relief, anyhow. I was afraid--I didn't
+know--Whew! I don't know WHAT I didn't know! But what on earth has she
+gone to the store for? And last night too, you say?”
+
+“Yes. Shadrach, I've been thinkin' and all I can think of is
+that--that--”
+
+“Well--what?”
+
+“That--that she suspicions how things are with us--somebody that does
+suspicion has dropped a hint and she has--has gone up to--”
+
+“To do what? Chuck it overboard! Speak it out! To do what?”
+
+“To look at the books or somethin'. She knows the combination of the
+safe, you recollect.”
+
+Captain Shadrach's eyes and mouth opened simultaneously. He made a dive
+for the hooks on the bedroom wall.
+
+“Jumpin' fire of brimstone!” he roared. “Give me my clothes!”
+
+A half-hour later an interested person--and, so far as that goes, at
+least every second person in South Harniss would have been interested
+had he or she been aware of what was going on--an interested and, of
+course, unscrupulous person peeping in under the shades of Hamilton and
+Company's window would have seen a curious sight. This person would have
+seen two elderly men sitting one upon a wooden chair and the other
+upon a wooden packing case and wearing guilty, not to say hang-dog,
+expressions, while a young woman standing in front of them delivered
+pointed and personal remarks.
+
+Captain Shadrach and Zoeth, following their niece to the store, had
+peeped in and seen her sitting at the desk, the safe open, and account
+books and papers spread out before her. A board in the platform creaked
+beneath the Captain's weighty tread and Mary looked up and saw them.
+Before they could retreat or make up their minds what to do, she had
+run to the door, thrown it open, and ordered them to come in. Neither
+answered--they could not at the moment. The certainty that she knew what
+they had tried so hard to conceal kept them tongue-tied.
+
+“Come in!” repeated Mary. “Come in! And shut the door!”
+
+They came in. Also Captain Shadrach shut the door. Just why he obeyed
+orders so meekly he could not have told. His niece gave him little time
+to think.
+
+“I did not exactly expect you,” she said, “but, on the whole, I am glad
+you came. Now sit down, both of you, and listen to me. What do you mean
+by it?”
+
+Zoeth sat, without a word. Shadrach, however, made a feeble attempt to
+bluster.
+
+“What do WE mean by it?” he repeated. “What do YOU mean, you mean!
+Perusin' up here in the middle of the night without a word to your Uncle
+Zoeth and me, and--and haulin' open that safe--and--”
+
+Again Mary interrupted.
+
+“Be still, Uncle Shad!” she commanded. “Sit down! Sit down on that box
+and listen to me! That's right. Now tell me! Why have you been telling
+me fibs for almost a year? Answer me! Why have you?”
+
+Zoeth looked at Shadrach and the latter looked at him.
+
+“Fibs?” stammered Mr. Hamilton. “Fibs? Why--why, Mary-'Gusta!”
+
+“Yes, fibs. I might use a stronger word and not exaggerate very much.
+You have led me to think that business was good, that you were doing as
+well or better than when I was here with you. I asked you over and over
+again and you invariably gave me that answer. And now I know that during
+all that time you have scarcely been able to make ends meet, that you
+have been worrying yourselves sick, that you--”
+
+Captain Shad could stand it no longer.
+
+“We ain't, neither!” he declared. “I never was better in my life. I
+ain't had a doctor for more'n a year. And then I only had him for the
+heaves--for the horse--a horse doctor, I mean. What are you talkin'
+about! Sick nothin'! If that swab of an Isaiah has--”
+
+“Stop, Uncle Shad! I told you to listen. And you needn't try to change
+the subject or to pretend I don't know what I am talking about. I do
+know. And as for pretending--well, there has been pretending enough.
+What do you mean--you and Uncle Zoeth--by sending me off to school and
+to Europe and declaring up and down that you didn't need me here at
+home?”
+
+“We didn't need you, Mary-'Gusta,” vowed Zoeth eagerly. “We got along
+fust-rate without you. And we wanted you to go to school and to Europe.
+You see, it makes us feel proud to know our girl is gettin' a fine
+education and seein' the world. It ain't any more than she deserves, but
+it makes us feel awful pleased to know she's gettin' it.”
+
+“And as for the store,” broke in the Captain, “I cal'late you've been
+pawin' over them books and they've kind of--kind of gone to your head.
+I don't wonder at it, this time of night! Hamilton and Company's
+all right. We may be a little mite behind in some of our bills,
+but--er--but. . . . DON'T look at me like that, Mary-'Gusta! What do you
+do it for? Stop it, won't you?”
+
+Mary shook her head.
+
+“No, Uncle Shad,” she said, “I shan't stop it. I know all about Hamilton
+and Company's condition; perhaps I know it better than you do. This is
+the fifth night that I have been working over those books and I should
+know, at least.”
+
+“The FIFTH night! Do you mean to say--”
+
+“I mean that I knew you wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know; I had to
+see these books for myself and at night was the only time I could do it.
+But never mind that now,” she added. “We'll talk of that later. Other
+things come first. Uncle Shad and Uncle Zoeth, I know not only about the
+affairs of Hamilton and Company, but about my own as well.”
+
+Zoeth leaned forward and stared at her. He seemed to catch the
+significance of the remark, for he looked frightened, whereas Shadrach
+was only puzzled.
+
+“You--you know what, Mary-'Gusta?” faltered Zoeth. “You mean--”
+
+“I mean,” went on Mary, “that I know where the money came from which has
+paid my school bills and for my clothes and my traveling things and
+all the rest. I know whose money has paid all my bills ever since I was
+seven years old.”
+
+Shadrach rose from his chair. He was as frightened as his partner now.
+
+“What are you talkin' about, Mary-'Gusta Lathrop?” he shouted. “You
+know! You don't know nothin'! You stop sayin' such things! Why don't you
+stop her, Zoeth Hamilton?”
+
+Zoeth was speechless. Mary went on as if there had been no interruption.
+
+“I know,” she said, “that I haven't a penny of my own and never did have
+and that you two have done it all. I know all about it--at last.”
+
+If these two men had been caught stealing they could not have looked
+more guilty. If, instead of being reminded that their niece had spent
+their money, they had been accused of misappropriating hers they could
+not have been more shaken or dumbfounded. Captain Shadrach stood before
+her, his face a fiery red and his mouth opening and shutting in vain
+attempts at articulation. Zoeth, his thin fingers extended in appeal,
+was the first to speak.
+
+“Mary-'Gusta,” he stammered, “don't talk so! PLEASE don't!”
+
+Mary smiled. “Oh, yes, I shall, Uncle Zoeth,” she said. “I mean to do
+more than talk from now on, but I must talk a little first. I'm not
+going to try to tell you what it means to me to learn after all these
+years that I have been dependent on you for everything I have had,
+home and luxuries and education and opportunities. I realize now what
+sacrifices you must have made--”
+
+“We ain't, neither!” roared the Captain, in frantic protest. “We ain't,
+I tell you. Somebody's been tellin' lies, ain't they, Zoeth? Why--”
+
+“Hush, Uncle Shad! Someone HAS been telling me--er--fibs--I said that
+at the beginning; but they're not going to tell me any more. I know
+the truth, every bit of it, about Father's losing his money in stocks
+and--Uncle Shad, where are you going?”
+
+Captain Shad was halfway to the door. He answered over his shoulder.
+
+“I'm goin' home,” he vowed, “and when I get there I'm goin' to choke
+that dummed tattle-tale of an Isaiah Chase! I'll talk to YOU after I've
+done it.”
+
+Mary ran after him and caught his arm.
+
+“Come back, Uncle Shad!” she ordered. “Come back, sit down, and don't be
+foolish. I don't want you to talk to me! I am going to talk to you, and
+I'm not half through yet. Besides, it wasn't Isaiah who told me, it was
+Judge Baxter.”
+
+“Judge Baxter! Why, the everlastin' old--”
+
+“Hush! He couldn't help telling me, I made him do it. Be still, both of
+you, and I'll tell you all about it.”
+
+She did tell them, beginning with her meeting with Mr. Green at the Howe
+dinner, then of her stop at Ostable and the interview with Baxter.
+
+“So I have found it all out, you see,” she said. “I'm not going to try
+to thank you--I couldn't, if I did try. But I am going to take my turn
+at the work and the worry. To begin with, of course, you understand that
+I am through with Boston and school, through forever.”
+
+There was an excited and voluble protest, of course, but she paid no
+heed whatever to commands or entreaties.
+
+“I am through,” she declared. “I shall stay here and help you. I am
+only a girl and I can't do much, perhaps, but I truly believe I can do
+something. I am a sort of silent partner now; you understand that, don't
+you?”
+
+Shadrach looked doubtful and anxious.
+
+“If I had my way,” he declared, “you'd go straight back to that school
+and stay there long's we could rake or scrape enough together to keep
+you there. And I know Zoeth feels the same.”
+
+“I sartin do,” agreed Zoeth.
+
+Mary laughed softly. “But you haven't your way, you see,” she said. “You
+have had it for ever so long and now I am going to have mine. Your new
+silent partner is going to begin to boss you.”
+
+For the first time since he entered the door of his store that night--or
+morning--Shadrach smiled. It wasn't a broad smile nor a very gay one,
+but it was a smile.
+
+“Um--ya-as,” he drawled. “I want to know, Mary-'Gusta! I am gettin' some
+along in years, but my memory ain't failed much. If I could remember any
+day or hour or minute since Zoeth and me h'isted you into the old buggy
+to drive you from Ostable here--if I could remember a minute of that
+time when you HADN'T bossed us, I--well, I'd put it down in the log with
+a red ink circle around it. No, sir-ee! You've been OUR skipper from the
+start.”
+
+Even Zoeth smiled now and Mary laughed aloud.
+
+“But you haven't objected; you haven't minded being--what shall I call
+it?--skipped--by me, have you?” she asked.
+
+The Captain grinned. “Mind it!” he exclaimed. “Umph! The only time when
+we really minded it was these last two years when we ain't had it. We
+minded missin' it, that's what we minded.”
+
+“Well, you won't miss it any more. Now help me put these things back in
+the safe and we'll go home. Yes, home! Tomorrow morning--this morning,
+I mean--we'll talk and I'll tell you some of my plans. Oh, yes! I
+have plans and I am in hopes they may do great things for Hamilton and
+Company. But no more talk tonight. Remember, the skipper is back on
+board!”
+
+So to the house they went and to bed, the Captain and Mr. Hamilton under
+protest.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Neither Mary nor the Captain nor Mr. Hamilton slept much of the few
+hours until daylight, and Captain Shadrach, who was devoured with
+curiosity concerning the plans, would have asked particulars before
+breakfast, but Mary would not listen to questions. It was not until
+breakfast was over and they were back in the store that she consented to
+discuss the subject.
+
+The safe was reopened and the books and papers spread out upon the desk.
+Mary took up one of the sheets of paper; it was covered with rows of
+figures in her handwriting.
+
+“Now,” she said, “it seems to me that the first thing is to find out
+exactly where we stand. When I say 'we,'” she added, with a nod of great
+importance, “I mean 'we,' because, as I told you last night, I am a
+silent partner in the business now.”
+
+“Don't seem to be so terrible much silence,” observed Shadrach dryly.
+
+“Hush! Another remark of that kind and I shall set you to sweeping out,
+Uncle Shad. Now, Uncle Zoeth, according to the books this is what we
+owe.”
+
+She read from the paper in her hand.
+
+“That is the total, Uncle Zoeth, isn't it?” she asked. Zoeth groaned and
+admitted that he cal'lated it was nigh enough.
+
+“Yes. But this,” holding up another sheet of paper, “is what is owed us,
+and it is almost as much as the other.”
+
+It was Shadrach's turn to groan. “'Tis if we could get a-hold of it,”
+ he muttered. “The heft of the gang on that list ain't got a cent and the
+bulk of the rest of 'em wouldn't have if they paid what they owed.”
+
+Mary nodded determinedly.
+
+“There are some that can pay,” she said. “Jeremiah Clifford, for
+instance. According to the books he owes us over a hundred and ten
+dollars and part of the account is three years old. Mr. Clifford owns
+property. He can't be a poor man.”
+
+The Captain sniffed. “His wife owns the property,” he said. “Every
+stick's in her name. Jerry Clifford's got enough, but he loves it too
+well to let go of it. Mean! Why, say! In the old days, when fishin'
+schooners used to run from South Harniss here, Jerry he was owner and
+skipper of a little hooker and Solon Black went one v'yage with him.
+There was another fo'mast hand besides Jerry and Solon aboard and Solon
+swears that all the hearty provision Jerry put on board for a four-day
+trip was two sticks of smoked herrin'. For two days, so Solon vows, they
+ate the herrin' and the other two they chewed the sticks. That may be
+stretchin' it a mite, but anyhow it goes to show that Jerry Clifford
+don't shed money same as a cat does its hair.”
+
+Zoeth put in a word.
+
+“He says he'll pay pretty soon,” he observed plaintively. “He's been
+sayin' it for over a year, though.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted Shadrach. “There's only a difference of one letter
+between 'sayin'' and 'payin',' but there ain't but two between 'trust'
+and 'bust.'”
+
+Mary spoke. “Never mind,” she said. “I shall see Mr. Clifford
+myself. And I shall see some of these others, too. Now about our own
+bills--those we owe. I have a list of the principal creditors. Mr.
+Green's firm is one of them; we owe them most of all, it seems. I think
+I shall go and see Mr. Green myself.”
+
+“For the land sakes, what for?” demanded Shadrach. “He knows how we're
+fixed, Zoeth wrote him.”
+
+“Yes, but I want to talk with him, nevertheless.”
+
+“But what for? You ain't goin' beggin' him to--”
+
+“I'm not going begging at all. When I talked with him at the Howes' he,
+not knowing in the least who I was or that I was your niece, expressed
+sympathy for Hamilton and Company and wished there were some way of
+helping us out of our trouble--something he could do, you know. I'm not
+sure there isn't something he can do. At any rate, I am going to see
+him. I shall start for Boston Monday morning.”
+
+Zoeth ventured an observation.
+
+“He'll be considerable surprised to see you, won't he?” he said.
+
+Mary laughed. “I think he will,” she replied. “Surprised and a little
+embarrassed. But I imagine his embarrassment will make him all the
+more anxious to be of service to me, and that's what I want from
+him--service.”
+
+Of course the partners asked hundreds more questions concerning the
+plans. Mary's answers were still disappointingly vague. Before she could
+tell just what she meant to do, she said she must be sure, and she was
+not sure yet. A great deal would depend upon her Boston trip. They must
+be patient until she returned from that.
+
+So they were patient--that is to say, Zoeth was really so and Captain
+Shadrach was as patient as it was his nature to be. Mary was absent
+nearly a week. When she returned she had much to tell. She had
+visited Mr. Green at his office on Commercial Street. His surprise
+and embarrassment were all that she had prophesied. He offered profuse
+apologies for his blunder at the Howes'.
+
+“Of course, if I had known of your relationship to Captain Gould and
+Mr. Hamilton,” he began, “I should never--Really, I am--I assure you I
+hadn't the slightest idea--”
+
+He was floundering like a stranded fish. Mary helped him off the shoals
+by taking the remainder of his apologies for granted.
+
+“Of course you hadn't,” she said. “But I am very glad you told me, Mr.
+Green. It was high time I knew. Don't say another word about it, please.
+I have come to you to ask advice and, perhaps, help of a sort. May I
+have a little of your time?”
+
+Mr. Green seized the opportunity thus offered. Indeed, she might have
+time, all the time she wanted. Anything in his power to do--and so on.
+Being a bachelor and something of an elderly beau who prided himself
+upon making a good impression with the sex, it had annoyed him greatly,
+the memory of his mistake. Also he had been distinctly taken with Mary
+and was anxious to reinstate himself in her opinion. So his willingness
+to atone was even eager.
+
+“As it happens,” he said, “I am not at all busy this afternoon. I can
+give you the rest of the day, if you wish. Now what can I do for you?”
+
+Mary explained that she had come to speak with him concerning her
+uncles' business affairs, his house being Hamilton and Company's largest
+creditor. She told of her investigations, of the condition in which
+she had found the accounts, and of her determination to remain at South
+Harniss and work for the upbuilding of the concern.
+
+“Of course I am not a business person like yourself, Mr. Green,” she
+said. “I am only a girl. But I worked in my uncles' store and, in a
+way, managed it for two years or more before I came to Boston to school.
+Beside that I have talked during these last few days with some of South
+Harniss's most prominent people--permanent residents, not summer people.
+From what they and others tell me I am convinced that the sole reason
+why my uncles' business has fallen behind is because of a lack of
+keeping up to the times in the face of competition. Everyone likes Uncle
+Zoeth and Uncle Shadrach and wishes them well--they couldn't help that,
+you know.”
+
+She made this assertion with such evident pride and with such absolute
+confidence that Mr. Green, although inclined to smile, felt it might
+be poor judgment to do so. So he agreed that there was no doubt of
+Shadrach's and Zoeth's universal popularity.
+
+“Yes,” went on Mary, “they are dears, both of them, and they think
+everyone else is as honest as they are, which is a mistake, of course.
+So some people impose on them and don't pay their bills. I intend to
+stop that.”
+
+She evidently expected her listener to make some comment, so he said,
+“Oh, indeed!”
+
+“Yes,” continued Mary. “I intend to stop their trusting everyone under
+the sun and I shall try my hardest to collect from those they have
+already trusted. There is almost enough due to pay every bill we owe,
+and I believe two-thirds of that is collectible if one really goes after
+it.”
+
+“And you will go after it, I presume?”
+
+“I most certainly shall. You are smiling, Mr. Green. I suppose it sounds
+like a joke, a girl like myself making such statements about things men
+are supposed to understand and women not to understand at all. It isn't
+a joke in this case, because I think I understand my uncles business
+better than they do. I think I can collect what is owed us, pay what we
+owe, and make money there in South Harniss. But to do that I must have
+time and, by and by, credit, for we need goods. And that is what I came
+to talk to you about.”
+
+She had brought with her copies of the Hamilton and Company trial
+balance, also a list of the firm's debtors and creditors. These she
+put upon the desk before Mr. Green and ran a finger down the pages
+with explanatory remarks such as, “This is good, I know,” “This can be
+collected but it may take a lawyer to get it,” or, as in the case of
+'Rastus Young's long-standing indebtedness, “This isn't worth anything
+and shouldn't be counted.”
+
+“You see,” she said, in conclusion, “we aren't in such a VERY bad state;
+it isn't hopeless, anyway. Now here are the accounts we owe. Yours is
+the largest. Here are the others. All these bills are going to be paid,
+just as I said, but they can't be paid at all unless I have time. I have
+been thinking, thinking very hard, Mr. Green--”
+
+Green nodded. “I can see that,” he put in, good-naturedly.
+
+“Yes. Well, this is what I want to ask you: Will you give us six months
+more to pay the whole of this bill in? I don't think we shall need so
+much time, but I want to be sure. And if at the end of two months we
+have paid half of it, will you give us credit for another small bill of
+goods for the summer season, so that we may be stocked and ready? The
+summer is our best season, you see,” she added.
+
+Mr. Green nodded. Her businesslike manner he found amusing, although he
+by no means shared her confidence in the future.
+
+“We shall be very glad to extend the time,” he said. “You may remember
+I told you the other evening that so far as our house was concerned,
+we should probably be willing to sell your uncles indefinitely, for old
+times' sake.”
+
+His visitor frowned.
+
+“We are not asking it for old times' sake,” she said. “It is the new
+times I am interested in. And please understand this isn't sentiment but
+business. If you do not believe what I ask to be a safe business risk,
+that one your firm would be justified in accepting from anybody, then
+you mustn't do it.”
+
+Mr. Green hesitated. “Suppose I do not accept that risk,” he said; “what
+then?”
+
+“Then I shall go and see some other creditors, the principal ones, and
+make them similar propositions.”
+
+“And suppose they don't accept?”
+
+“I think they will, most of them. If they don't--well, then there
+is another way. My uncles own their house and store. They have been
+thinking of selling their property to pay their debts. I should hate to
+have them sell, and I don't believe it is necessary. I have been
+talking with Judge Baxter over at Ostable--I stopped there on my way to
+Boston--and he suggested that they might mortgage and raise money that
+way. It could be done, couldn't it? Mortgages are a kind of business I
+don't know anything about. They sound horrid.”
+
+“Sometimes they are. Miss Lathrop, if I were you I shouldn't sell or
+mortgage yet. I am inclined to believe, judging by this balance sheet
+and what you say, that you have a chance to pull Hamilton and Company
+out of the fire, and I'm very sure you can do it if anyone can. Are you
+going to be in the city for a day or two? Good! Then will you let me
+consider this whole matter until--say--Thursday? By that time I shall
+have made up my mind and may have something to say which will be worth
+while. Can you come in Thursday afternoon at two? And will you? Very
+well. Oh, don't thank me! I haven't done anything yet. Perhaps I shall
+not be able to, but we shall hope for the best.”
+
+Mary went straight to Mrs. Wyeth's home on Pinckney Street and once
+more occupied her pleasant room on the third floor. In spite of her
+determination not to care she could not help feeling a little pang as
+she walked by the Misses Cabot's school and remembered that she would
+never again enjoy the privileges and advantages of that exclusive
+institution. She wondered how the girls, her classmates, had felt and
+spoken when they heard the news that she had left them and returned
+to Cape Cod and storekeeping. Some would sneer and laugh--she knew
+that--and some might be a little sorry. But they would all forget her,
+of course. Doubtless, most of them had forgotten her already.
+
+But the fact that all had not forgotten was proved that very evening
+when, as she and Mrs. Wyeth and Miss Pease were sitting talking together
+in the parlor, Maggie, the maid, answering the ring of the doorbell,
+ushered in Miss Barbara Howe. Barbara was, as usual, arrayed like the
+lilies of the field, but her fine petals were decidedly crumpled by the
+hug which she gave Mary as soon as she laid eyes upon her.
+
+“You bad girl!” she cried. “Why didn't you tell me you were in town? And
+why didn't you answer my letter--the one I wrote you at South Harniss? I
+didn't hear a word and only tonight, after dinner, I had the inspiration
+of phoning Mrs. Wyeth and trying to learn from her where you were and
+what you meant by dropping all your friends. Maggie answered the phone
+and said you were here and I threw on my things--yes, 'threw' is the
+word; nothing else describes the process--and came straight over. How DO
+you do? And WHAT are you doing?”
+
+Mary said she was well and that she had been too busy to reply to Miss
+Howe's letter. But this did not satisfy. Barbara wanted to know why she
+had been busy and how, so Mary told of her determination to remain in
+South Harniss and become a business woman, Barbara was greatly excited
+and enthusiastic.
+
+“Won't it be perfectly splendid!” she exclaimed. “I only wish I were
+going to do it instead of having to stay at that straight-up-and-down
+school and listen to Prissy's dissertations on Emerson. She told the
+Freshman class the other day that she had had the honor of meeting Mr.
+Emerson when very young--when SHE was young, she meant; she always tells
+every Freshman class that, you know--and one of the Freshies spoke up
+and asked if she ever met him afterwards when he was older. They said
+her face was a picture; I wish I might have seen it. But do tell me more
+about that wonderful store of yours. I am sure it will be a darling,
+because anything you have anything to do with is sure to be. Are you
+going to have a tea-room?”
+
+Mary shook her head. “No,” she said, laughing. “I think not. There's too
+much competition.”
+
+“Oh, but you ought to have one. Not of the ordinary kind, you know,
+but the--the other kind, the unusual kind. Why, I have a cousin--a
+second--no, third cousin, a relative of Daddy's, she is--who hadn't much
+money and whose health wasn't good and the doctor sent her to live in
+the country. Live there all the time! Only fancy! Oh, I forgot you were
+going to do the same thing. Do forgive me! I'm so sorry! WHAT a perfect
+gump I am! Oh, dear me! There I go again! And I know you abhor slang,
+Mrs. Wyeth.”
+
+“Tell me more about your cousin, Barbara,” put in Mary, before the
+shocked Mrs. Wyeth could reply.
+
+“Oh, she went to the country and took an old house, the funniest old
+thing you ever saw. And she put up the quaintest little sign! And opened
+a tea-room and gift shop. I don't know why they call them 'gift shops.'
+They certainly don't give away anything. Far, far from that, my dear!
+Daddy calls this one of Esther's 'The Robbers' Roost' because he says
+she charges forty cents for a gill of tea and two slices of toast cut
+in eight pieces. But I tell him he doesn't pay for the tea and toast
+alone--it is the atmosphere of the place. He says if he had to pay for
+all his atmosphere at that rate he would be asphyxiated in a few months.
+But he admires Esther very much. She makes heaps and heaps of money.”
+
+“Then her tea-room and gift shop is a success?”
+
+“A success! Oh, my dear! It's a scream of a success! Almost any day in
+summer there are at least a dozen motor cars outside the door. Everybody
+goes there; it's the proper thing to do. I know all this because it
+isn't very far from our summer home in Clayton--in the mountains, you
+know.”
+
+“So she made a success,” mused Mary. “Were there other tea-rooms about?”
+
+“Oh, dozens! But they're not original; hers is. They haven't the--the
+something--you know what I mean, Esther has the style, the knack, the--I
+can't say it, but you know. And you would have it, too; I'm perfectly
+sure you would.”
+
+Mary was evidently much interested.
+
+“I wish I might meet your cousin,” she said.
+
+“Why, you can. She is here in Boston now, buying for the summer. I'll
+phone her and we three will lunch together tomorrow. Don't say you
+won't; you've just got to.”
+
+So Mary, rather reluctantly, consented to make one of the luncheon
+party. Afterward she was glad that she did, for Miss Esther
+Hemingway--this was the cousin's name--was an interesting person. She
+told Mary all about her tea-room and gift shop, how she started in
+business, the mistakes she made at first, and the lessons she had
+learned from experience. Because Barbara had asked her to do so she
+brought with her photographs of the establishment, its attractive and
+quaint exterior and its equally delightful interior.
+
+“The whole secret,” she said, “is in keeping everything in good taste
+and simple. Choose the right location, fit up your rooms in taste and
+cheerfully, serve the best you can find, and sell the unusual and the
+attractive things that other people do not have, or at least are not
+likely to have. Then charge adequate prices.”
+
+“Adequate being spelled A double D,” observed Barbara significantly.
+
+Mary parted from Miss Hemingway with a new idea in her head, an idea
+that sometime or other she meant to put into practice.
+
+On Thursday afternoon she called upon Mr. Green. That gentleman, having
+had his opportunity to think, was ready with a proposition. Briefly it
+was this: He had personally seen the principal creditors of Hamilton
+and Company--they were all Boston business houses--and he and they had
+agreed to make the following offer: Hamilton and Company's credit upon
+debts already owed was to be extended six months. Mary was to go home,
+endeavor to collect what money she could, and with it buy for cash
+whatever goods were needed for the summer season. If that season was a
+success and the business promised well for the future, then arrangements
+could be made for future buying and for paying the old debt a little at
+a time.
+
+“At any rate,” concluded Mr. Green, “this postpones the mortgaging or
+selling for a time at least, and you always have it to fall back on if
+you can't make your new undertaking pay. I believe you can. I advise you
+to accept. Your other creditors feel the same way.”
+
+He did not add, as he might have done, that the opinion of those other
+creditors had been influenced almost entirely by his own and that in
+one or two instances he had been obliged practically to underwrite the
+payment of Hamilton and Company's indebtedness before gaining consent.
+He had talked with Mr. Howe, who in turn had called his daughter into
+consultation, and Barbara's enthusiastic praise of her friend had
+strengthened the favorable impression which the girl had already made
+upon both gentlemen. “Do you know, I believe she may win out,” observed
+Mr. Howe.
+
+“I am inclined to think she will,” concurred Green.
+
+“Of course she will!” declared Barbara hotly. “No one who ever knew her
+would be silly enough to think she wouldn't.”
+
+Hence Mr. Green's underwriting expedition and the proposition to Mary as
+the representative of Hamilton and Company.
+
+Mary accepted, of course. She was very grateful and said so.
+
+“I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Green. I can't promise anything, but
+if trying hard will win, I can promise that,” she said.
+
+“That's all right, that's all right. I know you'll try, and I think
+you'll succeed. Now, why don't you go up and pick out some of those
+summer goods? You don't need them yet, and you needn't pay for them yet,
+but now is the time to select. Give my regards to your uncles when you
+see them and tell them I wish them luck. I may be motoring down the Cape
+this summer and if I do I shall drop in on you and them.”
+
+Mary had news to tell when she reached South Harniss. It was listened
+to with attention, if not entirely in silence. Captain Shadrach's
+ejaculations of “You don't say!” “I want to know!” and “Jumpin' fire,
+how you talk!” served as punctuation marks during the narration. When
+she had finished her story, she said:
+
+“And now, Uncle Zoeth and Uncle Shad--now that you've heard the whole of
+it, and know what my plan is, what do you think of it?”
+
+Both answers were characteristic. Zoeth drew a long breath.
+
+“The Almighty sent you to us, Mary-'Gusta,” he vowed. “There was a time
+a little spell ago when I begun to think He'd pretty nigh deserted us. I
+was almost discouraged and it shook my trust--it shook my trust. But now
+I can see He was just tryin' us out and in His good time He sent you to
+haul us off the shoals. He'll do it, too; I know it and I'll thank Him
+tonight on my knees.”
+
+Shadrach shook his head. “By fire!” he cried. “Mary-'Gusta, I always
+said you was a wonder. You've given us a chance to get clear of the
+breakers, anyhow, and that's somethin' we'd never have done ourselves.
+Now, if you can collect that money from Jeremiah Clifford I'll--I'll--I
+swan to man I'll believe anything's possible, even Jonah's swallowin'
+the whale.”
+
+“Oh, Shadrach!” protested his partner. “If you wouldn't be so
+irreverent!”
+
+“All right, I'll behave. But it's just as I say: if Mary-'Gusta can get
+Jerry Clifford to pay up I'll swallow Jonah and the whale, too. 'Twas
+Moses that hit the rock and the water gushed out, wa'n't it? Um--hm!
+Well, that was somethin' of a miracle, but strikin' Jerry Clifford for
+ten cents and gettin' it would be a bigger one. Why, that feller's got
+fists like--like one of those sensitive plants my mother used to have
+in the settin'-room window when I was a boy. You touch a leaf of one
+of those plants and 'twould shrivel up tight. Jerry's fists are that
+way--touch one of 'em with a nickel and 'twill shut up, but not until
+the nickel's inside. No, sir! Ho, ho!”
+
+“If you knew all this, Uncle Shad,” suggested Mary, “why in the world
+did you sell Mr. Clifford at all? If he wouldn't pay, why sell him?”
+
+Mr. Hamilton answered.
+
+“He always did pay,” he said. “You see, he had to have groceries and
+clothes and such and whenever he needed more and thought he owed us so
+much we wouldn't put more on the bill he'd pay a little on account. That
+way we managed to keep up with him.”
+
+“Not exactly up with him,” commented the Captain. “We was always a
+couple of laps astern, but we could keep him in sight. Now the new
+stores have come and he can get trusted there he don't buy from us--or
+pay, either. What's the use? That's what he thinks, I cal'late.”
+
+Mary considered. “The mean old sinner!” she said. “I should judge, Uncle
+Shad, that what you told me once, when I was a little girl, about the
+Free Masons might apply to Mr. Clifford's pocketbook. You said that once
+in Masonry a man never got out. A dollar in Mr. Clifford's pocketbook
+never gets out, either, does it?”
+
+Shadrach chuckled. “You bet it don't!” he agreed. “It's got a life
+sentence. And, so fur as that goes, they generally open a Mason lodge
+meetin' with prayer, but 'twould take more'n that to open Jerry's
+pocketbook, I'LL bet you!”
+
+“And, nevertheless,” declared Mary, laughing, “I mean to make him pay
+our bill.”
+
+She did make the tight-fisted one pay up eventually, but months were to
+elapse before that desirable consummation was reached. In the meantime
+she set herself to collecting other amounts owed Hamilton and Company
+and to building up the trade at the store. The collecting was not so
+difficult as she had expected. The Captain and Mr. Hamilton had been
+reluctant to ask their friends and neighbors to be prompt in their
+payments, and largely through carelessness accounts had been permitted
+to drop behind. Mary personally saw the debtors and in most cases, by
+offering slight discounts or by accepting installments, she was able
+to obtain at least the greater part of the money due. In some cases she
+could obtain nothing and expected nothing, but these cases, among them
+that of 'Rastus Young, were rather to be considered in the light of good
+riddance even at the price. As Shadrach said, it was worth a few dollars
+not to have to listen to 'Rastus or Mrs. 'Rastus cry over their troubles
+whenever they wanted to hold up the firm for more plunder.
+
+“Last time 'Rastus was in to buy anything,” declared the Captain, “he
+shed so blamed many tears into my rubber boots that I got wet feet and
+sent the boots to the cobbler's to have 'em plugged. I cal'lated they
+leaked; I didn't realize 'twas Rat workin' me out of four dollars worth
+of groceries by water power.”
+
+The collections, then, those from Mr. Young and his ilk excepted, were
+satisfactory. Mary was enabled to buy and pay for a modest assortment of
+summer supplies, those she had selected while in Boston. The store she
+had thoroughly cleaned and renovated. The windows were kept filled with
+attractive displays of goods, and the prices of these goods, as set
+forth upon tickets, were attractive also. Business began to pick up, not
+a great deal at first, but a little, and as May brought the first of
+the early-bird summer cottagers to South Harniss, the silent partner
+of Hamilton and Company awaited the coming of what should be the firm's
+busiest season with hope and some confidence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+During all this time she had heard from Crawford at least once a week.
+He would have written oftener than that, had she permitted it. And in
+spite of her determination so bravely expressed in their interview over
+the telephone, she had written him more than the one letter she had
+promised. In that letter--her first--she told him the exact situation
+there at home; of her discovery that her uncles were in trouble, that
+the small, but to them precious, business they had conducted so long
+was in danger, and of her determination to give up school and remain at
+South Harniss where, she knew, she was needed. Then she went on to tell
+of her still greater discovery, that instead of being a young woman of
+independent means, she was and always had been dependent upon the bounty
+of her uncles.
+
+
+You can imagine how I felt when I learned this [she wrote], when I
+thought of all the kindness I had accepted at their hands, accepted it
+almost as if it was my right, thinking as I did that my own money paid.
+And now to learn that all the time I had nothing and they had given
+of their own when they had so little, and given it so cheerfully, so
+gladly. And, Crawford, when I told them what I had done, they would not
+accept thanks, they would not let me even speak of the great debt I owed
+them. So far from that they acted as if they were the ones who owed and
+as if I had caught them in some disgraceful act. Why, if they could,
+they would have sent me back to Boston and to school, while they
+remained here to work and worry until the bankruptcy they expected came.
+
+Do you wonder that I feel my first and whole duty is to them and that
+nothing, NOTHING must be permitted to interfere with it? I am going to
+stay here and try to help. Perhaps I shall succeed, and perhaps, which
+is just as probable, I may fail; but at any rate while my uncles live
+and need me I shall not leave them. They gave all they had to me when
+there was no real reason why they should give anything. The very least
+I can do is to be with them and work for them now when they are growing
+old.
+
+I am sure you must understand this and that, therefore, you will
+forget--
+
+
+She paused. “Forget” was a hard word to write. Fortunately she had
+written it at the top of a page, so she tore up that sheet and began the
+line again.
+
+
+I am sure you will understand and that you will see my duty as I see it
+myself. It seems to me clear. Everyone has duties, I suppose, but you
+and I have ours very plainly shown us, I think. Yours is to your father
+and mine to my uncles.
+
+
+Bringing that letter to an end was a difficult task. There were things
+which must be said and they were so very hard to say. At last, after
+many attempts:
+
+
+I have not referred [she wrote] to what you said to me when we last met.
+It seems almost useless to refer to it, doesn't it? You see how I
+am placed here, and I have written you what I mean to do. And please
+understand I am doing it gladly, I am happy in having the opportunity to
+do it; but it does mean that for years my life and interest must be here
+with them. Even if I were sure of my own feelings--and perhaps I am not
+really sure--I certainly should not think of asking one I cared for to
+wait so long. You have your future to think of, Crawford, and you must
+think of it. And there is your father. Of course, I don't know, but I
+somehow feel certain that he will not wish you to marry me. Don't you
+think it better for us both to end it now? It seems so hopeless.
+
+
+Which, she flattered herself, was brave and sensible and right. And,
+having reached this commendable conclusion and sealed and posted the
+letter, she came back to the house, went upstairs to her room, and,
+throwing herself upon the bed, cried bitterly for many minutes.
+
+Yet, in a way, her tears were wasted. It takes two to make a bargain and
+although she might notify Crawford Smith that his case was hopeless,
+it by no means followed that that young gentleman would accept
+the notification as final. His reply to her letter was prompt and
+convincing. All the references to ending it were calmly brushed aside.
+There could be but two endings, one being their marriage--this, of
+course, the logical and proper ending--and the other Mary's notifying
+him that she did not love him. Anything else was nonsense and not worth
+consideration. Wait! He would wait fifty years if necessary, provided
+she would wait for him. He was about to take up his studies again, but
+now he would feel that he was working for her. His father, he was sorry
+to say, was not at all well. He was very nervous, weak and irritable.
+
+
+I came home [he wrote] fully determined to tell him of you and my
+determination to marry you--always provided you will have me, you
+know--on the very night of my arrival. But when I saw how poor old Dad
+was feeling and after the doctor told me how very necessary it was that
+his nervous system be allowed a complete rest, I decided I must wait. So
+I shall wait; perhaps I shall not tell him for months; but just as soon
+as he is able to hear, I shall speak, and I am sure he will say,
+“Good luck and God bless you.” But if he doesn't, it will make not the
+slightest difference. If you will have me, Mary dear, nothing on this
+earth is going to stop my having you. That's as settled and solid a fact
+as the Rocky Mountains.
+
+
+He pleaded for a letter at least once a week.
+
+
+You needn't put a word of love in it [he wrote]. I know how
+conscientious you are, and I know perfectly well that until your mind
+is made up you won't feel it right to encourage me in the least. But do
+please write, if only to tell me how you are getting on with Hamilton
+and Company. I only wish I were there to help you pull those fine old
+uncles of yours out of the hot water. I know you'll do it, though. And
+meanwhile I shall be digging away out here and thinking of you. Please
+write OFTEN.
+
+
+So Mary, after considerable thought and indecision, did write, although
+Crawford's suggestion that her letters have no word of love in them
+was scrupulously followed. And so, while the summer came and went, the
+letters crossed and the news of the slow but certain building up of the
+business of Hamilton and Company was exchanged for that of Edwin Smith's
+steady regaining of health and strength.
+
+And Hamilton and Company's business was reviving. Even the skeptics
+could see the signs. The revival began before the summer residents
+arrived in South Harniss, but after the latter began to come and the
+cottages to open, it was on in earnest. John Keith helped to give it its
+first big start. Mrs. Wyeth wrote him of Mary's leaving her school work
+to go to the rescue of Shadrach and Zoeth, and the girl's pluck and
+uncomplaining acceptance of the task she considered set for her made
+Keith's eyes twinkle with admiration as he read the letter. The family
+came early to South Harniss and this year he came with them. One of his
+first acts after arrival was to stroll down to the village and enter
+Hamilton and Company's store. Mary and the partners were there, of
+course. He shook hands with them cordially.
+
+“Well, Captain,” he said, addressing Shadrach, “how is the new hand
+taking hold?”
+
+Shadrach grinned. “Hand?” he repeated. “I don't know's we've got any new
+hand, Mr. Keith. Ain't, have we, Zoeth?”
+
+Zoeth did not recognize the joke. “He means Mary-'Gusta, I cal'late,
+Shadrach,” he said. “She's doin' splendid, Mr. Keith. I don't know how
+we ever got along without her.”
+
+“I do,” put in his partner promptly; “we didn't, that's how. But, Mr.
+Keith, you hadn't ought to call Mary-'Gusta a 'hand.' Zoeth and me are
+the hands aboard this craft. She's skipper, and engineer, and purser,
+and--yes, and pilot, too. And don't she make us tumble up lively when
+she whistles! Whew! Don't talk!”
+
+“She is the boss, then, is she?” observed Keith.
+
+“Boss! I guess SO! She's got US trained! Why, I've got so that I jump
+out of bed nights and run round the room in my sleep thinkin' she's
+just hollered to me there's a customer waitin'. Oh, she's a hard driver,
+Mary-'Gusta is. Never had a fust mate aboard drove harder'n she does.
+And it's havin' its effect on us, too. Look at Zoeth! He's agin' fast;
+he's a year older'n he was twelve months ago.”
+
+Keith laughed, Mary smiled, and Mr. Hamilton, judging by the behavior of
+the company that there was a joke somewhere on the premises, smiled too.
+
+“You mustn't mind Uncle Shad, Mr. Keith,” said Mary. “He talks a great
+deal.”
+
+“Talkin's all the exercise my face gets nowadays,” declared the Captain
+instantly. “She keeps me so busy I don't get time to eat. What do you
+think of the store, Mr. Keith? Some improvement, ain't it?”
+
+Keith, who had already noticed the trim appearance of the store and the
+neat and attractive way in which the goods were displayed, expressed his
+hearty approval.
+
+“And how is business?” he asked.
+
+“Tiptop!” declared Shadrach.
+
+“It's improvin' consider'ble,” said Zoeth.
+
+“It is a little better, but it must be far better before I am
+satisfied,” said Mary.
+
+“How is the cottage trade?” asked Keith.
+
+“Why, not so very good. There aren't many cottagers here yet.”
+
+When Keith reached home he called his wife into consultation.
+
+“Gertrude,” he asked, “where do we buy our household supplies, groceries
+and the like?”
+
+“In Boston, most of them. The others--those I am obliged to buy here in
+South Harniss--at that new store, Baker's.”
+
+“I want you to buy them all of Hamilton and Company hereafter.”
+
+“THAT old-fogy place! Why?”
+
+“Because the partners, Captain Gould and the other old chap, are having
+a hard struggle to keep going and I want to help them.”
+
+Mrs. Keith tossed her head. “Humph!” she sniffed. “I know why you are
+so interested. It is because of that upstart girl you think is so
+wonderful, the one who has been boarding with Clara Wyeth.”
+
+“You're right, that's just it. She has given up her studies and her
+opportunities there in Boston and has come down here to help her uncles.
+Clara writes me that she was popular there in the school, that the
+best people were her friends, and you know of her summer in Europe with
+Letitia Pease. Letitia isn't easy to please and she is enthusiastic
+about Mary Lathrop. No ordinary girl could give up all that sort of
+thing and come back to the village where everyone knows her and go to
+keeping store again, and do it so cheerfully and sensibly and without
+a word of complaint. She deserves all the help and support we and our
+friends can give her. I mean to see that she has it.”
+
+Mrs. Keith looked disgusted. “You're perfectly infatuated with that
+girl, John Keith,” she said. “It is ridiculous. If I were like some
+women I should be jealous.”
+
+“If I were like some men you might be. Now, Gertrude, you'll buy in
+future from Hamilton and Company, won't you?”
+
+“I suppose so. When your chin sets that way I know you're going to be
+stubborn and I may as well give in first as last. I'll patronize your
+precious Mary-'Gusta, but I WON'T associate with her. You needn't ask
+that.”
+
+“Don't you think we might wait until she asks it first?”
+
+“Tut! tut! Really, John, you disgust me. I wonder you don't order Sam to
+marry her.”
+
+“From what Clara writes he might not have needed any orders if he had
+received the least encouragement from her. Sam might do worse; I imagine
+he probably will.”
+
+So, because John Keith's chin was set, the Keith custom shifted
+to Hamilton and Company. And because the Keiths were wealthy and
+influential, and because the head of the family saw that that influence
+was brought to bear upon his neighbors and acquaintances, their custom
+followed. Hamilton and Company put a delivery wagon--a secondhand
+one--out on the road, and hired a distinctly secondhand boy to drive it.
+And Mary and Shadrach and Zoeth and, in the evenings, the boy as well,
+were kept busy waiting on customers. The books showed, since the silent
+partner took hold, a real and tangible profit, and the collection and
+payment of old debts went steadily on.
+
+The partners, Shadrach and Zoeth, were no longer silent and glum. The
+Captain whistled and sang and was in high spirits most of the time. At
+home he was his old self, chaffing Isaiah about the housekeeping, taking
+a mischievous delight in shocking his friend and partner by irreverent
+remarks concerning Jonah or some other Old Testament personage, and
+occasionally, although not often, throwing out a sly hint to Mary about
+the frequency of letters from the West. Mary had told her uncles
+of Crawford's leaving Boston and returning to Nevada because of his
+father's ill health. The only item of importance she had omitted to tell
+was that of the proposal of marriage. She could not speak of that even
+to them. They would ask what her answer was to be, and if she loved
+Crawford. How could she answer that--truthfully--without causing them to
+feel that they were blocking her way to happiness? They felt that quite
+keenly enough, as it was.
+
+So when Captain Shad declared the illness of the South Harniss
+postmaster--confined to his bed with sciatica--to be due to his having
+“stooped to pick up one of them eighty-two page Wild West letters of
+yours, Mary-'Gusta, and 'twas so heavy he sprained his back liftin'
+it,” Mary only laughed and ventured the opinion that the postmaster's
+sprained back, if he had one, was more likely due to a twist received
+in trying to read both sides of a postcard at once. Which explanation,
+being of the Captain's own brand of humor, pleased the latter immensely.
+
+“Maybe you're right, Mary-'Gusta,” he chuckled. “Maybe that's what
+'twas. Seth [the postmaster] is pure rubber so far as other folks' mail
+is concerned; maybe he stretched the rubber too far this time and it
+snapped.”
+
+Zoeth did not joke much--joking was not in his line--but he showed
+his relief at the improvement in the firm's affairs in quieter but as
+unmistakable ways. When Mary was at the desk in the evenings after the
+store had closed, busy with the books, he would come and sit beside her,
+saying little but occasionally laying his hand gently on her shoulder
+or patting her arm and regarding her with a look so brimful of love and
+gratitude that it made her feel almost guilty and entirely unworthy.
+
+“Don't, Uncle Zoeth,” she protested, on one such occasion. “Don't look
+at me like that. I--I--Really, you make me feel ashamed. I haven't done
+anything. I am not doing half enough.”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“You're doin' too much, I'm afraid, Mary-'Gusta,” he said. “You're
+givin' up everything a girl like you had ought to have and that your
+Uncle Shadrach and I had meant you should have. You're givin' it up just
+for us and it ain't right. We ain't worthy of it.”
+
+“Hush, hush, Uncle Zoeth! Please! When I think what you have given up
+for me--”
+
+“'Twa'n't nothin', Mary-'Gusta. You came to your Uncle Shadrach and to
+me just when we needed somethin' to keep our lives sweet. Mine especial
+was bitter and there was danger 'twould always be so. And then we
+brought you over from Ostable in the old buggy and--and the Almighty's
+sunshine came with you. You was His angel. Yes, sir! His angel, that's
+what you was, only we didn't know it then. I was pretty sore and bitter
+in those days, thought I never could forget. And yet--and yet, now I
+really am forgettin'--or, if I don't forget, I'm more reconciled. And
+you've done it for me, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+Mary was puzzled. “Forget what?” she asked. “Do you mean the business
+troubles, Uncle Zoeth?”
+
+Zoeth seemed to waken from a sort of dream. “Business troubles?”
+ he repeated. “No, no; long, long afore that these troubles were,
+Mary-'Gusta. Don't let's talk about 'em. I can't talk about 'em even
+now--and I mustn't think. There are some troubles that--that--” He
+caught his breath and his tone changed. “I called you an angel just now,
+dearie,” he went on. “Well, you was and you are. There are angels in
+this world--but there's devils, too--there's devils, too. There; the
+Lord forgive me! What am I talkin' about? We'll forget what's gone and
+be thankful for what's here. Give your old uncle a kiss, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+He was happy in Mary's society and happy in the steady improvement of
+the business, but the girl and Captain Shadrach were a little worried
+concerning his general health. For years he had not been a very strong
+or active man, but now he looked paler and more frail than ever. He
+walked to and from the store and house several times a day, but he
+retired almost as soon as he entered the house at night and his appetite
+was not good.
+
+“His nerves ain't back where they'd ought to be,” declared Shadrach. “He
+was awful shook up when it looked as if Hamilton and Company was goin'
+to founder. He didn't keep blowin' off steam about it the way I did--my
+safety-valve's always open--but he kept it all inside his biler and it's
+put his engine out of gear. He'll get along all right so long's it's
+smooth sailin', but what I'm afraid of is a rock showin' up in the
+channel unexpected. The doctor told me that Zoeth mustn't worry any more
+and he mustn't work too hard. More'n all, he mustn't have any scares or
+shocks or anything like that.”
+
+“We must try to see that he doesn't have any,” said Mary.
+
+“Sartin sure we must, but you can't always see those things in time to
+head 'em off. Now take my own case. I had a shock this mornin'. 'Rastus
+Young paid me a dollar on account.”
+
+“WHAT? 'Rastus Young PAID you?”
+
+“Well, I don't know's he paid it, exactly. He borrowed the dollar of
+one of those summer fellers over at Cahoon's boardin' house and he was
+tellin' Ab Bacheldor about it at the corner by the post-office. Ab,
+naturally, didn't believe any sane man would lend Rastus anything, so he
+wanted proof. 'Rastus hauled the dollar out of his pocket to show, and I
+who happened to be standin' behind 'em without their knowin' it reached
+out and grabbed it.”
+
+“You did? Why, Uncle Shad!”
+
+“Yes. I told 'Rastus I'd credit his account with it, but I don't know's
+I hadn't ought to give it back to the summer feller. Anyhow, gettin' it
+was a shock, same as I said at the beginnin'. 'Rastus says he's goin' to
+sue me. I told him I'd have sued HIM long ago if I'd supposed he could
+STEAL a dollar, let alone borrow one.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+It was late in August when Mary received the letter from Crawford in
+which he told of his determination to wait no longer but to tell his
+father of his love for her. Edwin Smith was much better. By way of
+proof, his son inclosed a photograph which he had taken of his father
+sitting beneath a tree on the lawn of their home. The picture showed Mr.
+Smith without his beard, which had been shaved off during his illness.
+Either this or the illness itself had changed him a great deal. He
+looked thinner and, which was odd under the circumstances, younger.
+Mary, looking at this photograph, felt more than ever the impossible
+conviction that somewhere or other at some time in her life she must
+have met Mr. Edwin Smith.
+
+
+So, in my next letter [wrote Crawford], I shall have news to tell. And
+I am sure it will be good news. “Ask your father first,” you said. Of
+course you remember that, and I have remembered it every moment since.
+Now I am going to ask him. After that you will give me your answer,
+won't you? And it can't be anything but yes, because I won't let it be.
+
+
+What Mary's feelings were when she received this letter, whether or not
+she slept as soundly that night and other nights immediately following,
+whether or not the sight of Isaiah returning from the post-office at
+mail times caused her breath to come a little quicker and her nerves
+to thrill--these are questions the answers to which must be guessed.
+Suffice it to say that she manifested no marked symptoms of impatience
+and anxiety during that week and when at last Isaiah handed her another
+letter postmarked Carson City the trembling of the hand which received
+it was so slight as to be unnoticed by Mr. Chase.
+
+She put aside the letter until that night when she was alone in her
+room. Then she opened it and read what Crawford had written. His father
+had not only refused consent to his son's contemplated marriage but had
+manifested such extraordinary agitation and such savage and unreasonable
+obstinacy that Crawford was almost inclined to believe his parent's
+recent illness had affected his mind.
+
+
+That is the only explanation I can think of [he wrote]. It seems as if
+he must be insane. And yet he seemed rational enough at the beginning
+of our first interview and during most of the second. Even when I
+had broken the news that there was a girl in whom I felt an especial
+interest he did not show any sign of the outbreak that came afterward.
+It wasn't until I began to tell how I first met you there at South
+Harniss, who you were, and about Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton, that I
+noticed he was acting queerly. I was head over heels in my story, trying
+to make plain how desperate my case was and doing my best to make him
+appreciate how tremendously lucky his son was to have even a glimmer of
+a chance to get a girl like you for a wife, when I heard him make an odd
+noise in his throat. I looked up--I don't know where I had been looking
+before--certainly not at him--and there he was, leaning back in his
+chair, his face as white as his collar, and waving a hand at me. I
+thought he was choking, or was desperately ill or something, and I
+sprang toward him, but he waved me back. “Stop! Wait!” he said, or
+stammered, or choked; it was more like a croak than a human voice.
+“Don't come here! Let me be! What are you trying to tell me? Who--who
+is this girl?” I asked him what was the matter--his manner and his look
+frightened me--but he wouldn't answer, kept ordering me to tell him
+again who you were. So I did tell him that you were the daughter of
+the Reverend Charles Lathrop and Augusta Lathrop, and of your mother's
+second marriage to Captain Marcellus Hall. “But he died when she was
+seven years old,” I went on, “and since that time she has been living
+with her guardians, the two fine old fellows who adopted her, Captain
+Shadrach Gould and Zoeth Hamilton. They live at South Harniss on
+Cape Cod.” I had gotten no further than this when he interrupted me.
+“She--she has been living with Zoeth Hamilton?” he cried. “With Zoeth
+Hamilton! Oh, my God! Did--did Zoeth Hamilton send you to me?” Yes, that
+is exactly what he said: “Did Zoeth Hamilton send you to me?” I stared
+at him. “Why, no, Dad,” I said, as soon as I could say anything. “Of
+course he didn't. I have met Mr. Hamilton but once in my life. What
+IS the matter? Sit down again. Don't you think I had better call the
+doctor?” I thought surely his brain was going. But no, he wouldn't
+answer or listen. Instead he looked at me with the wildest, craziest
+expression and said: “Did Zoeth Hamilton tell you?” “He told me nothing,
+Dad,” I said, as gently as I could. “Of course he didn't. I am almost a
+stranger to him. Besides, what in the world was there to tell? I came
+to you because I had something to tell. I mean to marry Mary Lathrop,
+if she will have me--” I got no further than that. “No!” he fairly
+screamed. “No! No! No! Oh, my God, no!” And then the doctor came running
+in, we got Dad to bed, and it was all over for that day, except that I
+naturally was tremendously upset and conscience-stricken. I could see
+that the doctor thought I was to blame, that I had confessed something
+or other--something criminal, I imagine he surmised--to Dad and that it
+had knocked the poor old chap over. And I couldn't explain, because what
+I had told him was not for outsiders to hear.
+
+Well, after a terribly anxious night and a worrisome forenoon the doctor
+told me that father was himself again and wanted to see me at once.
+“I've said all I can against it,” said the doctor. “I don't know what
+sort of rumpus you two had yesterday, but it came dangerously near being
+the finish for him. And it must not be repeated; I'm making that as
+emphatic as I can.” I assured him that so far as I was concerned there
+would not be a scene, and then went in to Dad's room. He looked white
+enough and sick enough but he was rational and his mind was keen and
+clear. He got me to tell the whole story about you all over again and
+he asked a lot of questions; in fact, he cross-examined me pretty
+thoroughly. When I had finished his tone was calm, but I noticed that
+his hand was shaking and he seemed to be holding himself in. “And so you
+think you want to marry this down-east country girl, do you?” he said.
+“I certainly do,” said I. He laughed, a forced laugh--didn't sound like
+his at all--and he said: “Well, my boy, you'll get over it. It's a whole
+lot better to get over it now than to do so by and by when it's too
+late. It's a good thing I called you home when I did. You stay here and
+keep on with your studies and I'll keep on getting into shape again. By
+next summer, when we go on our fishing trip, you'll have forgotten all
+about your Down-Easter.” Well, THAT was a staggerer, coming from him. It
+didn't sound like him at all, and again I had that feeling that his
+mind was going. You see, Mary, I never asked Dad for anything I didn't
+get--never. Now, I wasn't asking, I was just telling him what I had made
+up my mind to have, and he treated me this way. I answered him calmly
+and quietly, telling him I was serious and what you meant to me. He
+wouldn't listen at first; then when he did, he wouldn't agree. Pleaded
+with me--he was lonesome, I was his only son, he needed me, he couldn't
+share me with anyone else, and so on. There is no use going into all the
+details. We didn't get any nearer an agreement, we did get nearer and
+nearer to bad temper on my part and shouts and hysterics on his. So
+I left him, Mary. That was last night. I knew Dad was inclined to be
+stubborn, and I knew he had strong prejudices, but I never imagined
+he could behave like this to me. And I am sure he would not if he were
+himself. So I shall say no more to him on the subject for a day or two.
+Then, when he is better, as I am hoping he may be soon, he and I will
+have another talk. But understand, Mary dear, my mind was made up
+before I spoke to him at all. What he says or what he does will make no
+difference, so far as you and I are concerned. I know you are a believer
+in duty; well, so am I. I would stick by Dad through thick and thin. If
+I knew he was right in asking me to do or not to do a thing, even if I
+knew he had been wrong in asking other things, I would stick by him and
+try to do as he asked. But not this. I love Dad, God knows I do, but I
+love you, Mary, and as I have vowed to myself every day since I last saw
+you, I am going to marry you if you will only have me. As for Dad--well,
+we'll hope within a day or two I may have better news to write.
+
+
+Mary read and reread the long letter. Then she leaned back in her chair
+and with the letter in her lap sat there--thinking. She had been right
+in her forebodings; it was as she had expected, had foreseen: Edwin
+Smith, man of affairs, wealthy, arbitrary, eccentric, accustomed to
+having his own way and his prejudices, however absurd, respected--a man
+with an only son for whom, doubtless, plans definite and ambitious had
+been made, could not be expected calmly to permit the upsetting of those
+plans by his boy's marriage to a poor “Down-Easter.” So much she had
+foreseen from the first, and she had never shared Crawford's absolute
+confidence in his parent's acquiescence. She had been prepared,
+therefore, to read that Mr. Smith had refused his consent.
+
+But to be prepared for a probability and to face a certainty are quite
+different. It was the certainty she was facing now. Unless Mr. Smith
+changed his mind, and the chances were ten to one against that, he and
+his son would quarrel. Crawford had inherited a portion of his father's
+stubbornness; he was determined, she knew. He loved her and he meant
+what he said--if she would have him he would marry her in spite of his
+father. It made her proud and happy to know that. But she, too, was
+resolute and had meant what she said. She would not be the cause of a
+separation between father and son. And, besides, marriage had become
+for her a matter of the distant future; for the present her task was set
+there at South Harniss.
+
+What should she do? It was hard for Crawford, poor fellow. Yes, but it
+was hard for her, too. No one but she knew how hard. He would write her
+again telling her that his decision was unchanged, begging her to
+say she loved him, pleading with her to wait for him. And she would
+wait--Oh, how gladly, how joyfully she could wait--for him!--if she knew
+she was doing right in permitting him to wait for her. If she was sure
+that in permitting him to give up his father's love and his home and
+money and all that money could buy she was justified. There is a love
+which asks and a love which gives without asking return; the latter is
+the greater love and it was hers. She had written Crawford that perhaps
+she was not sure of her feeling toward him. That was not true. She was
+sure; but because she was fearful that his knowledge might be the means
+of entailing a great sacrifice on his part, she would not tell him.
+
+What should she do? She considered, as the little Mary-'Gusta used to
+consider her small problems in that very room. And the result of her
+considerations was rather unsatisfactory. There was nothing she could
+do now, nothing but wait until she heard again from Crawford. Then she
+would write.
+
+She brushed her eyes with her handkerchief and read the letter again.
+There were parts of it which she could not understand. She was almost
+inclined to adopt Crawford's suggestion that his father's mind might
+have been affected by his illness. Why had he received so passively the
+news that his son had fallen in love and yet become so violent when told
+the object of that love? He did not know her, Mary Lathrop; there could
+be no personal quality in his objection. And what could he have meant by
+asking if Zoeth Hamilton had sent Crawford to him? That was absolutely
+absurd. Zoeth, and Shadrach, too, had talked with Mary of Crawford's
+people in the West, but merely casually, as of complete strangers,
+which, of course, they were. It was all strange, but explainable if one
+considered that Mr. Smith was weak and ill and, perhaps, flighty. She
+must not think any more about it now--that is, she must try not to
+think. She must not give way, and above all she must not permit her
+uncles to suspect that she was troubled. She must try hard to put it
+from her mind until Crawford's next letter came.
+
+But that letter did not come. The week passed, then another, but there
+was no word from Crawford. Mary's anxiety grew. Each day as Isaiah
+brought the mail she expected him to give her an envelope addressed
+in the familiar handwriting, but he did not. She was growing
+nervous--almost fearful. And then came a happening the shock of which
+drove everything else from her mind for the time and substituted for
+that fear another.
+
+It was a Tuesday and one o'clock. Mary and Captain Shadrach, having had
+an early dinner, had returned to the store. Zoeth, upon their arrival,
+went down to the house for his own meal. Business, which had been very
+good indeed, was rather slack just then and Shadrach and Mary were
+talking together. Suddenly they heard the sound of rapid footsteps in
+the lane outside.
+
+“Who's hoofin' it up to the main road at that rate?” demanded the
+Captain, lounging lazily toward the window. “Has the town pump got on
+fire or is somebody goin' for the doctor?”
+
+He leaned forward to look. His laziness vanished.
+
+“Eh! Jumpin' Judas!” he cried, springing to the door. “It's Isaiah, and
+runnin' as if the Old Boy was after him! Here! You! Isaiah! What's the
+matter?”
+
+Isaiah pounded up the platform steps and staggered against the doorpost.
+His face flamed so red that, as Shadrach said afterward, it was “a
+wonder the perspiration didn't bile.”
+
+“I--I--I--” he stammered. “I--Oh, dear me! What shall I do? He--he--he's
+there on the floor and--and--Oh, my godfreys! I'm all out of wind! What
+SHALL I do?”
+
+“Talk!” roared the Captain. “Talk! Use what wind you've got for that!
+What's happened? Sing out!”
+
+“He's--he's all alone there!” panted Mr. Chase. “He won't speak,
+scurcely--only moans. I don't know's he ain't dead!”
+
+“Who's dead? Who? Who? Who?” The irate Shadrach seized his steward by
+the collar and shook him, not too gently. “Who's dead?” he bellowed.
+“Somebody will be next door to dead right here in a minute if you don't
+speak up instead of snortin' like a puffin' pig. What's happened?”
+
+Isaiah swallowed, gasped and waved a desperate hand. “Let go of me!” he
+protested. “Zoeth--he--he's down in a heap on the kitchen floor. He's
+had a--a stroke or somethin'.”
+
+“God A'mighty!” cried Shadrach, and bolted out of the door. Mary
+followed him and a moment later, Mr. Chase followed her. The store was
+left to take care of itself.
+
+They found poor Zoeth not exactly in a heap on the floor of the kitchen,
+but partially propped against one of the kitchen chairs. He was not
+unconscious but could speak only with difficulty. They carried him to
+the bedroom and Isaiah was sent on another gallop after the doctor. When
+the latter came he gave his patient a thorough examination and emerged
+from the sickroom looking grave.
+
+“You must get a nurse,” he said. “This is likely to last a long while.
+It is a slight paralytic stroke, I should say, though what brought it
+on I haven't the least idea. Has Mr. Hamilton had any sudden shock or
+fright or anything of that sort?”
+
+He had not, so far as anyone knew. Isaiah, being questioned, told of
+Zoeth's coming in for dinner and of his--Isaiah's--handing him the
+morning's mail.
+
+“I fetched it myself down from the post-office,” said Isaiah. “There was
+a couple of Hamilton and Company letters and the Wellmouth Register and
+one of them circulum advertisements about So-and-So's horse liniment,
+and, and--yes, seems to me there was a letter for Zoeth himself. He took
+'em all and sot down in the kitchen to look 'em over. I went into the
+dinin'-room. Next thing I knew I heard him say, 'O God!' just like
+that.”
+
+“Avast heavin', Isaiah!” put in Captain Shadrach. “You're way off your
+course. Zoeth never said that. That's the way I talk, but he don't.”
+
+“He done it this time,” persisted Isaiah. “I turned and looked through
+the doorway at him and he was standin' in the middle of the kitchen
+floor. Seems to me he had a piece of white paper in his hand--seem's if
+he did. And then, afore I could say a word, he kind of groaned and sunk
+down in--in a pile, as you might say, right on the floor. And I couldn't
+get him up, nor get him to speak to me, nor nothin'. Yet he must have
+come to enough to move after I left and to crawl acrost and lean against
+that chair.”
+
+The horse liniment circular and the Wellmouth Register were there on the
+kitchen table just where Mr. Hamilton had laid them. There, also, were
+the two letters addressed to Hamilton and Company. Of the letter which
+Isaiah seemed to remember as addressed to Zoeth personally, there was no
+sign.
+
+“Are you sure there was such a letter, Isaiah?” asked Mary.
+
+Mr. Chase was not sure; that is to say, he was not sure more than a
+minute at a time. The minute following he was inclined to think he might
+have been mistaken, perhaps it was yesterday or the day before or even
+last week that his employer received such a letter.
+
+Captain Shadrach lost patience.
+
+“Sure 'twan't last Thanksgivin'?” he demanded. “Are you sure about
+anything? Are you sure how old you are?”
+
+“No, by godfreys, I ain't!” roared Isaiah in desperation. “I'm so upsot
+ever since I looked into that kitchen and see the poor soul down on the
+floor there that--that all I'm sure of is that I ain't sure of nothin.'”
+
+“Well, I don't know's I blame you much, Isaiah,” grunted the Captain.
+“Anyway, it doesn't make much difference about that letter, so fur as I
+see, whether there was one or not. What did you want to know for, Mary?”
+
+Mary hesitated. “Why,” she answered, “I--perhaps it is foolish, but the
+doctor said something about a shock being responsible for this dreadful
+thing and I didn't know--I thought perhaps there might have been
+something in that letter which shocked or alarmed Uncle Zoeth. Of course
+it isn't probable that there was.”
+
+Shadrach shook his head.
+
+“I guess not,” he said. “I can't think of any letter he'd get of that
+kind. There's nobody to write it. He ain't got any relations nigher than
+third cousin, Zoeth ain't. Anyhow, we mustn't stop to guess riddles
+now. I'll hunt up the letter by and by, if there was one and I happen to
+think of it. Now I've got to hunt up a nurse.”
+
+The nurse was found, a Mrs. Deborah Atkins, of Ostable, and she arrived
+that night, bag and baggage, and took charge of the patient. Deborah was
+not ornamental, being elderly and, as Captain Shadrach said, built for
+tonnage more than speed; but she was sensible and capable. Also, her fee
+was not excessive, although that was by no means the principal reason
+for her selection.
+
+“Never mind what it costs,” said Mary. “Get the best you can. It's for
+Uncle Zoeth, remember.”
+
+Shadrach's voice shook a little as he answered.
+
+“I ain't likely to forget,” he said. “Zoeth and I've cruised together
+for a good many years and if one of us has to go under I'd rather 'twas
+me. I haven't got much money but what I've got is his, and after that
+so long as I can get trusted. But there,” with an attempt at optimism,
+“don't you fret, Mary-'Gusta. Nobody's goin' under yet. We'll have Zoeth
+up on deck doin' the fishers' hornpipe in a couple of weeks.”
+
+But it was soon plain to everyone, the Captain included, that many times
+two weeks must elapse before Mr. Hamilton would be able to appear on
+deck again, to say nothing of dancing hornpipes. For days he lay in
+partial coma, rallying occasionally and speaking at rare intervals but
+evidently never fully aware of where he was and what had happened.
+
+“He will recover, I think,” said the doctor, “but it will be a slow
+job.”
+
+Mary did not again refer to the letter regarding which Isaiah's memory
+was so befogged. In fact, she forgot it entirely. So also did Captain
+Shad. For both the worry of Zoeth's illness and the care of the store
+were sufficient to drive trifles from their minds.
+
+And for Mary there was another trouble, one which she must keep to
+herself. Three weeks had elapsed since Crawford's letter, that telling
+of his two fateful interviews with his father, and still no word had
+come from him. Mary could not understand his silence. In vain she called
+her philosophy to her rescue, striving to think that after all it was
+best if she never heard from him again, best that a love affair which
+could never end happily were ended at once, best that he should come to
+see the question as his father saw it--best for him, that is, for
+his future would then be one of ease and happiness. All this she
+thought--and then found herself wondering why he had not written,
+imagining all sorts of direful happenings and feeling herself
+responsible.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+One evening, about a week after Mr. Hamilton's sudden seizure, Mary was
+in her room alone. She had again reread Crawford's latest letter and was
+sitting there trying to imagine the scene as he had described it. She
+was trying to picture Edwin Smith, the man who--as his son had so often
+told her--indulged that son's every whim, was kindness and parental love
+personified, and yet had raved and stormed like a madman because the boy
+wished to marry her, Mary Lathrop.
+
+She rose, opened the drawer of her bureau, and took out the photograph
+of Mr. Smith, the one which showed him without his beard, the one taken
+since his illness. Crawford had written that this photograph, too, had
+been taken on the sly.
+
+“Dad's prejudice against photos is as keen as ever,” he wrote. “He would
+slaughter me on the spot if he knew I had snapped him.”
+
+The face in the picture was not that of the savage, unrelenting
+parent of the old plays, who used to disinherit his sons and drive his
+daughters out into blinding snowstorms because they dared thwart his
+imperial will. Edwin Smith was distinctly a handsome man, gray-haired,
+of course, and strong-featured, but with a kind rather than a stern
+expression. As Mary had said when she first saw his likeness, he looked
+as if he might have had experiences. In this photograph he looked very
+grave, almost sad, but possibly that was because of his recent sickness.
+
+She was looking at the picture when Isaiah's voice was heard outside the
+door.
+
+“Hi, Mary-'Gusta,” whispered Mr. Chase. “Ain't turned in yet, have you?
+Can I speak with you a minute?”
+
+“Certainly, Isaiah,” said Mary. “Come in!”
+
+Isaiah entered. “'Twan't nothin' special,” he said. “I was just goin' to
+tell you that Debby T. cal'lates Zoeth is a little mite easier tonight.
+She just said so and I thought you'd like to know.”
+
+By “Debby T.” Isaiah meant Mrs. Atkins. Mary understood.
+
+“Thank you, Isaiah,” she said. “I am ever so glad to hear it. Thank you
+for telling me.”
+
+“That's all right, Mary-'Gusta. Hello! who's tintype's that?”
+
+He had caught sight of the photograph upon the arm of Mary's chair. He
+picked it up and looked at it. She heard him gasp. Turning, she saw
+him staring at the photograph with an expression of absolute
+amazement--amazement and alarm.
+
+“Why, Isaiah!” she cried. “What is the matter?”
+
+Isaiah, not taking his eyes from the picture, extended it in one hand
+and pointed to it excitedly with the other.
+
+“For godfreys mighty sakes!” he demanded. “Where did you get that?”
+
+“Get what? The photograph?”
+
+“Yes! Yes, yes! Where'd you get it? Where'd it come from?”
+
+“It was sent to me. What of it? What is the matter?”
+
+Isaiah answered neither question. He seemed to have heard only the first
+sentence.
+
+“SENT to you!” he repeated. “Mary-'Gusta Lathrop, have you been tryin'
+to find out--Look here! who sent you Ed Farmer's picture?”
+
+Mary stared at him. “WHOSE picture?” she said. “What are you talking
+about, Isaiah?”
+
+Isaiah thrust the photograph still closer to the end of her nose. Also
+he continued to point at it.
+
+“Who sent you Ed Farmer's picture?” he repeated. “Where--where'd you get
+it? You tell me, now.”
+
+Mary looked him over from head to foot.
+
+“I don't know whether to send for Uncle Shad or the doctor,” she said,
+slowly. “If you don't stop hopping up and down and waving your arms as
+if they worked by strings I shall probably send for both. Isaiah Chase,
+behave yourself! What is the matter with you?”
+
+Isaiah, during his years as sea cook, had learned to obey orders. Mary's
+tone had its effect upon him. He dropped one hand, but he still held
+the photograph in the other. And he stared at it as if it possessed some
+sort of horrible charm which frightened and fascinated at the same time.
+Mary had never seen him so excited.
+
+“Ed Farmer!” he exclaimed. “Oh, I swan to man! I don't see how--Say, it
+IS him, ain't it, Mary-'Gusta? But of course 'tis! I can see 'tis with
+my own eyes. My godfreys mighty!”
+
+Mary shook her head. “If I didn't know you were a blue ribboner,
+Isaiah,” she said, “I should be suspicious. That photograph was sent me
+from the West. It is a picture of a gentleman named Edwin Smith, someone
+I have never seen and I'm perfectly sure you never have. Why in the
+world it should make you behave as if you needed a strait-jacket I can't
+see. Does Mr. Smith resemble someone you know?”
+
+Isaiah's mouth fell open and remained so as he gazed first at the
+photograph and then at her.
+
+“Ed--Edwin Smith,” he repeated. “Edwin Smith! I--I don't know no Edwin
+Smith. Look here, now; honest, Mary-'Gusta, AIN'T that a picture of Ed
+Farmer?”
+
+Mary laughed. “Of course it isn't,” she said. “Who is Ed Farmer, pray?”
+
+Isaiah did not answer. He was holding the photograph near the end of his
+own nose now and examining it with eager scrutiny, muttering comments as
+he did so.
+
+“If it ain't him it's a better picture than if 'twas,” was one of his
+amazing observations. “Don't seem as if two folks could look so much
+alike and not be. And yet--and yet I can see--I can see now--this
+feller's hair's pretty nigh white and Ed's was dark brown. But then
+if this feller was Ed he'd be--he'd be--let's see--he'd be all of
+thirty-five years older than he was thirty-five years ago and that would
+account--”
+
+Mary burst out laughing.
+
+“Do be still, Isaiah!” she broke in. “You are perfectly idiotic. That
+man's name is Smith, I tell you.”
+
+Mr. Chase heaved a sigh. “You're sartin 'tis?” he asked.
+
+“Of course I am.”
+
+“Well, then I cal'late it must be. But if Ed Farmer had lived all these
+years and had had his tintype took he wouldn't get one to favor him more
+than that does, I bet you. My, it give me a start, comin' onto me so
+unexpected!”
+
+“But who is Ed Farmer?” asked Mary. The name had meant nothing to her so
+far. And yet, even as she spoke she remembered. Her expression changed.
+
+“Do you mean--” she cried, eagerly. “Why, Isaiah, do you mean the man in
+that old photograph I found in the garret ever and ever so long ago? The
+one you told me was a--a blackguard?”
+
+Isaiah, still staring at Mr. Smith's likeness, answered emphatically.
+
+“That's the one,” he said. “That's the one I meant. My, this feller does
+look like him, or the way I cal'late he would look if he lived as long
+as this!”
+
+“Is he dead, then?”
+
+“I don't know. We don't any of us know around here. I ain't laid eyes on
+him since the day afore it happened. I remember just as well as if 'twas
+yesterday. He come out of the office onto the wharf where I was workin'
+and he says to me, 'Isaiah,' he says, knockin' on the head of a barrel
+with his hand--the right hand 'twas, the one that had the bent finger;
+he got it smashed under a hogshead of salt one time and it never came
+straight again--'Isaiah,' says he, 'it's a nice day, ain't it.' And
+I answered up prompt--I liked him fust-rate; everybody liked him them
+days--'Yes, sir,' I says, 'this is a good enough day to go see your best
+girl in.' I never meant nothin' by it, you understand, just a sayin'
+'twas, but it seemed to give him a kind of start. He looked at me hard.
+'Did anyone tell you where I was goin'?' says he, sharp. 'Why, no,' says
+I. 'Why should they?' He didn't answer, just kept on starin' at me. Then
+he laughed and walked away. I didn't know where he was goin' then, but I
+know now, darn him! And the next day he went--for good.”
+
+He stopped speaking. Mary waited a moment and then asked, quietly: “Went
+where, Isaiah? Where did he go?”
+
+Isaiah, who was standing, the photograph still in his hand, started,
+turned and looked at her.
+
+“What's that?” he asked.
+
+“I say, where did this Mr. Farmer go?”
+
+“Eh? Oh, I don't know. He went away, that's all. Don't ask me any more
+questions. I've been talkin' too much, anyhow, I cal'late. Cap'n
+Shad would skin me alive if he knew I'd said as much as I have. Say,
+Mary-'Gusta, don't you say nothin' to either him or Zoeth, will you?
+You see--it's--it's a kind of little secret we have amongst us and--and
+nobody else is in on it. 'Twas this plaguey tintype got me to talkin'.
+No wonder neither! I never see such a look on two folks. I--there,
+there! Good night, Mary-'Gusta, good night.”
+
+He tossed the photograph on the bureau and hurried out of the room. Mary
+called after him, but he would neither stop nor answer.
+
+After he had gone Mary took up the photograph, seated herself once more
+in the chair, and studied the picture for a long time. Then she rose
+and, lamp in hand, left the room, tiptoed along the hall past the door
+of Captain Shadrach's room, and up the narrow stairs to the attic, her
+old playground.
+
+Her playthings were there still, arranged in her customary orderly
+fashion along the walls. Rose and Rosette and Minnehaha and the other
+dolls were seated in their chairs or the doll carriage or with their
+backs against Shadrach's old sea chest. She had never put them away out
+of sight. Somehow it seemed more like home to her, the knowledge that
+though she would never play with them again, they were there waiting
+for her in their old places. While she was away at school they had been
+covered from the dust by a cloth, but now the cloth had been taken away
+and she herself dusted them every other morning before going up to the
+store. As Shadrach said, no one but Mary-'Gusta would ever have thought
+of doing such a thing. She did, because she WAS Mary-'Gusta.
+
+However, the dolls did not interest her now. She tiptoed across the
+garret floor, taking great care to avoid the boards which creaked most,
+and lifted the lid of the old trunk which she had first opened on that
+Saturday afternoon nearly ten years before. She found the pocket on
+the under side of the lid, opened it and inserted her hand. Yes, the
+photograph of Hall and Company was still there, she could feel the edge
+of it with her fingers.
+
+She took it out, and closed the pocket and then the trunk, and tiptoed
+down the stairs and to her room again. She closed the door, locked
+it--something she had never done in her life before--and placing
+the photograph she had taken from the trunk beside that sent her by
+Crawford, sat down to compare them.
+
+And as she looked at the two photographs her wonder at Isaiah's odd
+behavior ceased. It was not strange that when he saw Mr. Edwin Smith's
+likeness he was astonished; it was not remarkable that he could scarcely
+be convinced the photograph was not that of the mysterious Ed Farmer.
+For here in the old, yellow photograph of the firm of “Hall and Company,
+Wholesale Fish Dealers,” was Edgar S. Farmer, and here in the photograph
+sent her by Crawford was Edwin Smith. And save that Edgar S. Farmer
+was a young man and Edwin Smith a man in the middle sixties, they were
+almost identical in appearance. Each time she had seen Mr. Smith's
+photograph she had felt certain she must have met the original. Here was
+the reason--this man in the other photograph. The only difference was
+the difference of age. Edwin Smith had a nose like Edgar Farmer's, and
+a chin like his and eyes like his. And Isaiah had just said that Edgar
+Farmer had a crooked finger on his right hand caused by an accident with
+a hogshead of salt. Mary remembered well something Crawford had told
+her, that his father had a finger on the right hand which had been hurt
+in a mine years before he, Crawford, was born.
+
+It could not be, of course--it could not be--and yet--Oh, WHAT did it
+mean?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+In his own room at the end of the second-story hall, over the kitchen,
+Mr. Chase was sitting reading the local paper before retiring. It was a
+habit he had, one of which Captain Shadrach pretended to approve highly.
+“Best thing in the world, Isaiah,” declared the Captain. “Sleep's what
+everybody needs and I can't think of any surer way of gettin' to sleep
+than readin' the South Harniss news in that paper.”
+
+Whether or not this unkind joke was deserved is not material; at all
+events Isaiah was reading the paper when he was very much startled by a
+knock at the door.
+
+“Who--who is it?” he stammered.
+
+“It is Mary,” whispered a voice outside the door. “I want to speak with
+you, Isaiah. You're not in bed, are you?”
+
+Isaiah reluctantly relinquished the paper. “No, no,” he replied, “I
+ain't in bed. What's the matter? Zoeth ain't no worse, is he?”
+
+“Let me in and I'll tell you.”
+
+“Come on in. You don't need no lettin'.”
+
+Mary entered. She was very grave and very earnest.
+
+“What in the nation,” began Isaiah, “are you prowlin' around this hour
+of the night for?”
+
+“Hush! Isaiah, you must tell me everything now. There's no use to say
+you won't--you MUST. Who was Edgar Farmer and what wrong did he do my
+uncles?”
+
+Isaiah said nothing; he did not attempt to answer. Instead he gaped at
+her with such an expression of guilty surprise, fright, and apprehension
+that at any other time she would have laughed. Just now, however, she
+was far from laughing.
+
+“Come! come!” she said, impatiently. “I mean it. I want you to tell me
+all about this Edgar Farmer.”
+
+“Now--now, Mary-'Gusta, I told you--”
+
+“You told me a very little. Now I want to know the rest. Everyone else
+in this family knows it and it is time I did. I'm not a child any more.
+Tell me the whole story, Isaiah.”
+
+“I shan't neither. Oh, by godfreys, this is what I get by sayin' more'n
+I ought to! And yet how could I help it when I see that tintype? It's
+just my luck! Nobody else but me would have had the dratted luck to have
+that picture stuck into their face and eyes unexpected. And 'twas just
+so when you found that other one years ago up attic. I had to be the one
+you sprung it on! I had to be! But I shan't tell you nothin'!”
+
+“Yes, you will. You must tell me everything.”
+
+“Well, I shan't.”
+
+“Very well. Then I shall go straight to Uncle Shad.”
+
+“To who? To CAP'N SHAD! Oh, my godfreys mighty! You go to him and see
+what he'll say! Just go! Why, he'd shut up tighter'n a clam at low
+water and he'd give you fits besides. Go to Cap'n Shad and ask about Ed
+Farmer! My soul! You try it! Aw, don't be foolish, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+“I'm not going to be foolish, Isaiah. If I go to Uncle Shad I shall tell
+him that it was through you I learned there was such a person as the
+Farmer man and that there was a secret connected with him, that it was a
+disagreeable secret, that--”
+
+“Hush! Land sakes alive! Mary-'Gusta, DON'T talk so! Why, if you told
+Cap'n Shad he'd--I don't know what he wouldn't do to me. If he knew I
+told you about Ed Farmer he'd--I swan to man I believe he'd pretty nigh
+kill me!”
+
+“Well, you'll soon know what he will do, for unless you tell me the
+whole story, I shall certainly go to him.”
+
+“Aw, Mary-'Gusta--”
+
+“I surely shall. And if he won't tell me I shall go to someone outside
+the family--to Judge Baxter, perhaps. He would tell me, I'm sure, if
+I asked. No, Isaiah, you tell me. And if you do tell me all freely and
+frankly, keeping nothing back, I'll say nothing to Uncle Shad or Uncle
+Zoeth. They shall never know who told.”
+
+Mr. Chase wrung his hands. Ever since he had been cook at the white
+house by the shore he had had this duty laid upon him, the duty of
+keeping his lips closed upon the name of Edgar Farmer and the story
+connected with that name. When Captain Shadrach first engaged him for
+his present situation the Captain had ordered him never to speak the
+name or mention the happenings of that time. And after little Mary
+Lathrop became a regular and most important member of the family, the
+command was repeated. “She mustn't ever know if we can help it, Isaiah,”
+ said Shadrach, solemnly. “You know Zoeth and how he feels. For his sake,
+if nothin' else, we mustn't any of us drop a hint so that she will know.
+She'll find out, I presume likely, when she gets older; there'll be some
+kind soul around town that'll tell her, consarn 'em; but WE shan't tell
+her; and if YOU tell her, Isaiah Chase, I'll--I declare to man I'll
+heave you overboard!”
+
+And now after all these years of ignorance during which the expected had
+not happened and no one of the village gossips had revealed the secret
+to her--now, here she was, demanding that he, Isaiah Chase, reveal it,
+and threatening to go straight to Captain Gould and tell who had put
+her upon the scent. No wonder the cook and steward wrung his hands in
+despair; the heaving overboard was imminent.
+
+Mary, earnest and determined as she was to learn the truth, the
+truth which she was beginning to believe might mean so much to her,
+nevertheless could not help pitying him.
+
+“Come, come, Isaiah,” she said, “don't look so tragic. There isn't
+anything so dreadful about it. Have you promised--have you given your
+word not to tell? Because if you have I shan't ask you to break it.
+I shall go to Judge Baxter instead--or to Uncle Shad. But of course I
+shall be obliged to tell how I came to know--the little I do know.”
+
+Mr. Chase did not like the prospect of her going to the Captain, that
+was plain. For the first time his obstinacy seemed to waver.
+
+“I--I don't know's I ever give my word,” he admitted. “I never promised
+nothin', as I recollect. Cap'n Shad he give me orders--”
+
+“Yes, yes, of course he did. Well, now I'M giving you orders. And I
+promise you, Isaiah, if it ever becomes necessary I'll stand between you
+and Uncle Shad. Now tell me.”
+
+Isaiah sat down upon the bed and wiped his forehead.
+
+“Oh, Lordy!” he moaned. “I wisht my mouth had been sewed up afore ever
+I said a word about any of it. . . . But--but . . . Well,” desperately,
+“what is it you want to know?”
+
+“I want to know everything. Begin at the beginning and tell me who Mr.
+Farmer was.”
+
+Mr. Chase marked a pattern on the floor with his slippered foot. Then he
+began:
+
+“He come from up Cape Ann way in the beginnin',” he said. “The rest of
+the firm was Cape Codders, but he wan't. However, he'd been a-fishin'
+and he knew fish and after the firm was fust started and needed an extry
+bookkeeper he applied and got the job. There was three of 'em in Hall
+and Company at fust, all young men they was, too; your stepfather, Cap'n
+Marcellus Hall, he was the head one; and Mr. Zoeth, he was next and
+Cap'n Shad next. 'Twan't until three or four year afterwards that Ed
+Farmer was took in partner. He was so smart and done so well they give
+him a share and took him in.
+
+“Everybody liked him, too. He was younger even than the rest, and fine
+lookin' and he had a--a kind of way with him that just made you like
+him. The way the business was handled was somethin' like this: Cap'n
+Marcellus, your stepfather, Mary-'Gusta, he and Cap'n Shad done the
+outside managin', bossin' the men--we had a lot of 'em on the wharf them
+days, too, and there was always schooners unloadin' and carts loadin' up
+and fellers headin' up barrels--Oh, Hall and Company's store and docks
+was the busiest place on the South Shore. You ask anybody that remembers
+and they'll tell you so.
+
+“Well, Cap'n Marcellus and Cap'n Shad was sort of outside bosses, same
+as I said, and Zoeth he was sort of general business boss, 'tendin' to
+the buyin' supplies and payin' for 'em and gettin' money and the like of
+that, and Ed--Edgar Farmer, I mean--he was inside office boss, lookin'
+out for the books and the collections and the bank account and so on.
+Marcellus and Zoeth and Cap'n Shad was old chums and had been for years;
+they was as much to each other as brothers and always had been; but it
+wan't so very long afore they thought as much of Farmer as they did of
+themselves. He was that kind--you couldn't help takin' a notion to him.
+
+“When I get to talkin' about Hall and Company I could talk for a month
+of Sundays. Them was great days--yes, sir, great days for South Harniss
+and the fish business. Why I've seen, of a Saturday mornin' in the
+mackerel season, as many as forty men ashore right here in town with
+money in their pockets and their hats on onesided, lookin' for fun or
+trouble just as happened along. And Cap'n Marcellus and his partners was
+looked up to and respected; not much more'n boys they wan't, but they
+was big-bugs, I tell you, and they wore beaver hats to church on Sunday,
+every man jack of 'em. Fur's that goes, I wore one, too, and you might
+not think it, but 'twas becomin' to me if I do say it. Yes, sir-ee!
+'Twas a kind of curl-up brim one, that hat was, and--”
+
+“Never mind the hat now, Isaiah,” interrupted Mary. “Tell me about Mr.
+Farmer.”
+
+Isaiah looked offended. “I am tellin' you, ain't I?” he demanded. “Ain't
+I tellin' you fast as I can?”
+
+“Perhaps you are. We won't argue about it. Go on.”
+
+“Well--well, where was I? You've put me clear off my course.”
+
+“You were just going to tell me what Mr. Farmer did.”
+
+“What he did! What didn't he do, you'd better say! The blackguard!
+He smashed the firm flat, that's what he done! And he run off with
+Marcellus's sister.”
+
+“Marcellus's sister! My stepfather's sister! I didn't know he ever had a
+sister. Are you sure he had?”
+
+“Am I sure! What kind of talk's that? Course I'm sure! She was younger
+than Marcellus and pretty--say, she WAS pretty! Yes, the outside of her
+figurehead was mighty hard to beat, everybody said so; but the inside
+was kind of--well, kind of rattly, as you might say. She'd laugh and
+talk and go on and Ed Farmer he'd hang over the desk there in the office
+and look at her. Just look--and look--and look. How many times I've
+seen 'em that way! It got so that folks begun to talk a little mite.
+Marcellus didn't, of course; he idolized that girl, worshiped her like
+a vain thing, so's to speak. And Cap'n Shad, course he wouldn't talk
+because he's always down on tattle-tales and liars, but I've always
+thought he was a little mite suspicious and troubled. As for poor
+Zoeth--well, it's always his kind that are the last to suspect. And
+Zoeth was as innocent then as he is now. And as good, too.
+
+“And then one day it come out, come down on us like the mainmast goin'
+by the board. No, come to think of it, it didn't come all to once that
+way. Part of it did, but the rest didn't. The rest kind of leaked out
+along slow, gettin' a little mite worse every day. I can see it just as
+plain as if 'twas yesterday--Marcellus and Shadrach in the office goin'
+over the books and addin' up on pieces of paper, and it gettin' worse
+and worse all the time. And the whole town a-talkin'! And poor
+Zoeth lyin' in his bedroom there to home, out of his mind and ravin'
+distracted and beggin' and pleadin' with his partners not to chase 'em,
+to let 'em go free for her sake. And the doctor a-comin'! And--”
+
+Mary began to feel that she, too, was in danger of raving distraction.
+Between her anxiety to hear the story and her forebodings and growing
+suspicions she was becoming more and more nervous as Isaiah rambled on.
+
+“Wait! Wait, please, Isaiah!” she begged. “I don't understand. What had
+happened?”
+
+Isaiah regarded her with surprise and impatience.
+
+“Ain't I been tellin' you?” he snapped, testily. “Ain't I this minute
+told you? This Ed Farmer had cleared out and run off and he'd took
+with him every cent of Hall and Company's money that he could rake and
+scrape. He'd been stealin' and speculatin' for years, it turned out.
+'Twas him, the dum thief, him and his stealin's that made the firm fail.
+Wan't that enough to happen, I'd like to know? But that wan't all; no,
+sir, that wan't the worst of it.”
+
+He paused, evidently expecting his hearer to make some comment. She was
+leaning forward, her eyes fixed upon his face, but she did not speak.
+Mr. Chase, judging by her expression that he had created the sensation
+which, as story-teller, he considered his due, went on.
+
+“No, sir-ee! that wan't the worst of it. You and me might have thought
+losin' all our money was the worst that could be, but Marcellus
+and Shadrach didn't think so. Marcellus was pretty nigh stove in
+himself--there was nothin' on earth he loved the way he loved that
+sister of his--but when he and Cap'n Shad thought of poor Zoeth they
+couldn't think of much else. Shadrach had liked her and Marcellus had
+loved her, but Zoeth had fairly bowed down and worshiped the ground she
+trod on. Anything she wanted, no matter what, she could have if 'twas in
+Zoeth's power to get it for her. He'd humored her and spiled her as if
+she was a child and all he asked for doin' it was that she'd pat him
+on the head once in a while, same as you would a dog. And now she'd
+gone--run off with that thief! Why--”
+
+Mary interrupted again. “Wait! Wait, Isaiah,” she cried. “I tell you I
+don't understand. You say--you say Captain Hall's sister had gone with
+Mr. Farmer?”
+
+“Sartin! she run off with him and nobody's laid eyes on either of 'em
+since. That was why--”
+
+“Stop! stop! What I don't understand is why Uncle Zoeth was so stricken
+by the news. Why had HE humored and spoiled her? Was he in love with
+her?”
+
+Isaiah stared at her in blank astonishment.
+
+“In love with her!” he repeated. “Course he was! Why wouldn't he be?
+Wan't she his wife?”
+
+There was no doubt about the sensation now. The color slowly faded from
+Mary's cheeks.
+
+“His WIFE?” she repeated slowly.
+
+“Sartin! They'd been married 'most five year. Didn't I tell you? She was
+a good deal younger'n he was, but--”
+
+“Wait! What--what was her name?”
+
+“Eh? Didn't I tell you that neither? That's funny. Her name was
+Patience--Patience Hall.”
+
+The last doubt was gone. Clear and distinct to Mary's mind came a
+sentence of Crawford's: “I saw her name first on the gravestone and it
+made an impression on me because it was so quaint and old-fashioned.
+'Patience, wife of Edwin Smith.'”
+
+She heard very little of Isaiah's story thereafter. Scattered sentences
+reached her ears. Isaiah was telling how, because of Zoeth's pleading
+and the latter's desire to avoid all the public scandal possible, no
+attempt was made to trace the fugitives.
+
+“They went West somewheres,” said Isaiah. “Anyhow 'twas supposed they
+did 'cause they was seen together on the Chicago train by an Orham man
+that knew Farmer. Anybody but Marcellus and your uncles, Mary-'Gusta,
+would have sot the sheriff on their track and hauled 'em back here and
+made that Farmer swab give up what he stole. I don't imagine he had such
+a terrible lot with him, I cal'late the heft of it had gone in stock
+speculatin', but he must have had somethin' and they could have got
+a-holt of that. But no, Zoeth he says, 'Don't follow 'em! For her sake
+and mine--don't make the shame more public than 'tis.' You see, Zoeth
+was the same then as he is now; you'd have thought HE was to blame to
+hear him talk. He never said a word against her then nor since. A mighty
+good man, your Uncle Zoeth Hamilton is, Mary-'Gusta. Saint on earth, I
+call him.”
+
+He went on to tell how Marcellus and Shadrach had fought to keep the
+firm on its feet, how for a time it struggled on against the load of
+debt left it by their former partner, only to go down at last.
+
+“Marcellus went down with it, as you might say,” continued Isaiah.
+“Between losin' his sister and losin' his business he never was the same
+man afterwards, though he did make consider'ble money in other ways. Him
+and Cap'n Shadrach both went back to seafarin' again and after a spell
+I went with 'em. Poor Zoeth, when he got on his feet, which took a long
+spell, he started a little store that by and by, when Cap'n Shad joined
+in with him, was Hamilton and Company, same as now. And when Shadrach
+come I come too, as cook and steward, you understand. But from that
+day to this there's been two names never mentioned in this house, one's
+Patience Hall's and t'other's Ed Farmer's. You can see now why, when I
+thought that tintype was his, I was so took aback. You see, don't you,
+Mary-'Gusta? Why! Where you goin'?”
+
+Mary had risen from her chair, taken up the lamp, and was on her way to
+the door.
+
+“I'm going to my room,” she said. “Good night, Isaiah.”
+
+“What are you goin' now for? I could tell you a lot more partic'lars if
+you wanted to hear 'em. Now I've told so much I might as well tell the
+rest. If I'm goin' to be hove overboard for tellin' I might as well make
+a big splash as a little one. If you got any questions to ask, heave
+ahead and ask 'em. Fire away, I don't care,” he added, recklessly.
+
+But Mary shook her head. She did not even turn to look at him.
+
+“Perhaps I may ask them some other time,” she said. “Not now. Thank you
+for telling me so much. Good night.”
+
+Alone in her own room once more she sat down to think. It was plain
+enough now. All the parts of the puzzle fitted together. Edwin Smith
+having been proved to be Edgar Farmer, everything was explainable. It
+had seemed queer to her, Mr. Smith's aversion to the East, his refusal
+to come East even to his son's graduation; but it was not at all queer
+that Edgar Farmer, the embezzler, should feel such an aversion, or
+refuse to visit a locality where, even after all these years, he might
+be recognized. It was not odd that he disliked to be photographed. And
+it certainly was not strange that he should have behaved as he did
+when his son announced the intention of marrying her, Mary Lathrop,
+stepdaughter of one of his former partners and victims' and adopted
+niece and ward of the other two.
+
+What a terrible surprise and shock Crawford's communication must have
+been to him! The dead past, the past he no doubt had believed buried
+forever, had risen from the tomb to confront him. His only son, the
+boy he idolized, who believed him to be a man of honor, whose love and
+respect meant more than the world to him--his only son asking to marry
+the ward of the man whom he had wronged beyond mortal forgiveness,
+asking to marry her and intimating that he would marry her whether or
+no. And the secret which he had guarded so jealously, had hidden from
+his son and the world with such infinite pains, suddenly threatening to
+be cried aloud in the streets for all, his boy included, to hear. Mary
+shuddered as she realized what the man must have felt. It must have
+seemed to him like the direct hand of avenging Providence. No wonder
+he at first could not believe it to be merely accident, coincidence; no
+wonder that he asked if Zoeth Hamilton had sent Crawford to him, and had
+demanded to know what Zoeth Hamilton had told.
+
+It was dreadful, it was pitiful. She found herself pitying Edwin
+Smith--or Edgar Farmer--even though she knew the retribution which had
+come upon him was deserved.
+
+She pitied him--yes; but now she could spare little pity for others, she
+needed as much herself. For minute by minute, as she sat there thinking
+out this great problem just as the little Mary-'Gusta used to think out
+her small ones, her duty became clear and more clear to her mind. Edgar
+Farmer's secret must be kept. For Crawford's sake it must be. He need
+not--he must not--learn that the father he had honored and respected all
+his life was unworthy of that honor and respect. And her uncles--they
+must not know. The old skeleton must not be dug from its grave. Her
+Uncle Zoeth had told her only a little while before that he was learning
+to forget, or if not to forget at least to be more reconciled. She
+did not understand him then; now she did. To have him learn that Edgar
+Farmer was alive, that his son--Oh, no, he must not learn it! Ill as he
+was, and weak as he was likely to be always, the shock might kill him.
+And yet sooner or later he would learn unless the secret remained, as it
+had been for years, undisclosed.
+
+And to keep it still a secret was, she saw clearly, her duty. She might
+rebel against it, she might feel that it was wicked and cruel,
+the spoiling of her life to save these others, but it was her duty
+nevertheless. Because she loved Crawford--and she was realizing now that
+she did love him dearly, that there could never be another love in the
+world for her---she must send him away, she must end the affair at
+once. If she did that she could save him from learning of his father's
+disgrace, could avert the otherwise inevitable quarrel between them,
+could make his career and his future secure. And her uncles would be
+happy, the skeleton would remain undisturbed.
+
+Yes, she must do it. But it was so hard to do. Philosophy did not help
+in the least. She had tried to convince herself when she gave up her
+school work that it meant the end of her romance also. She had tried to
+tell Crawford so. But she had been weak, she had permitted herself to
+hope. She had realized that for the present, perhaps for years, she must
+work for and with the old men who had been father and mother both
+to her, but--he had said so--Crawford would wait for her, and some
+day--perhaps--
+
+But now there was no perhaps--now she knew. She must receive no more
+letters from him. She must never see him again. The break must be
+absolute and final. And there was but one way to bring that about. He
+had said repeatedly that only her declaration that she did not love him
+would ever prevent his marrying her. Very well, then for his sake she
+must lie to him; she must tell him that very thing. She must write him
+that she had been considering the matter and had decided she could never
+love him enough to become his wife.
+
+It was almost two o'clock when she reached this decision but she sat
+down at her desk to write then and there the letter containing it, the
+last letter she would ever write him. And when the morning light came
+streaming in at the windows she still sat there, the letter unwritten.
+She had made many beginnings, but not an end. She must try again; she
+was too tired, too nervous, too hopeless and heartbroken to make another
+attempt that morning, but before the day was over it should be done.
+She threw herself down upon the bed but she could not sleep. Why had
+she been selected to bear this burden? What had she done that God should
+delight to torture her in this way?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+That difficult letter was never written. In the afternoon, business at
+the store being rather quiet and Mrs. Atkins, the nurse, desiring an
+hour's leave to do an errand in the village, Mary had taken her place
+in the sickroom. Zoeth was improving slowly, so the doctor said, but he
+took very little interest in what went on, speaking but seldom,
+asking few questions, and seeming to be but partially sensible of his
+surroundings. Best not to try to rouse him, the physician said. Little
+by little he would gain mentally as well as physically and, by and
+by, there was reason to hope, would be up and about again. Probably,
+however, he would never be so strong as he had been before his sudden
+seizure, the cause of which--if there had been a definite cause--was
+still unknown.
+
+Just then he was asleep and Mary, sitting in the rocking-chair by the
+bed, was thinking, thinking, thinking. If she could only stop thinking
+for a little while! Uncle Zoeth, there on the bed, looked so calm and
+peaceful. If only she might have rest and peace again! If she might be
+allowed to forget!
+
+The door opened gently and Mr. Chase appeared. He beckoned to her to
+come out. With a glance at the patient, she tiptoed from the room into
+the hall.
+
+“What is it, Isaiah?” she asked.
+
+Isaiah seemed to be excited about something.
+
+“I've got a surprise for you, Mary-'Gusta,” he whispered. “There's
+somebody downstairs to see you.”
+
+His manner was so important and mysterious that Mary was puzzled.
+
+“Someone to see me?” she repeated. “Who is it?”
+
+Mr. Chase winked.
+
+“It's somebody you wan't expectin' to see, I bet you!” he declared. “I
+know I wan't. When I opened the door and see him standin' there I--”
+
+“Saw him? Who? Who is it, Isaiah? Stop that ridiculous winking this
+instant. Who is it?”
+
+“It's that young Crawford Smith feller from way out West, that's who
+'tis. Ah, ha! I told you you'd be surprised.”
+
+She was surprised, there could be no doubt of that. For a moment she
+stood perfectly still. Had it not been that the hall was almost dark in
+the shadows of the late afternoon Isaiah would have noticed how pale
+she had become. But it was evident that he did not notice it, for he
+chuckled.
+
+“I told you you'd be some surprised,” he crowed. “Well, ain't you comin'
+on down to see him? Seems to me if I had a beau--excuse me, a gentleman
+friend--who come a-cruisin' all the way from t'other side of creation to
+see me I wouldn't keep him waitin' very long. Ho! ho!”
+
+Mary did not answer at once. When she did she was surprised to find that
+she was able to speak so calmly.
+
+“I shall be down in a moment,” she said. “Isaiah, will you please go in
+and stay with Uncle Zoeth until I come?”
+
+Isaiah looked chagrined and disappointed. Visitors from the far West
+were rare and especially rare was a young gentleman who Mr. Chase, with
+what Captain Shadrach termed his “lovesick imagination,” surmised was
+Mary-'Gusta's beau. He wished to see more of him.
+
+“Aw, say, Mary-'Gusta,” he pleaded, “I'm awful busy. I don't see how I
+can set along of Zoeth--Say, Mary'Gusta!”
+
+But Mary had gone. She was hurrying along the hall toward her own room.
+So Isaiah, remembering that the doctor had said Mr. Hamilton must not be
+left alone, grumblingly obeyed orders and went in to sit beside him.
+
+In her own room Mary stood, white and shaken, striving to regain her
+composure. She must regain it, she must be cool and calm in order to go
+through the ordeal she knew was before her. His coming could mean but
+one thing: his father had still refused consent and he had come to tell
+her so and to beg her to wait for him in spite of it. If only he had
+written saying he was coming, if she had been forewarned, then she
+might have been more ready, more prepared. Now she must summon all her
+resolution and be firm and unwavering. Her purpose was as set and strong
+as ever, but ah, it would be so hard to tell him! To write the letter
+she had meant to write would have been easy compared to this. However,
+it must be done--and done now. She went down the stairs and entered the
+sitting-room.
+
+He was sitting in the rocker by the window and when she came into the
+room he sprang to his feet and came toward her. His face, or so it
+seemed to her, showed some traces of the trouble and anxiety through
+which he had passed so recently. He was a little thinner and he looked
+less boyish. He held out his hands.
+
+“Well, Mary,” he cried, eagerly, “here I am. Aren't you glad to see me?”
+
+He seized both her hands in his. She disengaged them gently. Her manner
+seemed odd to him and he regarded her in a puzzled way.
+
+“AREN'T you glad?” he repeated. “Why, Mary, what is the matter?”
+
+She smiled sadly and shook her head. “Oh, Crawford,” she said, “why did
+you come? Or, at least, why didn't you write me you were coming?”
+
+He laughed. “I didn't write,” he answered, “because I was afraid if I
+did you would write me not to come.”
+
+“I certainly should.”
+
+“Of course you would. So I took no chances but just came instead.”
+
+“But why did you come?”
+
+“Why? To see you, of course.”
+
+“Oh, Crawford, please don't joke. You know I asked you not to come here.
+When we last spoke together, over the telephone, I told you that if you
+came here I should not see you. And yet you came.”
+
+His manner changed. He was serious enough now.
+
+“I came,” he said, “because--well, because I felt that I must. I had
+many things to tell you, Mary, and something to ask. And I could
+neither tell nor ask in a letter. Dad and I have quarreled--we've parted
+company.”
+
+She had expected to hear it, but it shocked and grieved her,
+nevertheless. She knew how he had loved his father.
+
+“Sit down, Crawford,” she said gently. “Sit down and tell me all about
+it.”
+
+He told her. There was little more to tell than he had written. His
+father had not become more reconciled to the idea of his marrying Mary.
+Instead his opposition was just as violent and, to his son's mind, as
+unreasonably absurd. Day after day Crawford waited, hoping that time
+would bring a change or that his own arguments might have an effect, but
+neither time nor argument softened Edwin Smith's obstinacy.
+
+“He behaved like a madman at times,” declared Crawford. “And at others
+he would almost beg me on his knees to give you up. I asked him why. I
+told him over and over again that he should be proud to have such a girl
+for his daughter-in-law. I said everything I could. I told him I would
+do anything for him--anything he asked--except give you up. That I would
+not do. And it was the only thing he seemed to wish me to do. Talked
+about bringing shame and disgrace on his head and mine--and all sorts of
+wild nonsense. When I asked what he meant by disgrace he could not tell
+me. Of course he couldn't.”
+
+That was true, of course he could not tell. Mary knew, and she realized
+once more the tortures which the man must have suffered, must be
+suffering at that moment.
+
+“So at last we parted,” said Crawford. “I left word--left a letter
+saying that, so far as I could see, it was best that I went away. We
+could not agree apparently, he and I, upon the one point which, as I
+saw it, was the most important decision of my life. And I had made that
+decision. I told him how much I hated to leave him; that I loved him as
+much as I ever did. 'But,' I said, 'I shall not give up my happiness and
+my future merely to gratify your unreasonable whim.' Then I came away
+and started East to you.”
+
+He paused, evidently expecting Mary to make some comment or ask a
+question, but she was silent. After a moment he went on.
+
+“I haven't made any definite plans as yet,” he said. “I have another
+year at the Medical School--or should have it. I am hoping that I may
+be able to go back to the Harvard Med. here in Boston and work my
+way through. Other chaps have done it and I'm sure I can. And after
+that--well, after that I must take my chance at finding a location and
+a practice, like any other young M.D. But first of all, Mary, I want
+you to tell me that you will wait for me. It's a lot to ask; I know how
+much. But will you, Mary dear? That's what I've come here for--to get
+you to say that you will. After that I can face anything--yes, and win
+out, too.”
+
+Mary looked at him. His face was aglow with earnestness and his voice
+shook as he finished speaking. He rose and held out his hands.
+
+“Will you, Mary?” he begged.
+
+She looked at him no longer. She was afraid to do so--afraid of her own
+weakness. But no sign of that weakness showed itself in her tone as she
+answered.
+
+“I'm sorry, Crawford,” she said, gently. “I wish I could, but I can't.”
+
+“Can't! Can't wait for me?”
+
+“I could wait for you, it isn't that. If it were merely a question of
+waiting--if that were all--how easy it would be! But it isn't. Crawford,
+you must go back to your father. You must go back to him and forget all
+about me. You must.”
+
+He stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed.
+
+“Forget you!” he repeated. “Mary, are you--”
+
+“Oh, please, Crawford! Don't make this any harder for both of us than it
+has to be. You must go back to your father and you must forget me. I can
+not marry you, I can't.”
+
+He came toward her.
+
+“But, Mary,” he cried, “I--I--Of course I know you can't--now. I know
+how you feel about your duty to your uncles. I know they need you. I am
+not asking that you leave them. I ask only that you say you will wait
+until--until by and by, when--”
+
+“Please, Crawford! No, I can't.”
+
+“Mary! You--Oh, but you must say it! Don't tell me you don't love me!”
+
+She was silent. He put his hands upon her shoulders. She could feel them
+tremble.
+
+“Don't you love me, Mary?” he repeated. “Look up! Look at me! DON'T you
+love me?”
+
+She did not look up, but she shook her head.
+
+“No, Crawford,” she said. “I'm afraid not. Not enough.”
+
+She heard him catch his breath, and she longed--Oh, how she longed!--to
+throw her arms about him, tell him that it was all a lie, that she did
+love him. But she forced herself not to think of her own love, only of
+those whom she loved and what disgrace and shame and misery would come
+upon them if she yielded.
+
+“Not enough?” she heard him repeat slowly. “You--you don't love me? Oh,
+Mary!”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“I am sorry, Crawford,” she said. “I can't tell you how sorry.
+Please--please don't think hardly of me, not too hardly. I wish--I wish
+it were different.”
+
+Neither spoke for a moment. Then he said:
+
+“I'm afraid I don't understand. Is there someone else?”
+
+“Oh, no, no! There isn't anyone.”
+
+“Then--But you told me--You have let me think--”
+
+“Please! I told you I was not sure of my own feelings. I--I am sure
+now. I am so sorry you came. I should have written you. I had begun the
+letter.”
+
+Again silence. Then he laughed, a short, bitter laugh with anything but
+mirth in it.
+
+“I am a fool,” he said. “WHAT a fool I have been!”
+
+“Please, Crawford, don't speak so. . . . Oh, where are you going?”
+
+“I? I don't know. What difference does it make where I go? Good-by.”
+
+“Stop, Crawford! Wait! It makes a difference to your father where you
+go. It makes a difference to me. I--I value your friendship very highly.
+I hoped I might keep that. I hoped you would let me be your friend, even
+though the other could not be. I hoped that.”
+
+The minute before she had asked him to forget her, but she did not
+remember that, nor did he. He was standing by the door, looking out. For
+a moment he stood there. Then he turned and held out his hand.
+
+“Forgive me, Mary,” he said. “I have behaved like a cad, I'm afraid.
+When a fellow has been building air castles and all at once they tumble
+down upon his head he--well, he is likely to forget other things.
+Forgive me.”
+
+She took his hand. She could keep back the tears no longer; her eyes
+filled.
+
+“There is nothing for me to forgive,” she said. “If you will forgive me,
+that is all I ask. And--and let me still be your friend.”
+
+“Of course. Bless you, Mary! I--I can't talk any more now. You'll--”
+ with an attempt at a smile--“you'll have to give me a little time to get
+my bearings, as your Uncle Shad would say.”
+
+“And--and won't you go back to your father? I shall feel so much happier
+if you do.”
+
+He hesitated. Then he nodded.
+
+“If you wish it--yes,” he said. “I suppose it is the thing I ought to
+do. Dad will be happy, at any rate. Oh, Mary, CAN'T you?”
+
+“No, Crawford, no. Yes, your father will be happy. And--and by and by
+you will be, too, I know. Are you going?”
+
+“Yes, I think I had better. I don't feel like meeting anyone and your
+Uncle Shad will be here soon, I suppose. Your man here--Isaiah--told me
+of Mr. Hamilton's sickness. I'm sorry.”
+
+“Yes, poor Uncle Zoeth! He is gaining a little, however. Crawford, I
+won't ask you to stay. Perhaps it will be best for both of us if you do
+not. But won't you write me just once more? Just to tell me that you and
+your father are reconciled? I should like to know that. And do forgive
+me--Oh, do! I HAD to say it, Crawford!”
+
+“I forgive you, Mary. Of course you had to say it. . . . But . . . Well,
+never mind. Yes, I'll write, of course. I hope . . . No, I can't say
+that, not now. I'd better go at once, I think, before I . . . Good-by.”
+
+He seized her hand, pressed it tightly, took his hat from the table and
+his bag from the floor and swung out of the door. In the doorway she
+stood looking after him. At the gate he turned, waved his hand, and
+hurried on. He did not look back again.
+
+
+When at half-past six Captain Shadrach, having left Annabel and the boy
+in charge of the store, came home for supper, Isaiah had some news to
+tell him. It was surprising news.
+
+“You don't say!” exclaimed the Captain. “Well, well, I want to know! All
+the way from out West, eh? Sho! Where is he now?”
+
+Isaiah shook his head. “That's the funny part of it, he's gone,” he
+said.
+
+“Gone? Gone where?”
+
+“I don't know. All I know is he come and said he wanted to see
+Mary-'Gusta--I went up and told her and she come down to see him. I
+stayed up along of Zoeth until Debby T. came back from her shoppin'
+cruise. Then I come downstairs again and his hat and bag was gone. There
+wan't nobody here.”
+
+“Where was Mary-'Gusta? Where is she now?”
+
+“Up in her room, I cal'late. I heard her movin' round there a spell
+ago.”
+
+Shadrach went up the stairs, along the hall, and knocked at Mary's door.
+
+“Who is it?” asked a faint voice within.
+
+“It's your Uncle Shad, Mary-'Gusta. Can I come in?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He entered. There was no lamp and the room was dark.
+
+“Where are you?” he demanded.
+
+“Here, by the window, Uncle Shad.”
+
+She was sitting in the rocker by the window. He could not see her face,
+but as he bent and kissed her cheek he found it wet.
+
+“Mercy on us! You've been cryin'!” he declared.
+
+“Oh--Oh, no, I haven't! I--”
+
+“Rubbish! Yes, you have, too. Settin' alone up here in the dark and
+cryin'! Mary-'Gusta Lathrop, come here!”
+
+She had risen from the rocking-chair, but he seized her in his arms, sat
+down in the chair himself, and lifted her to his knee just as he used to
+do when she was the little Mary-'Gusta.
+
+“Now there, dearie,” he said. “You'll tell your Uncle Shad. What is it?”
+
+“Oh, nothing, Uncle Shad, dear. I was--I'm feeling just a little silly
+this afternoon, I guess. You mustn't ask me.”
+
+“All right, I won't ask--I'll tell. That young feller from out West,
+the feller with the uncommon name--Brown--Jones--Oh, no, Smith, that was
+it--he came cruisin' around here and--”
+
+“Uncle Shad, how did you know?”
+
+“A little bird told me. A long-legged bird without much hair on top--a
+bald-headed eagle, I cal'late he must be. Hops round our kitchen
+daytimes and roosts in the attic nights.”
+
+“Isaiah! Of course he would tell.”
+
+“Of course he would--BEIN' Isaiah. Well, this Smith critter, he came
+and--and--well, I guess you'll have to tell me the rest.”
+
+“There isn't much to tell. He came and--and then he went away again.”
+
+“Went away--where?”
+
+“Out to Carson City, I suppose.”
+
+“Ain't he comin' back any more?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why? Don't you want him to come, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+“Oh, Uncle Shad, please don't. I don't feel as if I could answer. Don't
+ask me.”
+
+“There, there, dearie; don't you answer nothin'. You set still here and
+be my baby. I ain't had a chance to baby you for a long spell and it
+seems good.”
+
+Silence. Suddenly the Captain felt the head which nestled against his
+shoulder stir.
+
+“Uncle Shadrach,” said Mary-'Gusta, “what do you do when you want to
+forget?”
+
+“Eh? Want to forget? Oh, I don't know! Cal'late I turn to and sail in
+and work a little harder, maybe. Why?”
+
+“Oh, nothing. . . But I am much obliged for the suggestion. Now I am
+going to work. I shall begin tomorrow morning. I wish it was tomorrow
+right now.”
+
+“Don't. Jumpin' fire! Don't wish time away; some of us ain't got too
+much to spare. But ain't you BEEN workin', for mercy sakes? I should say
+you had.”
+
+Another interval of silence. Then Mary said:
+
+“Uncle Shad, a good while ago, when you asked me about--about him, I
+promised you I would tell when there was anything to tell. I am going to
+keep my promise. He came today and asked me--asked me to marry him--not
+now, of course, but by and by.”
+
+Shadrach was not greatly surprised. Nevertheless it was a moment before
+he spoke. Mary felt his arms tighten about her and she realized a little
+of the struggle he was making. Yet his tone was brave and cheerful.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “Well, I--I kind of cal'lated that would come some day
+or other. It's all right, Mary-'Gusta. Zoeth and me have talked it over
+and all we want is to see you happy. If you said yes to him, Zoeth and
+I'll say 'God bless you' to both of you.”
+
+She reached for his hand and lifted it to her lips. “I know you would,”
+ she said. “All your lives you have been thinking of others and not
+of yourselves. But I didn't say yes, Uncle Shad. I am not going to be
+married now or by and by. I don't want to be. I am the silent partner
+of Hamilton and Company. I am a business woman and I am going to
+work--REALLY work--from now on. No, you mustn't ask me any more
+questions. We'll try to forget it all. Kiss me, Uncle Shad, dear.
+That's it. Now you go down to supper. I shall stay here; I am not hungry
+tonight.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+
+Captain Shad did ask more questions, of course. He asked no more that
+evening--he judged it wisest not to do so; but the next day, seizing an
+opportunity when he and his niece were alone, he endeavored to learn a
+little more concerning her reasons for dismissing Crawford. The Captain
+liked young Smith, he had believed Mary liked him very much, and,
+although he could not help feeling a guilty sense of relief because the
+danger that he and Zoeth might have to share her affections with someone
+else was, for the time at least, out of the way, he was puzzled and
+troubled by the abruptness of the dismissal. There was something, he
+felt sure, which he did not understand.
+
+“Of course, Mary-'Gusta,” he said, “I ain't askin' anything--that is,
+I don't mean to put my oar in about what you told me last night,
+but--well, you see, Zoeth and me was beginnin' to feel that 'twas pretty
+nigh a settled thing between you and that young man.”
+
+Mary was sitting at the desk--she and her uncle were at the store
+together--and she looked up from the ledger over which she had been
+bending and shook her head reproachfully. She looked tired and worn, so
+it seemed to Captain Shadrach, as if she had not slept well the night
+before, or perhaps for several nights.
+
+“Uncle Shad,” she said, “what did I tell you?”
+
+“Eh? Why, you told me--You know what you told me, Mary-'Gusta. What do
+you ask that for?”
+
+“Because I think you have forgotten the most important part of it. I
+told you we were going to forget it all. And we are. We are not going to
+speak of it again.”
+
+“But, Mary-'Gusta, why--”
+
+“No, Uncle Shad.”
+
+“But do just tell me this much; if you don't I shan't rest in peace: you
+didn't send him away on account of Zoeth and me? It wan't just because
+you thought we needed you?”
+
+“No, Uncle Shad.”
+
+“Then--”
+
+“That's all. It's over with; it's done with forever. If you really care
+about me, Uncle Shad--and sometimes, you know, I almost suspect that
+you really do--you will never, NEVER say another word about it. Now come
+here and tell me about this account of Heman Rodger's. Isn't it time we
+tried to get a payment from him?”
+
+The Captain, although still uneasy and far from satisfied, asked no more
+questions of his niece. It was evident that nothing was to be gained in
+that way. He did, however, question Isaiah to learn if the latter had
+noticed anything unusual in Crawford's manner or if Crawford had said
+anything concerning his reason for coming on at that time, but Isaiah
+had noticed nothing.
+
+“Umph!” grunted Shadrach, rather impatiently, for the mystery in the
+affair irritated him. “Of course, you didn't notice. YOU wouldn't notice
+if your head came off.”
+
+Mr. Chase drew himself up. “If I hove out such a statement as that,” he
+observed, scornfully, “you'd call me a fool. 'If my head come off!' How
+could I notice anything if my head was off? You tell me that!”
+
+His employer grinned. “I cal'late you could do it about as well as you
+can with it on, Isaiah,” he said, and walked away, leaving the cook and
+steward incoherently anxious to retort but lacking ammunition.
+
+So Shadrach was obliged to give up the riddle. Lovers' quarrels were
+by no means unusual, he knew that, and many young love affairs came to
+nothing. Mary had never told him that she cared for Crawford. But she
+had never said she did not care for him. And now she would say nothing
+except that it was “done with forever.” The Captain shook his head and
+longed for Zoeth's counsel and advice. But Zoeth would not be able to
+counsel or advise for months.
+
+And now Mary seemed bent upon proving the truth of her statement that
+she was henceforth to be solely a business woman. The summer being
+over--and it had been, everything considered, a successful one for
+Hamilton and Company--it became time to buy fall and winter goods, also
+goods for the holidays. Mary went to Boston on a buying expedition. When
+she returned and informed her uncle what and how much she had bought,
+he looked almost as if he had been listening to the reading of his death
+warrant.
+
+“Jumpin' Judas!” he exclaimed. “You don't mean to tell me you bought all
+them things and--and got TRUSTED for 'em?”
+
+“Of course I did, Uncle Shad. It is the only way I could buy them; and,
+so far as that goes, everyone was glad to sell me. You see, our paying
+our bills up there in a shorter time than I asked for has made a very
+good impression. I could have bought ever and ever so much more if I had
+thought it best.”
+
+“Jumpin' fire! Well, I'm glad you didn't think it best. What in the
+nation we're goin' to do with all we have got I don't see.”
+
+“Do with it? Why, sell it, of course.”
+
+“Urn--yes, I cal'lated that was the idea, probably; but who's goin' to
+buy it?”
+
+“Oh, lots of people. You'll see. I am going to advertise this fall,
+advertise in the papers. Oh, we'll make Baker's Bazaar and the rest
+worry a little before we're through.”
+
+The Captain was inclined to fear that the most of the worrying would
+be done by Hamilton and Company, but he expressed no more misgivings.
+Besides, if anyone could sell all those goods, that one was his
+Mary-'Gusta, he was perfectly sure of that. He believed her quite
+capable of performing almost any miracle. Had she not pulled the firm
+off the rocks where he and his partner had almost wrecked it? Wasn't
+she the most wonderful young woman on earth? Old as he was, Captain Shad
+would probably have attempted to thrash any person who expressed a doubt
+of that.
+
+And the goods were sold, all of them and more. The advertisements,
+temptingly worded, appeared in the county weeklies, and circulars
+were sent through the mails. Partly by enterprise and partly through
+influence--Mr. Keith helped here--Mary attained for Hamilton and Company
+the contract for supplying the furniture and draperies for the new hotel
+which a New York syndicate was building at Orham Neck. It was purely
+a commission deal, of course--everything was purchased in Boston--and
+Hamilton and Company's profit was a percentage, but even a small
+percentage on so large a sale made a respectable figure on a check and
+helped to pay more of the firm's debts. And those debts, the old ones,
+were now reduced to an almost negligible quantity.
+
+The secondhand horse and wagon still continued to go upon their rounds,
+but the boy had been replaced by an active young fellow whose name was
+Crocker and who was capable of taking orders as well as delivering them.
+When Captain Shadrach was told--not consulted concerning but told--the
+wages this young man was to receive, he was, as he confided to Isaiah
+afterward, “dismasted, stove in, down by the head and sinkin' fast.”
+
+“Mary-'Gusta Lathrop!” he cried, in amazement. “Are you goin' stark
+loony? Payin' that Simmie Crocker fourteen dollars a WEEK for drivin'
+team and swappin' our good sugar and flour for sewin'-circle lies over
+folks' back fences! I never heard such a thing in my life. Why, Baker's
+Bazaar don't pay the man on their team but ten a week. I know that
+'cause he told me so himself. And Baker's Bazaar's got more trade than
+we have.”
+
+“Yes. And that is exactly why we need a better man than they have, so
+that WE can get more trade. Simeon Crocker is an ambitious young chap.
+He isn't going to be contented with fourteen long.”
+
+“Oh, he ain't, eh? Well, I ain't contented with it now, I tell you that.
+Fourteen dollars a week for drivin' cart! Jumpin' fire! Why, the cart
+itself ain't worth more'n fifteen and for twenty-five I'd heave in the
+horse for good measure. But I'd never get the chance,” he added, “unless
+I could make the trade in the dark.”
+
+Mary laughed and patted his shoulder.
+
+“Never mind, Uncle Shad,” she said, confidently, “Sim Crocker at
+fourteen a week is a good investment. He will get us a lot of new
+business now, and next summer--well, I have some plans of my own for
+next summer.”
+
+The Christmas business was very good indeed. Shadrach, Mary, Annabel,
+and Simeon were kept busy. Customers came, not only from South Harniss,
+but from West and East Harniss and even from Orham and Bayport. The
+newspaper advertisements were responsible for this in the beginning, but
+those who first came told others that the best stock of Christmas goods
+in Ostable County was to be found at the store of Hamilton and Company,
+in South Harniss, and so the indirect, word-of-mouth advertising, which
+is the best and most convincing kind, spread and brought results.
+
+Christmas itself was a rather dreary day. Zoeth, although improving,
+was not yet strong enough to leave his room, and so the Christmas dinner
+lacked his presence at the table. Mary and Shadrach sat with him for an
+hour or so, but the doctor and nurse had cautioned them against exciting
+him, so, although the Captain joked continually, his jokes were
+rather fickle and in his mind was his partner's prophecy of two years
+before--that the tide which had, up to that time, been coming in for
+them, would soon begin to go out. Shadrach could not help feeling that
+it had been going out, for poor Zoeth at any rate. The doctor declared
+it was coming in again, but how slowly it came! And how far would it
+come? This was the first Christmas dinner he had eaten in years without
+seeing Mr. Hamilton's kindly, patient face at the other side of the
+table.
+
+And Mary, although she tried to appear gay and lighthearted, laughing at
+her uncle's jokes and attempting a few of her own, was far from happy.
+Work, Captain Shad's recipe for producing forgetfulness, had helped, but
+it had not cured. And when, as on a holiday like this, or at night
+after she had gone to bed, there was no work to occupy her mind, she
+remembered only too well. Crawford had written her, as he promised,
+after his return home. He wrote that he and his father were reconciled
+and that he had resumed his studies. The letter was brave and cheerful,
+there was not a hint of whining or complaint in it. Mary was proud of
+him, proud of his courage and self-restraint. She could read between the
+lines and the loneliness and hopelessness were there but he had done his
+best to conceal them for her sake. If he felt resentment toward her, he
+did not show it. Lonely and hopeless as she herself was, her heart went
+out to him, but she did not repent her decision. It was better, ever and
+ever so much better, as it was. He would forget and be happy by and by,
+and would never know his father's shameful story. And poor Uncle Zoeth
+would never know, either. As for her--well, she must work, work harder
+than ever. Thank God there were six working days in the week!
+
+She did not answer that letter. After much deliberation she fought down
+the temptation and decided not to do so. What was the use? If one wished
+to forget, or wished someone else to forget, if it was a real wish and
+not merely pretending, the way to bring about that result was to do
+nothing to cause remembrance. Letters, even the letters of friends, the
+most platonic letters, were reminders. She had begged for Crawford's
+friendship--she could not bring herself to let him go without hearing
+that he forgave her and would think of her as a friend--but now she
+vowed she would not be so silly and childish as to torture him or
+herself unnecessarily. She would not do it. And so she did not write.
+
+
+After Christmas came the long, dull winter. It was the most discouraging
+season the silent partner of Hamilton and Company had yet put in in
+her capacity as manager. There were no cottagers to help out with their
+custom, very few new customers, no fresh faces in the store, the same
+dreary, deadly round from morning till night. She tried her hardest
+and, with the able assistance of Sim Crocker who was proving himself a
+treasure, did succeed in making February's sales larger than January's
+and those of March larger than either. But she looked forward to April
+and the real spring with impatience. She had a plan for the spring.
+
+It was in March that she experienced a great satisfaction and gave
+Shadrach the surprise and delight of his life by collecting the firm's
+bill against Mr. Jeremiah Clifford. Mr. Clifford, it will be remembered,
+had owed Hamilton and Company one hundred and ten dollars for a long
+time. There was every indication that he was perfectly satisfied with
+the arrangement and intended to owe it forever. Mary had written, had
+called upon him repeatedly, had even journeyed to Ostable and consulted
+her friend Judge Baxter. The Judge had promised to look into the matter
+and he did so, but his letter to her contained little that was hopeful.
+
+
+There is money there [wrote the Judge]. The man Clifford appears to
+be in very comfortable circumstances, but he is a shrewd [there were
+indications here that the word “rascal” had been written and then
+erased] person and, so far as I can learn, there is not a single item of
+property, real or otherwise, that is in his own name. If there were,
+we might attach that property for your debt, but we cannot attach Mrs.
+Clifford's holdings. All I can advise is to discontinue selling him more
+goods and to worry him all you can about the old bill. He may grow tired
+of being dunned and pay, if not all, at least something on account.
+
+
+When Mary read this portion of the letter to her Uncle Shadrach his
+scorn was outspoken.
+
+“Get tired!” he scoffed. “Jerry Clifford get tired of bein' dunned!
+DON'T talk so foolish! Why, he gets fat on that kind of thing; it's
+the main excitement he has, that and spendin' a cent twice a day for
+newspapers. Did you ever watch Jerry buy a paper? No? Well, you go up to
+Ellis's some day when the mornin' papers are put out for sale and watch
+him. He'll drive up to the door with that old hoopskirt of a horse
+of his--that's what the critter looks like, one of them old-fashioned
+hoop-skirts; there was nothin' to them but framework and a hollow
+inside, and that's all there is to that horse.--Well, Jerry he'll drive
+up and come in to the paper counter, his eyes shinin' and his nerves all
+keyed up and one hand shoved down into his britches pocket. He'll stand
+and look over the papers on the counter, readin' as much of every one
+as he can for nothin', and then by and by that hand'll come out of his
+pocket with a cent in it. Then the other hand'll reach over and get hold
+of the paper he's cal'latin' to buy, get a good clove hitch onto it, and
+then for a minute he'll stand there lookin' first at the cent and then
+at the paper and rubbin' the money between his finger and thumb--he's
+figgerin' to have a little of the copper smell left on his hand even if
+he has to let go of the coin, you see--and--”
+
+Mary laughed.
+
+“Uncle Shad,” she exclaimed, “what ridiculous nonsense you do talk!”
+
+“No nonsense about it. It's dead serious. It ain't any joke to Jerry,
+you can bet on that. Well, after a spell, he kind of gets his spunk up
+to make the plunge, as you might say, lays down the penny--Oh, he
+never throws it down; he wouldn't treat real money as disrespectful
+as that--grabs up the paper and makes a break for outdoors, never once
+lookin' back for fear he might change his mind. When he drives off in
+his buggy you can see that he's all het up and trembly, like one of them
+reckless Wall Street speculators you read about. He's spent a cent,
+but he's had a lovely nerve-wrackin' time doin' it. Oh, a feller has
+to satisfy his cravin' for excitement somehow, and Jerry satisfies his
+buyin' one-cent newspapers and seein' his creditors get mad. Do you
+suppose you can worry such a critter as that by talkin' to him about
+what he owes? Might as well try to worry a codfish by leanin' over the
+rail of the boat and hollerin' to it that it's drownin'.”
+
+Mary laughed again. “I'm afraid you may be right, Uncle Shad,” she said,
+“but I shan't give up hope. My chance may come some day, if I wait and
+watch for it.”
+
+It came unexpectedly and in a rather odd manner. One raw, windy March
+afternoon she was very much surprised to see Sam Keith walk into the
+store. Sam, since his graduation from college, was, as he expressed it,
+“moaning on the bar” in Boston--that is to say, he was attending the
+Harvard Law School with the hope, on his parents' part, that he might
+ultimately become a lawyer.
+
+“Why, Sam!” exclaimed Mary. “Is this you?”
+
+Sam grinned cheerfully. “'Tis I,” he declared. “I am here. That is
+to say, the handsome youth whose footfalls you hear approaching upon
+horseback is none other than our hero. Mary, you are, as usual, a sight
+to be thankful for. How do you do?”
+
+Mary admitted that she was in good health and then demanded to know what
+he was doing down on the Cape at that time of the year. He sat down in
+a chair by the stove and propped his feet against the hearth before
+replying.
+
+“Why! Haven't you guessed?” he asked, in mock amazement. “Dear me! I'm
+surprised. I should have thought the weather would have suggested my
+errand. Hear that zephyr; doesn't it suggest bathing suits and outing
+flannels and mosquitoes and hammock flirtations? Eh?”
+
+The zephyr was a sixty-mile-an-hour March gale. Sam replied to his own
+question.
+
+“Answer,” he said, “it does not. Right, my child; go up head. But,
+honest Injun, I am down here on summer business. That Mr. Raymond, Dad's
+friend, who was visiting us this summer is crazy about the Cape. He
+has decided to build a summer home here at South Harniss, and the first
+requisite being land to build it on he has asked Dad to buy the strip
+between our own property and the North Inlet, always provided it can be
+bought. Dad asked me to come down here and see about it, so here I am.”
+
+Mary considered. “Oh, yes,” she said, after a moment, “I know the land
+you mean. Who owns it?”
+
+“That's what I didn't know,” said Sam. “But I do know now. I asked the
+first person I met after I got off the train and oddly enough he turned
+out to be the owner himself. It was old Clifford--Isaiah, Elisha,
+Hosea--Jeremiah, that's it. I knew it was one of the prophets.”
+
+“So Mr. Clifford owns that land. I didn't know that.”
+
+“Neither did I. He didn't tell me at first that he did own it. Asked me
+what I wanted to know for.”
+
+“Did you tell him?” asked Mary.
+
+For the first time since Mr. Keith's arrival that young gentleman's easy
+assurance seemed a little shaken. He appeared to feel rather foolish.
+
+“Why, yes, to be honest, I did,” he admitted. “I was an idiot, I
+suppose, but everyone asks about everyone's else business down here and
+I didn't think. He kept talking and pumping and before I realized it I
+told him about Raymond's being so anxious to get that property, being
+dead set on it and all that, and about my being commissioned to buy
+at any reasonable figure. And then, after a while, he astonished me by
+saying he owned the land himself. Confound it! I suppose he'll jam the
+price away up after what I told him.”
+
+“Oh, then you haven't bought?”
+
+“Not yet. I was willing, but for some reason he wouldn't sell at
+once--wouldn't even talk price. Wanted to think it over, he said. I
+can't wait now, but I am coming down again on Monday and we shall close
+the deal then.”
+
+That evening Mary told Shadrach what Sam had said. The Captain looked
+puzzled.
+
+“I didn't know Jerry Clifford owned that land,” he said. “I don't
+believe he does.”
+
+“Of course he does, Uncle Shad. He wouldn't have told Sam he did own it
+if he didn't. What in the world would he gain by that?”
+
+“Why, nothin', I presume likely. But he must have bought it mighty
+recent. Last I heard Jimmie G. owned that piece. 'Twas part of the
+property his father left him. Next time I see Jimmie I'll ask him.”
+
+So, three days later, when Jimmie G.--his last name was Peters--passed
+the store the Captain hailed him and, inviting him in, went straight to
+the point.
+
+“When did you sell Jerry Clifford that North Inlet land of yours, Jim?”
+ he asked.
+
+Jimmie G. looked surprised. “How in time did you know I had sold it?” he
+demanded. “It beats all how things get around in this town. I never sold
+that land until day afore yesterday evenin' and the deed didn't pass
+till yesterday, and yet you know the whole business. Not that I care;
+'twas Jerry wanted it kept still. Who told you?”
+
+Captain Shad whistled. “I see,” he said slowly. “I see. Yes, yes. When
+Jerry told Sam he owned that land he . . . Humph! It's just another case
+of the boy lied, that's all. Tut, tut, tut! When you get ahead of Jerry
+Clifford you've got to turn out early, ain't you? I hope you got a good
+price for the land, Jim.”
+
+“Well, I didn't; that is, not very big. What's up, anyway? What are you
+hintin' at, Cap'n Shad?”
+
+Before the Captain could answer, Mary, who had been listening to the
+conversation, broke in to ask a question.
+
+“Mr. Peters,” she cried eagerly, “would you mind telling me this: Whose
+name is the new deed in, Mr. Clifford's or his wife's?”
+
+Jimmie G. laughed. “Why, that was kind of funny, too,” he said. “You
+know Jerry, Cap'n Shad; he never has nothin' in his own name--it's all
+in his wife's. That's a principle of his.”
+
+“I'd call it a lack of principle,” grunted Shadrach. “Never mind, Jim;
+go on.”
+
+“But he was in a terrible rush to close the sale, for some reason or
+other,” went on Peters, “and I forgot, myself, and had the deed made in
+the name of Jeremiah Clifford. He made a big row at first, but it seemed
+as if he couldn't wait for me to have it changed, so he handed over his
+check and--”
+
+“Wait! Wait, please, Mr. Peters!” broke in Mary, her eyes flashing with
+excitement. “Just tell me if I understand you correctly. You sold that
+land to Mr. Clifford and he owns it now IN HIS OWN NAME?”
+
+“Why, yes--sartin.”
+
+Mary waited to hear no more. She ran out of the store and to the
+post-office. A few minutes later she was talking with Judge Baxter over
+the telephone. When she returned the Captain was curious to know where
+she had been, but she would not tell him.
+
+“Wait,” she said. “Wait, Uncle Shad; I think something is going to
+happen.”
+
+It happened on Monday morning. Mary was at the desk; Simeon was in the
+back room getting ready his early morning orders, and Captain Shad was
+standing by the window looking out. Suddenly Mary heard him utter an
+exclamation.
+
+“What is the matter?” she asked.
+
+“Oh, nothin'.”
+
+“You spoke as if you were in pain.”
+
+“No wonder. I'm lookin' at somethin' that gives me a pain. That
+wizened-up landshark of a Jerry Clifford is in sight, bound to the
+post-office, I cal'late. Goin' to put a one-cent stamp on a letter and
+let the feller that gets it pay the other cent, I suppose. He always
+asks the postmaster to lick the stamp, so's to save the wear and tear on
+his own tongue. That's a fact. . . . No,” he added, a moment later, “he
+ain't goin' to the office; he's turnin' down the lane here. . . . Eh!
+Jumpin' fire of brimstone, I do believe--WHAT in the world?”
+
+For Mr. Clifford's step was upon the platform of the store and in
+another moment the door opened and the tight-fisted one himself
+appeared. Shadrach said nothing; he could only stare in amazement. It
+had been more than two years since Jeremiah had crossed that threshold.
+
+But he crossed it now. And, after a look about the place, ignoring the
+Captain completely, he walked over to the desk. He did not look happy.
+Mary, on the contrary, looked very much pleased.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Clifford,” she said.
+
+Jeremiah, who was a little thin man, looked up at her from under his
+heavy gray eyebrows and above his spectacles. He did not acknowledge the
+salutation.
+
+“Umph!” he grunted savagely. “You think you're smart, don't ye?”
+
+Shadrach started forward.
+
+“Why, you--” he began. Mary held up her hand.
+
+“Don't interfere, Uncle Shad,” she ordered. “This is Mr. Clifford's
+affair and mine. We understand each other perfectly.” Then, turning to
+the frowning Jeremiah, she said: “Why, yes, thank you, Mr. Clifford, I
+do think I am rather clever--just now. Don't you think I am, yourself?”
+
+Again the visitor ignored the question.
+
+“What did you go and stick an attachment on that land of mine for?” he
+demanded.
+
+“Surely you don't need to ask me that, Mr. Clifford. The amount is
+one hundred and ten dollars and sixty-three cents. I remember it and I
+should imagine you must; certainly it has been called to your attention
+often enough.”
+
+“Umph! Well, you can keep your darned old attachment.”
+
+“Very well; and you can keep your land--what is left, I mean. I think
+you will keep it for some time--after I tell Mr. Keith the facts. He
+will be here this afternoon, you know.”
+
+It was evident that Jeremiah was quite aware of the time of Sam Keith's
+arrival. His teeth--the few remaining--snapped together and, as Captain
+Shadrach said afterwards, he looked as if undecided whether to bite
+or put back his head and howl. Apparently he decided that howling was
+safer.
+
+“I was cal'latin' to pay that bill of yours, anyhow,” he said.
+
+“Of course, and we were calculating that you would,” said Mary sweetly.
+“Your calculations and ours are proving true, Mr. Clifford. That's nice,
+isn't it?”
+
+From the direction of the back room, where Simeon was busy with his
+orders, came the sound of a smothered laugh. Shadrach, upon whom
+understanding of the situation was just beginning to dawn, slapped his
+knee. Mr. Clifford looked positively venomous.
+
+“If I pay that bill--that--what was it?--that hundred and ten dollars
+you say I owe you--do I get that attachment off my land right away?” he
+demanded.
+
+“If you pay the one hundred and ten dollars--and the sixty-three
+cents--I shall phone Judge Baxter the next minute,” said Mary promptly.
+
+Jeremiah hesitated no longer. He had considered the situation in all its
+phases before leaving home and the one hundred and ten dollars was but
+a small item compared to his expected profit on the sale of the North
+Inlet land. He reached into his pocket, produced a long, dingy leather
+pocketbook wound about with twine, unwound the twine, opened the
+pocketbook and produced a blank check.
+
+“Give me a pen and ink,” he snarled, “and I'll fill this in.”
+
+The Captain reached for the pen and ink bottle, but Mary interfered.
+
+“Cash, if you please,” she said sweetly.
+
+Jeremiah looked at her steadily for what seemed a long time. Then she
+was surprised to see the corner of his lip twitch and notice a grim
+twinkle in his eye. Also there was a grudging note of admiration in his
+voice when he next spoke.
+
+“Ain't takin' no chances, be you?” he said dryly.
+
+“No. Don't you think we've taken enough already?”
+
+Mr. Clifford did not answer. He replaced the blank check in his
+pocketbook and, from another compartment, extracted some bills rolled in
+a tight little cylinder and wound about with elastic.
+
+“There you be,” he said shortly. Then, turning to Shadrach, he added:
+“Don't I get nothin' off for payin' cash?”
+
+From the back room came a vigorous “Haw, haw!” Even Mary laughed aloud.
+As for Captain Shad, he could only stare, struck speechless by his
+visitor's audacity. Mary, when she had finished laughing, answered for
+him.
+
+“We shall deduct the interest we might have charged you, Mr. Clifford,”
+ she said. “Thank you. There is your change and there is the receipted
+bill. Now, I shall call up Judge Baxter.”
+
+When she returned from the post-office Jeremiah was still there.
+Shadrach, all smiles, was doing up parcels.
+
+“What are those, Uncle Shad?” asked Mary. Mr. Clifford answered.
+
+“Oh, I thought I might as well buy a little sugar and flour and such,”
+ he said. “Always come in handy, they do. Send 'em up when you get to it.
+Good-by.”
+
+His hand was on the door, but Mary called to him.
+
+“Mr. Clifford,” she called; “just a minute, please. Are you in any hurry
+for these things--the sugar and the rest of it?”
+
+“No, don't know's I be, 'special'; why?”
+
+“Oh, nothing, except that if you were in a hurry I should advise your
+paying for them. I told you, you remember, that we weren't taking
+chances.”
+
+For an instant Jeremiah stood there glowering. Then he did another
+astonishing thing. He took out the pocketbook once more and from it
+extracted a two-dollar bill.
+
+“Take it out of that,” he said, “and send me a receipted bill
+afterwards. I always cal'late to know what I've paid for. And say,
+you--what's your name--Mary-'Gusta, if you get tired of workin' for Shad
+Gould and Zoeth Hamilton, come round and see me. I've got--I mean my
+wife's got--two or three mortgages that's behind on the interest. I
+ain't been able to collect it for her yet, but--but, by time, I believe
+YOU could!”
+
+He went out and the next moment Mary was almost smothered in her uncle's
+embrace.
+
+“After this--after THIS,” roared Shadrach, “I'll believe anything's
+possible if you've got a hand in it, Mary-'Gusta. If YOU'D been Jonah
+you'd have put the whale in your pocket and swum ashore.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+
+Early in April, when Mary announced that she was ready to put into
+operation her biggest and most ambitious plan, suggested the year before
+by Barbara Howe--the tea-room and gift-shop plan--the Captain did not
+offer strenuous opposition.
+
+“I can't see much sense in it,” he admitted. “I don't know's I know what
+it's all about. Nigh as I can make out you're figgerin' to open up some
+kind of a high-toned eatin' house. Is that it?”
+
+“Why, no, Uncle Shad, not exactly,” explained Mary.
+
+“Then what is it--a drinkin' house? I presume likely that's it, bein'
+as you call it a 'tea-room.' Kind of a temperance saloon, eh? Can't a
+feller get coffee in it, if he wants to? I don't wake up nights much
+hankerin' for tea myself.”
+
+“Listen, Uncle Shad: A tea-room--at least a tearoom of the sort I
+intend to have--is a place where the summer people, the women and girls
+especially, will come and sit at little tables and drink tea and
+eat cakes and ice cream and look off at the ocean, if the weather is
+pleasant--”
+
+“Yes, and at the fog, if 'tain't; and talk about their neighbor's
+clothes and run down the characters of their best friends. Yes, yes, I
+see; sort of a sewin' circle without the sewin'. All right, heave ahead
+and get your tea-room off the ways if you want to. If anybody can make
+the thing keep afloat you can, Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+So Mary, thus encouraged, went on to put her scheme into effect. She
+had been planning the details for some time. About halfway down the lane
+leading to the house from the store was another small story-and-a-half
+dwelling of the old-fashioned Cape Cod type. It stood upon a little hill
+and commanded a wide view of ocean and beach and village. There were
+some weather-beaten trees and a tangle of shrubs about it. It had been
+untenanted for a good while and was in rather bad repair.
+
+Mary arranged with the owner, a Bayport man, to lease this house and
+land at a small rental for three years. In the lease was included
+consent to the making of necessary alterations and repairs and the
+privilege of purchasing, at a price therein named, at the end of the
+three years, should the tenant wish to do so.
+
+Then with the aid of soap and water, white paint and whitewash,
+attractive but inexpensive wall papers, and odds and ends of quaint old
+furniture, of which the parlor and best bedroom of the Gould-Hamilton
+home supplied the larger quantity, she proceeded to make over the
+interior of the little building. To every bit of nautical bric-a-brac,
+pictures of old sailing ships and sea curios she gave especial
+prominence. Then the lawn was mowed, the tangled shrubbery untangled
+and clipped and pruned; cheap but pretty lattices made to look like the
+shrouds of a ship, over which climbing roses were supposed--some day--to
+twine, were placed against the walls, and rustic tables set about under
+the trees and the grape arbor with ship lanterns hung above them. The
+driveway down to the lane was rolled and hardened, and a sign, painted
+by Joshua Bemis, the local “House, Boat and Sign Painter, Tinsmith and
+Glazier”--see Mr. Bemis's advertisement in the Advocate--was hung on a
+frame by the gateway.
+
+Captain Shad's remarks when he first saw that sign may be worth quoting.
+Mary had not consulted him concerning it; she deemed it best not to do
+so. When it was in place, however, she led him out to inspect. Shadrach
+adjusted his spectacles and read as follows:
+
+     THE FOR'ARD LOOKOUT
+        TEA AND GIFTS
+     DAINTY THINGS TO EAT
+     PRETTY THINGS TO BUY
+         ALL'S WELL!
+
+There was the picture of a full-rigged ship, with every stitch set alow
+and aloft, sailing through a sea of thick green and white paint toward a
+kind of green wall with green feather dusters growing out of it.
+
+Shadrach subjected this work of art to a long and searching stare. At
+last he spoke.
+
+“Carryin' every rag she can h'ist,” he observed; “nobody at the wheel,
+land dead ahead and breakers under the bows. Looks to me as if 'twas
+liable to be a short v'yage and a lively one. But the for'ard lookout
+says all's well and he ought to know; he's had more experience aboard
+gift-shop ships, I presume likely, than I have. What's those bristly
+things stickin' up along shore there--eel grass or tea grounds?”
+
+For the first few weeks after the tea-room was really “off the ways” the
+optimistic declaration of the For'ard Lookout seemed scarcely warranted
+by the facts. Mary was inclined to think that all was by no means well.
+In fitting out the new venture she had been as economical as she
+dared, but she had been obliged to spend money and to take on a fresh
+assortment of debts. Then, too, she had engaged the services of a good
+cook and two waitresses, so there was a weekly expense bill to consider.
+And the number of motor cars which turned in at the new driveway was
+disappointingly small.
+
+But the number grew larger. As people had talked about Hamilton and
+Company's assortment of Christmas goods, so now they began to talk about
+the “quaintness and delightful originality” of the For'ard Lookout. The
+tea was good; the cakes and ices were good; on pleasant days the
+view was remarkably fine, and the pretty things in the gift shop were
+temptingly displayed. So, as May passed and June came, and the cottages
+and hotels began to open, the business of the new tea-room and gift shop
+grew from fair to good and from that to very good indeed.
+
+Mary divided her time between the store and the tearoom, doing her best
+to keep a supervising eye on each. She was in no mood to meet people and
+kept out of the way of strangers as much as possible; even of her former
+acquaintances who came to the For'ard Lookout she saw but few. If she
+had not been too busy she might have found it amusing, the contrasting
+studies in human nature afforded by these former acquaintances in their
+attitude toward her.
+
+For instance, Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Mullet and daughter, Irene, the
+latter now through school and “finished” until her veneering actually
+glittered, sat drinking tea at a table on the lawn. Said Mrs. Mullet:
+
+“And THIS is what it's come to; after all the airs and frills and the
+goin' to Europe and I don't know what all. Here she is keepin' an eatin'
+house. An eatin' house--just THINK of it! If that ain't a comedown!
+Wouldn't you think she'd be ashamed, 'Rena?”
+
+Miss Mullet drooped a weary eyelid and sighed a hopeless sigh.
+
+“Oh, Mother,” she drawled, in deep disgust, “CAN'T you stop calling
+me by that outlandish name? I was christened Irene, I believe. PLEASE
+remember it.”
+
+“All right, 'Re--all right, Irene; I won't forget again. Oh, there's
+Mary-'Gusta, now! Showin' herself out here with all these city folks,
+when she's nothin' but a hired help--a table girl, as you might say!
+I shan't notice her, anyway. I may buy her tea and stuff, but I--Who's
+that runnin' up to her and--and kissin' her--and--mercy on us! You'd
+think they was sisters, if you didn't know. Who is it? Looks kind of
+common, she does to me. Don't you think so, 'Rena--Irene, I mean?”
+
+Irene sniffed.
+
+“That,” she said with cutting emphasis, “is Barbara Howe. Her people
+are building that big summer house at Osterville and her father is a
+millionaire, so they say. And her people wouldn't let her come to the
+school you sent me to because they thought it wasn't good enough for
+her. That's how common SHE is. I met her once, but she doesn't know
+me now, although she is perfectly crazy over that Mary Lathrop. I--Oh,
+there's Father drinking out of his saucer again! For heaven's sake,
+let's go home!”
+
+And just then Barbara was enthusiastically hugging her former schoolmate
+and exclaiming:
+
+“You did it! I knew you would if you would only try. I said it required
+a knack or a genius or something and that I was certain you had it.
+It's the dearest place of the kind I've ever seen, my dear, and if every
+single person I know who is in this vicinity doesn't come here at least
+once a week and spend lots and lots of money I'll never speak to them
+again. I'm going to turn myself into a walking phonograph, my dear,
+with just one record: 'If you love me visit the For'ard Lookout.' And of
+course everyone loves me--how can they help it? So--well, just wait and
+see what happens.”
+
+So far as spreading abroad the praises of the new tea-room was
+concerned, she was as good as her word. In August the patronage was so
+great and continuous that Mary found it necessary to hire three more
+waitresses and a salesgirl for the gift shop. She spent more of her own
+time there, leaving the care of the store to Shadrach, Simeon Crocker
+and a new clerk, who had been hired to help with the summer custom. When
+early September brought the beginning of the season's end the books
+of both the Lookout and of Hamilton and Company showed a substantial
+profit.
+
+While all this was going on Zoeth was steadily gaining in health and
+strength. In July he was sitting in the sunshine upon the front porch.
+In August he was able to climb to the buggy seat and be driven up to the
+store, where day after day he sat in his armchair behind the
+counter, watching what was going on, listening to his partner's happy
+chatter--for Shadrach was in high spirits now--and occasionally saying a
+word or two himself. On pleasant Sundays he was driven to church and the
+Captain and Mary accompanied him. He was white and frail and thin,
+but the doctor assured them that, so far as he could see, there was no
+reason to expect anything but a complete recovery.
+
+It did seem to Captain Shad, however, that his partner had something
+on his mind. He seemed often to be thinking deeply and at times to be
+troubled and disturbed. The Captain had never asked, never attempted by
+questioning to learn what the cause of the trouble--provided there was
+any--might be. He had been told often enough that the patient must not
+be excited, so he meant to take no risks, but Zoeth's long silences
+and the expression on his face as he sat there in the chair, evidently
+thinking deeply, puzzled and worried his friend and partner. He noticed
+the same expression at times when Mary was in the room. Zoeth's eyes
+would follow her as she moved about and in them was the look the Captain
+could not understand.
+
+Shadrach had told his friend of Mary's sending young Smith away. Zoeth
+had asked concerning Crawford almost as soon as he was permitted to take
+part in a lengthy conversation. He appeared greatly interested, even
+eager.
+
+“But, Shadrach,” he said, “are you sure she sent him away because she
+didn't care for him? Are you sure that was the reason?”
+
+“What other reason could there be?” demanded the Captain. “She as much
+as told me that was it, herself. I was some surprised, of course, for
+I'd rather cal'lated 'twas as good as settled between 'em, but it turned
+out that I didn't know what I was talkin' about. That HAS happened afore
+in my life, strange as it may seem,” he added dryly.
+
+Zoeth sighed. “I wish--” he said slowly, “I wish I knew--”
+
+“What do you wish you knew?”
+
+“Eh? Oh, nothin'. If--if I was only a little mite stronger I'd try to
+talk with Mary-'Gusta myself. I'd like--I'd like to have her tell me
+about it.”
+
+“Meanin' you don't believe me, eh? There, there, shipmate, it's all
+right. I was only jokin'. But I wouldn't ask Mary-'Gusta about that, if
+I was you. Course I know she cares as much or more for her Uncle Zoeth
+than for anybody on earth, and she'd tell him anything if he asked
+her; but I don't believe--Well, I wouldn't ask, if I was you. You
+understand?”
+
+“Yes, yes, Shadrach, I think I understand. You mean she felt bad to have
+to say--what she did say--to that young man and she wouldn't want to be
+reminded of it?”
+
+“That's about it, Zoeth.”
+
+Silence for some minutes. Both partners were occupied with their
+thoughts. Then Zoeth said:
+
+“Shadrach, I--I--”
+
+He did not finish the sentence. The Captain ventured to remind him.
+
+“Yes, Zoeth, what is it?” he asked.
+
+“Nothin'. I--I can't tell you now. By and by, if the good Lord gives me
+strength again, I'll--Never mind, now. Don't ask me, please.”
+
+So Shadrach did not ask, but he was puzzled and a little anxious. What
+was it his partner had to tell and found the telling so difficult?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+
+It was not until a day in mid-September that Captain Shadrach learned
+his partner's secret. He and Zoeth and Mary were at the store together.
+Business was still good, but the rush was over. The summer cottages
+were closing and most of the Cape hotels had already closed. The For'ard
+Lookout had taken down its sign at the end of the previous week. Its
+voyage for that year was over. It had been a prosperous one.
+
+Mary was sorry that the busy season was at an end. She was very, very
+tired; she had allowed herself no rest, had taken no holidays, had done
+her best to think of nothing except matters connected with Hamilton and
+Company or the tea-room. These, fortunately, had given her enough to
+think of; other thoughts she resolutely crowded from her mind. Now there
+would be no tea-room to plan for, and, thanks to Sim Crocker and the
+competent way in which he had assumed care of the store, she no longer
+felt the absolute necessity of remaining there from daylight until late
+in the evening. Her Uncle Zoeth was almost well, also; she would no
+longer have his health as an additional burden upon her mind. She was in
+danger of being forced to think of herself, and that she knew she must
+not do. Thinking of herself would surely mean thinking of someone else
+and of what might have been. And what useless, hopeless thinking that
+would be! No, no! She must find something else to keep her thoughts
+occupied.
+
+So she was planning the making over and enlarging of the store front,
+putting in larger and better windows and strengthening the platform. She
+was discussing the plan with Shadrach and Zoeth when John Keith entered.
+The Keiths were leaving South Harniss rather early that year and the
+head of the family had dropped in to say good-by. Mr. Keith's liking for
+Mary was as strong as ever, and for her uncles he had, by this time, a
+very real regard, a feeling which was reciprocated by them.
+
+Conversation began in the way the majority of conversations begin, with
+a discussion of the weather, its recent past, present, and probable
+future, shifted to the tea-room and its success and then to the
+visitor's recent trip to New York, from which city he had just returned.
+It was near the noon hour and there were few customers to interrupt.
+Those who did come were taken care of by Mr. Crocker.
+
+“Anything new happenin' over there?” inquired Captain Shadrach, asking
+news of the metropolis exactly as he would have asked concerning the
+gossip of Harniss Center. “Meet anybody you knew, did you?”
+
+Keith smiled. “Why, yes,” he said. “I met the people I went to see. Mine
+was a business trip. I didn't meet anyone unexpectedly, if that's what
+you mean.”
+
+The Captain nodded. “Didn't get down on South Street, did you?” he
+asked. “No, I thought not. If you had you'd have met plenty. When I was
+goin' to sea I bet I never went cruisin' down South Street in my life
+that I didn't run afoul of somebody I wan't expectin' to. Greatest place
+for meetin' folks in the world, I cal'late South Street is. Lots of
+seafarin' men have told me so.”
+
+Keith's smile broadened as he was handed this nugget of wisdom. Then he
+said:
+
+“You remind me, Captain, that I did meet someone, after all. In Boston,
+not in New York, and I met him only yesterday. It was someone you know,
+too, and Mary here used to know him quite well, I think--young Crawford
+Smith, Sam's Harvard friend. He visited us here in South Harniss one
+summer.”
+
+Shadrach was the only one of the trio of listeners who made any comment
+at all on this speech. Even he did not speak for a moment, glancing
+apprehensively at Mary before doing so. Mary said nothing, and Zoeth,
+leaning back in his chair, his face hidden from his partner's gaze by
+the end of the counter, did not speak.
+
+“Sho!” exclaimed the Captain. “Sho! So you met him, did you! In Boston?
+That's funny. I had an idea he was out West somewheres.”
+
+“So did I. The last I heard concerning him he had given up his studies
+in the East here--he was studying medicine, as perhaps you know--and had
+gone back to his home in Nevada. His father, who was not at all well,
+asked him to do so. He had written Sam once or twice from out there.
+So I was surprised enough to see him in Boston. I met him in the South
+Station and we chatted for a few moments. He told me that his father was
+dead.”
+
+From behind the end of the counter where Zoeth sat came an odd sound, a
+sort of gasp. Shadrach leaned forward quickly.
+
+“What's the matter, Zoeth?” he asked. Before Zoeth could answer Mary
+spoke:
+
+“Dead!” she repeated. “Mr. Keith, I--did--did you say Crawford Smith's
+father was DEAD?”
+
+Her tone was so strange that even Mr. Keith could not help noticing it.
+He looked at her, seemed about to ask a question, and then answered hers
+instead.
+
+“Why, yes,” he said; “he is dead. He had been in poor health for some
+time, so his son told me, and about two weeks ago he died. Crawford did
+not tell me any particulars, nor did he say what had brought him East.
+In fact, he didn't seem anxious to talk; acted as if he had something
+on his mind. Of course I said I was sorry and he thanked me and inquired
+regarding Mrs. Keith and Edna and Sam. Then I had to hurry for my train.
+. . . Oh, are you going, Mary? Well, then, I must say good-by until next
+summer; we leave tomorrow morning.”
+
+Mary explained, rather hurriedly, that she must speak with Simeon for
+a few minutes, said good-by, shook hands and hastened out. Keith looked
+after her.
+
+“I hope I haven't made a blunder,” he said, “in speaking of young
+Smith. She and he were quite--er--friendly at one time, weren't they.
+I understood so from some remarks of Sam's. Didn't put my foot in it by
+mentioning the boy's name, did I? I certainly hope not.”
+
+Zoeth did not speak. Shadrach hastened to reassure him.
+
+“No, no!” he said. “There was one time when even me and Zoeth figgered
+there might be--er--well, we didn't know but what he and she was liable
+to be more'n just friends. But it's all off now, seems so. They don't
+even write each other, I guess. I cal'late maybe Mary-'Gusta got tired
+of him,” he explained. “He was a real nice young feller, but he probably
+wan't quite good enough for her. Fur's that goes,” he added, with the
+emphasis of absolute conviction, “I never laid eyes on one that was.”
+
+Keith looked relieved. “Well, I'm glad if I didn't make a mistake,” he
+said. “She seemed so startled when I said that the man was dead and her
+manner was so odd. Didn't you notice it yourself, Captain?”
+
+Shadrach nodded.
+
+“I noticed she seemed sort of sot all aback,” he said, “but I don't
+know's that's so strange when you consider that she and Crawford used to
+be such friends. More'n probable she's heard him talk a good deal about
+his father.”
+
+“Well, perhaps so. No doubt that is it. I'm afraid she is working too
+hard and worrying too much over her various enterprises here. She is
+succeeding wonderfully, of course, but I don't like to see her losing
+those roses in her cheeks. They're much too precious to lose. Keep your
+eye on her, Captain, and don't let her wear herself out.”
+
+He soon said good-by. Captain Shadrach accompanied him to the door.
+Zoeth remained where he was, not rising even when he shook hands with
+his departing friend. But when the Captain turned back he saw his
+partner standing by the end of the counter and clutching it with one
+hand while he beckoned with the other. Shadrach gave him one look and
+then crossed the space between them in two strides.
+
+“For the land sakes, Zoeth,” he begged, “what's the matter?”
+
+Zoeth waved him to silence. “Sshh! sshh!” he pleaded in a whisper.
+“Don't holler so; she'll hear you. Shadrach, I--I--”
+
+“What IS it?” broke in his friend. “What's the matter, Zoeth? Shall I
+fetch the doctor?”
+
+“No, no. I'm--I'm all right, Shadrach. I've just had--had a kind of
+shock--a surprise, that's all. I ain't very strong yet and it--it kind
+of upset me. But, Shadrach, I want to talk to you. I want to tell you
+somethin' right away. I can't keep it to myself any longer. Can't we go
+home--to my room or somewheres--where we can talk? Please, Shadrach!”
+
+“There, there, shipmate; take it easy. Go home? Course we can! Hey,
+Sim!” shouting to Mr. Crocker, who was in the back room. “You and Mary
+can take care of the store, can't you? Zoeth and me are goin' home for
+dinner.”
+
+Simeon replied that Mary was not there; she had gone out the back way,
+down to the house, he thought. “But you go ahead, Cap'n Shad,” he added.
+“I can take care of the store all right.”
+
+At home, and in Mr. Hamilton's room, the Captain pulled forward the most
+comfortable chair, forced his partner to sit in it, closed and locked
+the door, sat down on the edge of the bed, and said:
+
+“There! Now we're all taut and shipshape and nobody can get aboard to
+interrupt. Fire away, Zoeth. What is it you've got to tell?”
+
+Zoeth, his hand trembling, reached into the inside pocket of his coat,
+took out an old-fashioned wallet and from it produced a much-crumpled
+envelope.
+
+“Shadrach,” he said, “I don't hardly know how to begin. It seems so
+strange to think that you and me, who've been so close to each other
+all these years, should have a secret between us, if only for a little
+while. It seems wicked. I guess 'tis wicked, and I'm the wicked one for
+keepin' it from you.”
+
+The Captain laughed.
+
+“You couldn't be wicked if you was apprenticed to the Old Harry for ten
+years, Zoeth,” he said. “You don't know how to be and the devil himself
+couldn't teach you. Now, don't waste time tellin' me I'm speaking
+lightly of sacred things,” he added. “For one thing, the Old Scratch
+ain't sacred, as I know of, and for another I want to hear that secret.
+What is it?”
+
+Zoeth shook his head. “I am wicked, all the same,” he said, “but I guess
+I've been punished. There wan't any real reason why I shouldn't have
+told you afore, but somehow I couldn't make up my mind to speak of it. I
+just couldn't. But I'm goin' to tell you now, Shadrach.”
+
+He held up the crumpled envelope.
+
+“You remember when I was took sick?” he said. “You remember I was struck
+down all of a heap in the kitchen? Yes; well, did you ever wonder what
+it was struck me down? I'll tell you. 'Twas a letter that came to me in
+the mail that morning. This was the letter. I managed to put it in my
+inside vest pocket that time when Isaiah run off after you and left me
+lyin' there. I didn't want him to see it. I didn't want anybody to--not
+then. Now I want you to read it, Shadrach. But before you do, let me
+warn you. You should ask the Almighty to give you strength. You're goin'
+to be surprised, Shadrach, surprised and shocked. Here it is; read it.”
+
+He handed the envelope to his partner. The latter took it, wonderingly,
+and looked at the inscription.
+
+“Nobody's handwritin' that I know,” he said.
+
+“You knew it once well enough.”
+
+“I did? And it was mailed out in Carson City, Nevada. Why, that's where
+the Crawford Smith boy lives, ain't it? What on earth?”
+
+He opened the envelope and from it took several sheets closely covered
+with finely written lines. He began to read and, as he read, his
+expression changed from curiosity to wonder, to amazement, to anger, to
+a mixture of the last three. The final sheet fell from his fingers to
+the floor. He looked up with a very white face.
+
+“My God!” he said solemnly.
+
+
+A half-hour later they were still talking. Shadrach had not entirely
+recovered from the surprise, but now he could think and speak more
+coherently, although the wonder of it all was overpowering.
+
+“It seems as if the hand of the Lord was in it,” he declared.
+
+“It is,” agreed Zoeth, with absolute conviction. “See how it worked out
+accordin' to His promise. The wicked flourished for a time, but God sent
+the punishment in due season, didn't He? Can't you see the poor feller's
+agonizin' in every line of that letter?”
+
+“POOR feller! Good Lord above, Zoeth Hamilton, you ain't pityin' HIM,
+are you? You ain't sorry for him--YOU?”
+
+Zoeth nodded. “I wan't at first,” he said. “At first the whole thing,
+comin' on me out of a clear sky as you might say, knocked me flat. The
+doctor, when he came, said he thought I must have had a sudden shock. I
+did; that was it, that letter. But later on, when I was gettin' better
+and could think again, and when I was alone and had the chance and could
+read the letter again, I began to--to--well, not forgive him for what he
+done--I don't suppose I can ever do that”
+
+“I should say not! Damn him!”
+
+“Hush, Shadrach; he's dead.”
+
+“So he is. I forgot. Then he's damned, I guess, without any orders from
+me.”
+
+“He was damned here on earth, Shadrach. All his life--the last part of
+it, anyhow--must have been a torment. He must have idolized that boy
+of his. He says so in the letter, but it's plain on every line of the
+writin' without his sayin' it. And can't you just imagine him as the boy
+grew up and they loved each other more and more, tremblin' and scared
+every minute for fear that somehow or other his son'll learn that the
+father he loves and respects is a--a thief--and--and worse? Seems to me
+I can imagine it. And then all at once the boy comes to him and says he
+wants to marry--Oh, my soul! Shadrach, think of it!--he wants to marry
+your girl and mine--Marcellus's stepdaughter. Why, it must have driven
+him nigh crazy. And then they quarrel, and the boy, the only bein' on
+earth he's livin' for, goes off and leaves him. And he knows he's
+comin' here--to us--and that some time or other he's sartin to learn
+everything. No wonder he wrote that letter. No wonder--”
+
+The Captain interrupted.
+
+“Writin' you, of all people!” he said. “Writin' you and beggin' you not
+to let Mary-'Gusta marry his son: and for what? To save the boy from
+somethin' bad? No! For all he knew, Mary-'Gusta might be what she
+is, the best and finest girl on earth. What he was beggin' for was
+himself--that his son shouldn't know what HE was, that's all. No, Zoeth,
+I can't pity him much. He's dead, and that's a good thing, too. The
+wonder of it is that he's been alive all this time and we didn't know.
+And to think--but there; it's all wonderful.”
+
+Both were silent for a moment. Then Zoeth said:
+
+“The one thing that's troubled me most in all this, Shadrach, is about
+Mary-'Gusta herself. How does she really feel towards Crawford? She
+sent him away, you told me that, but are you sure she did it because she
+didn't care enough for him to marry him? Are you sure there wan't any
+other reason?”
+
+“She gave me to understand there wan't. What other reason could there
+be?”
+
+“Well--well, Shadrach, it all depends, seems to me. You know
+Mary-'Gusta; the last person she thinks about on earth is herself. If
+she did think a sight of Crawford, if she thought ENOUGH of him,
+she wouldn't let him suffer on account of her, would she? She knew,
+probably, that he loved and respected his father and a father's good
+name must mean a lot to a son. Then, there is us--you and me, Shadrach.
+She wouldn't let us suffer, if she could help it. Do you see what I
+mean?”
+
+“Humph!” mused the Captain, thinking aloud, “I cal'late I do, Zoeth. You
+mean if Mary-'Gusta had found out the facts about Ed Farmer, who he was
+and what he done, and if she knew Crawford Smith's dad WAS Ed Farmer and
+that Crawford didn't know it and we didn't know it--you mean that, BEIN'
+Mary-'Gusta, rather than bring sorrow and trouble on Crawford and on us,
+she'd sacrifice her own feelin's and--and would pretend she didn't care
+for him so as to get him to go away and save him and us. That's what you
+mean, I presume likely.”
+
+“That's it, Shadrach.”
+
+“Um--yes. Well, there's just one thing that makes that notion seem
+consider'ble more than unlikely. How in the world could she have found
+out that there ever was an Edgar Farmer--”
+
+“Good many folks in South Harniss could have told her that if they'd had
+a mind to.”
+
+“Maybe so; but they couldn't have told her that Edwin Smith, of Carson
+City, Nevada, was ever Edgar Farmer. No, sir, they couldn't! Nobody knew
+it--but Ed Farmer himself. How could our Mary-'Gusta know it?”
+
+“I don't know, Shadrach, unless--she's awful smart, you know--somethin'
+might have put her on the track and she puzzled it out. I know that
+ain't likely; but, Shadrach, if she does care for Crawford and he cares
+for her, I--I want 'em to have each other. I do. They must.”
+
+Shadrach stared at him.
+
+“Zoeth Hamilton,” he exclaimed, “do you know what you're sayin'? You
+want our girl to marry the son of the man that--that--”
+
+“I know what he did, Shadrach; you don't need to tell me. But he's dead,
+and his boy is a good boy--you liked him and so did I. And Shadrach,
+I've been thinkin' an awful lot about this since I got the letter and
+have been well enough to think. And I've made up my mind to just this:
+There has been sorrow and trouble enough brought on already by that
+wickedness. There shan't be any more. What wrecked all our lives
+thirty-five years ago shan't wreck these two, if I can help it. If
+Mary-'Gusta cares for him and he for her they must have each other and
+be happy. And you and I will be happy watchin' their happiness.”
+
+He paused and then added:
+
+“So I wish, Shadrach, there was some way of findin' out for sure that
+she sent him away because she didn't care for him and not for any other
+reason.”
+
+Shadrach rose from his chair and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.
+He cleared his throat once or twice before speaking and there was still
+a shake in his voice as he said:
+
+“Zoeth, you're a better man than I ever hope to be. I declare you make
+me ashamed of myself.”
+
+Neither of them ate much dinner, although Isaiah had prepared a
+cranberry pie, made from the first fruit of the fall season, and
+was correspondingly disappointed when both of his employers left it
+untouched.
+
+“Ain't a mite of use my slavin' myself to death cookin' fancy vittles
+for this crew,” he grumbled. “I stood over that cookstove this mornin'
+until I got so everlastin' hot that every time the cold air blowed onto
+me I steamed. And yet I can't satisfy.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you can,” observed Captain Shad, rising from the table. “You
+satisfied us too quick, that was the trouble. We was satisfied afore we
+got to the pie.”
+
+“Umph! I want to know! Well, Mary-'Gusta was satisfied afore that. She
+didn't eat hardly anything. Said she wan't hungry. I swan if it ain't
+discouragin'! What's the use of you folks havin' a cook? If you're goin'
+to have canary-bird appetites, why don't you feed on bird seed and be
+done with it? And I do believe I never made a better pie than that!”
+
+“Where's Mary-'Gusta?” asked Zoeth.
+
+“I don't know. She went up to her room. She may be there yet, or she may
+have come down and gone out again--I don't know. If she did come down I
+didn't see her.”
+
+Shadrach looked out of the window. It had been a dark, gloomy morning
+and now it was beginning to rain. The wind was whining through the tops
+of the silver-leafs and the moan of the breakers on the bar sounded with
+a clearness which denoted the approach of a northeaster.
+
+“Dirty weather,” observed the Captain. “And it'll be dirtier yet before
+night. You better stay here in snug harbor this afternoon, Zoeth. Simmie
+and the boy and Mary-'Gusta and I can tend store all right. Yes, yes,
+you stay right here and keep dry. Hope Mary-'Gusta took an umbrella when
+she went.”
+
+“I don't know as she has gone,” said Isaiah. “She may be upstairs in her
+room yet. That's where she was.”
+
+Shadrach, after calling “Mary-'Gusta” several times at the foot of the
+stairs, went up to make sure. The door of Mary's room was closed but, as
+he received no answer to his knock, he opened it and entered. Mary
+was not there, although it was evident that she had been there very
+recently.
+
+Apparently she had been writing a letter, for her writing case was
+spread out upon the table. Also the drawer in which she kept it had been
+left open, an unusual act of carelessness on her part, for, generally
+speaking, as her Uncle Shad said, “Nothin's ever out of place in
+Mary-'Gusta's room except some of the places, and that's the carpenter's
+fault, not hers.”
+
+The Captain stepped over to close the drawer. As he did so his attention
+was attracted by a photograph lying upon a pile of photographs in a box
+inside the drawer. He picked up the photograph and looked at it. It
+was that of Edwin Smith, taken when he seemed to be recovering from his
+illness, the one which showed him without a beard.
+
+Shadrach's eyes opened wide as he looked at the photograph. He uttered
+an exclamation, stepped to the door of the upper hall and called,
+“Zoeth!” Then he returned to the table and took from the drawer the next
+photograph upon the pile in the box. It was the old, faded picture of
+the partners of Hall and Company.
+
+Isaiah came stumbling up the stairs.
+
+“Anythin' I can do for you, Cap'n Shad?” he asked. “Zoeth, he's gone out
+to shut up the barn door. Rain was liable to beat in, he said. I told
+him I'd do it, but--Godfreys mighty!”
+
+The Captain had paid no attention to him and he had entered the room and
+approached his employer from behind. Now over the latter's shoulder he
+saw the two photographs.
+
+“Godfreys mighty!” cried the startled Isaiah.
+
+Shadrach turned and looked at him.
+
+“Well,” he demanded, “what's the matter? What are you starin' like that
+for?”
+
+“Them--them pictures,” gasped Mr. Chase.
+
+“Well, what about 'em? Where did Mary-'Gusta get 'em, do you know?
+Did--Here! Where are you goin'?”
+
+“I--I ain't goin' anywheres. I'm a-goin' downstairs. I got my
+dishwashin' to do. I--let go of me, Cap'n Shad! I got to go this minute,
+I tell you.”
+
+But the Captain did not let go of him. Instead, keeping a firm hold upon
+the collar of the frightened cook and steward, he twisted him around
+until he could look him straight in the eye. This was difficult, for
+Isaiah plainly did not wish to be looked at in that manner.
+
+“Humph!” grunted Captain Shad, after a moment's inspection. “Humph! I
+cal'late I've got the right pig by the ear this time. Set down in that
+chair, Isaiah Chase; I want to talk to you.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+
+The northeaster was developing. It was now raining hard and the wind was
+rising. The gusts swept across the top of the little hill and the window
+sashes of the For'ard Lookout rattled and the hinges of the ancient
+blinds squeaked. The yard, which had been so attractive, was shorn of
+its decorations. The tables had been carried inside; the lanterns taken
+down; the wonderful sign, pride of the talented Mr. Bemis, had been
+tenderly conveyed to the attic. Cook, waitresses and salesgirl had
+departed. The tea-room and gift shop had gone into winter quarters to
+hibernate until the following spring.
+
+The rooms inside had been thoroughly swept and cleaned and most of the
+furniture and the best of the old prints covered with dust cloths. Some
+of the smaller articles, however, were still upon the shelves of the
+gift shop, Mary having ordered her assistants to leave them there, as
+she wished to look them over herself before putting them away. Some
+of her selections for stock had sold remarkably well and she had been
+obliged to reorder many times; others of which she had been quite
+confident when purchasing had not sold at all. Both good sellers and bad
+she meant to list as a guide to future choosing.
+
+She was listing them now. Alone in the room which had once been the
+sacred best parlor of the little house, she was seated at the table,
+pencil in hand and memorandum books and paper before her. There was no
+particular reason why the listing should have been done that day; it
+might have been done any day until the weather became too cold to work
+in an unheated house. That morning she had had no idea of doing it
+that afternoon. She was doing it now because she felt that she must do
+something to occupy her mind, and because she wished to be alone.
+Up there at the For'ard Lookout she could combine the two--work and
+seclusion.
+
+When Mr. Keith told, at the store that morning, the news of Edwin
+Smith's--or Edgar Farmer's--death she had been dreadfully shaken by it.
+It was so sudden, so unexpected--when she last heard the man was, so the
+doctors said, almost well. She had thought of him often enough during
+the past year; or, rather, she had thought of Crawford as being with
+him and of the father's joy in his son's return to him and the knowledge
+that his own disgraceful secret would not be revealed. And she had
+pictured Crawford as finding solace for his disappointed love in his
+father's society. That Edgar Farmer had been what Isaiah called him--a
+blackguard--she realized perfectly, but she was equally sure that, as
+Edwin Smith, he had been the kindest and most loving of fathers. And
+Crawford, although he had been willing to leave him because of her,
+loved him dearly.
+
+And now he was dead, and Crawford was left alone. Somehow she felt
+responsible for the death. That it had been hastened by the terrible
+alarm and stress of the previous year was, of course, certain. She
+thought of Crawford alone and with this new sorrow, and this thought,
+and that of her responsibility, was almost more than she could bear.
+
+She felt that she must write him, that he must know she had heard and
+was thinking of him. So, after leaving the store, she had hastened down
+to the house and up the back stairs to her room. There she had written a
+few lines, not more than a note, but the composing of that note had been
+a difficult task. There was so much she longed to say and so little
+she could say. When it was written she remembered that Crawford was
+in Boston and she did not know his address. She determined to send the
+letter to the Nevada home and trust to its being forwarded.
+
+She took from the back of the drawer the box of photographs and looked
+them over. As she was doing so Isaiah called her to dinner. Then she
+heard her uncles come in and, because she felt that she could talk
+with no one just then, she avoided them by hastily going down the front
+stairs. She made a pretense of eating and left the house. Isaiah did not
+see her go. After stopping at the store long enough to tell Mr. Crocker
+she would be at the tea-room that afternoon, she climbed the hill,
+unlocked the door of the For'ard Lookout, entered and began her work.
+
+The wind howled and whined and the rain beat against the windows. The
+blinds creaked, the sashes rattled, the gusts moaned in the chimney
+above the fireplace, and all the hundred and one groanings and wailings,
+the complaints of an old house in a storm, developed. All these sounds
+Mary heard absently, her mind upon her work. Then, little by little
+as they drew nearer, she became conscious of other sounds, footfalls;
+someone was coming up the walk.
+
+She did not rise from her chair nor look up from her work when the
+outside door opened. Even when the footsteps sounded in the little hall
+behind her she did not turn.
+
+“Yes, Uncle Shad,” she said. “I am here, and I'm safe and I'm perfectly
+dry. Also I'm very, very busy. Now, why did you come out in the rain to
+hunt me up? And I'm quite sure you haven't put on your rubbers.”
+
+And then the voice behind her said: “Mary.”
+
+She turned now--turned, looked, and rose to her feet. Her face went
+white, then flushed red, and then paled again.
+
+“Oh!” she gasped.
+
+Crawford Smith was standing there. His light overcoat--it was not a
+raincoat--dripped water; so did the hat in his hand. He stood there and
+looked--and dripped.
+
+“Mary,” he said again.
+
+She caught her breath, almost with a sob.
+
+“You!” she exclaimed. “YOU! Oh, how could you? WHY did you come?”
+
+He took a step toward her. “Because I felt that I must,” he said. “I had
+to come. I came to see you once more. You must forgive me.”
+
+She did not speak. He continued:
+
+“You must forgive me for coming,” he said again. “There was a question
+I had to ask and only you could answer it. It isn't the question I
+asked before, although perhaps that--But first I must tell you: Mary, my
+father is dead.”
+
+She nodded. She could scarcely trust herself to speak, but she tried.
+
+“Yes, yes,” she faltered. “I--I know.”
+
+“You know?” he repeated.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Keith told us this morning. He said he met you in Boston.”
+
+“Yes, I had forgotten; so he did.”
+
+“That is how I knew. Oh, Crawford, I am so sorry for you. I have been
+writing you. But WHY did you come here again? It--it makes it so much
+harder for--for both of us.”
+
+He did not answer the question. “You knew my father was dead,” he said
+again. “I wonder”--he was speaking slowly and his gaze was fixed upon
+her face--“I wonder how much more you know.”
+
+She started back. “How much--” she repeated, “How much more--Oh, what do
+you mean?”
+
+“I mean how much did you know about my father when you and I were
+together--when I came on here and asked you to marry me?”
+
+She put a hand to her throat. “Oh!” she cried breathlessly. “YOU know!
+He told you!”
+
+“Yes, Mary, he told me. Before he died he told me everything. And you
+knew it! I know now why you would not marry me--the son of a thief.”
+
+She looked at him in pained astonishment. The tears sprang to her eyes.
+“Oh, how can you!” she exclaimed. “How can you say that to me? How
+can you think it? As if that would make any difference! I learned your
+father's name and--and what he had done--by accident. It was only the
+night before you came. It would have made no difference to me. For
+myself I didn't care--but--Oh, Crawford, how can you think it was
+because he was--that?”
+
+His eyes were shining.
+
+“I don't think it,” he cried triumphantly. “I never have thought it,
+Mary. I believe--ever since I knew, I have dared to believe that you
+sent me away because you were trying to save me from disgrace. You had
+learned who and what my father had been and I did not know. And you
+feared that if you married me the secret might come out and I would
+be ashamed, my career would be spoiled, and all that. I have dared to
+believe this and that is why I came back to you--to ask if it was true.
+Can't you see? I HAD to come. IS it true, Mary?”
+
+He came toward her. She would have run away if she could, but there was
+nowhere to run.
+
+“Look at me, Mary,” he commanded. “Look at me, and tell me this: It
+wasn't because you didn't love me that you sent me away? It wasn't
+really that, was it? Tell me the truth. Look at me now, and tell me.”
+
+She tried to look and she tried to speak, but her glance faltered and
+fell before his and the words would not come. She could feel the blood
+rushing to her cheeks. She put up her hands in mute protest, but the
+protest was unavailing. His arms were about her, his kisses were upon
+her lips, and he was telling her the things which are told in times like
+these. And she struggled no longer, but permitted herself to listen,
+to believe, to accept, and to be swept away by the wonderful current of
+love and destiny against which she had fought so long.
+
+But the struggle was not entirely over. She made one more effort.
+
+“Oh, Crawford!” she cried a little later. “Oh, Crawford, dear, this is
+all wrong. It can't be. It mustn't be. Don't you see it mustn't? We have
+forgotten Uncle Zoeth. He doesn't know whose son you are. If he should
+learn, it would bring back the old story and the old trouble. He isn't
+well. The shock might kill him.”
+
+But Crawford merely smiled.
+
+“He does know, Mary,” he said. “Father wrote him. I shall tell you
+the whole story just as Dad told it to me. Heaven knows it was not a
+pleasant one for a son to hear, but I am glad I heard it. The past was
+bad, but it is past. You and I have the future for our own and I mean to
+make it a clean one and a happy one for us both, God willing.”
+
+Shadrach came up the path to the tea-house, leading Isaiah by the arm.
+Mr. Chase moved reluctantly, as if led to execution or, at the very
+least, to immediate trial for his life.
+
+“Now then,” commanded Shadrach, “furl that umbrella and come along in
+here with me. I want you to make Mary-'Gusta understand that you've told
+me the whole business, about your tellin' her the Ed Farmer yarn
+and all. After that you can clear out, because I want to talk to her
+myself.”
+
+He opened the door and, still holding his captive by the arm, strode
+into the parlor. There he stood stock still, staring.
+
+Crawford held out his hand and the Captain found himself shaking it
+warmly.
+
+“Captain Gould,” he said, “I know now what I did not know until two
+weeks ago, how greatly my father wronged you and your partners. I know
+the whole miserable story. But, in spite of it, I am here because I love
+Mary and I want to marry her. She has told me that she loves me. I don't
+know how you feel about it, but I hope--”
+
+The Captain interrupted. “Wait a minute!” he ordered. “Heave to and
+come up into the wind a minute; let me get my bearin's. Young feller,
+if you're goin' to drop down out of the skies unexpected like this,
+you--Tut! tut! tut! Whew!” He waited a moment, then he said:
+
+“Mary-'Gusta, come here.”
+
+He held out his arms. She came to him and he held her close.
+
+“Is it so?” he asked. “Do you care for this young feller enough for
+that? Do you, Mary-'Gusta?”
+
+He put his finger beneath her chin and lifted her head to look down into
+her face. The face was crimson.
+
+“Do you, Mary-'Gusta?” he asked.
+
+Mary looked up, wet-eyed but smiling.
+
+“Yes, Uncle Shad,” she said, “I think I do.”
+
+“And you want to cruise in his company all your life, eh?”
+
+“Yes, Uncle Shad; but not unless you and Uncle Zoeth are willing.”
+
+He bent and kissed her.
+
+“Bless your heart, dearie,” he said, “it's all right. Zoeth and me were
+talkin' about this very thing a little while ago. And do you know what
+he said? He said: 'What wrecked all our lives thirty-five year ago
+shan't wreck these two, if I can help it. If Mary-'Gusta cares for him
+and he for her they shall have each other and be happy. And we'll be
+happy watchin' their happiness.' That's what he said. I don't know's
+I said 'Amen' exactly, but I thought it, anyhow. God bless you,
+Mary-'Gusta. Now you and Crawford go and see your Uncle Zoeth. He's down
+at the house. You just run along and tell him about it.”
+
+Mary turned to Mr. Chase.
+
+“Well, Isaiah,” she said, “haven't you anything to say to me?”
+
+Isaiah looked at Crawford and then at her.
+
+“I should say you'd better go somewheres, both of you, and get dry,”
+ he said. “His overcoat's soakin' wet and your waist ain't much better.
+I--I--don't know what sort of--of congratulations or--or whatever
+they be I ought to say, but--but I hope you'll be terrible happy,
+Mary-'Gusta.”
+
+“Thank you, Isaiah,” laughed Mary.
+
+“Yes, you're welcome. Now, just let me talk to Cap'n Shad a minute.”
+
+He swung about and faced the Captain and in his eye was triumph great
+and complete.
+
+“Cap'n Shad Gould,” crowed Isaiah, “a good many times in the last
+four or five year you've called me a fool for heavin' out hints that
+somethin' about like this was liable to happen. Well? WELL? What have
+you got to say NOW? Who's the fool NOW? Hey? Who is?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+
+The story of Mary-'Gusta Lathrop is almost told. Before Crawford left
+South Harniss, which was not until the end of another week, it had been
+decided that on a day in June of the following year she should cease to
+be Mary-'Gusta Lathrop. There was a great deal of discussion before this
+decision was reached, for many perplexing questions had to be answered.
+
+First, there was the question of Crawford's future. His father had left
+a comfortable fortune and an interest in mining properties which would
+have rendered it quite unnecessary for the young man to keep on with his
+professional studies had he wished to discontinue them. But he did not
+so wish.
+
+“As I think I told you that Sunday afternoon when we first met at Mrs.
+Wyeth's, Mary,” he said, “I have always intended to be a doctor. Dad did
+not want me to be; he wanted me to come in with him, but I wouldn't do
+it. I love my work and I mean to stick to it and go on with it. If I
+were as rich as a dozen Rockefellers it wouldn't make any difference.
+But, as I see it, I am not rich. It is a grave question in my mind how
+much of that money out there belongs to me.”
+
+Mary nodded. “I think I understand what you mean,” she said.
+
+“Yes, I think there is no doubt that almost all of my father's money
+was made there in the West after”--he hesitated and then went on--“after
+the--the other died and after he married my mother. But nevertheless I
+shall always feel as if whatever there was belonged to your uncles,
+the surviving members of the old firm. If I could, I should give it to
+them.”
+
+Mary smiled. “Thank you for saying it, dear,” she said, “and I know you
+mean it; but it would be no use to offer; they wouldn't take it.”
+
+“I know they wouldn't. So we must try and make it up to them in some
+other way. But suppose we leave that for a time and get back to my work.
+I'm going to keep on with it; I want to and you say that you want me
+to.”
+
+“I do, very much. I am sure you will be happier in that work than in any
+other, and besides--I suppose I am ever so unpractical, but I do
+feel it--I had rather you made your own way. Somehow the idea of our
+depending upon that money out there doesn't--doesn't--Oh, I can't
+explain exactly, but I don't like the idea a bit.”
+
+“I know. I prefer to paddle my own canoe, if I can. But a young doctor's
+canoe is likely to move pretty slowly at first. And I intend taking a
+passenger, you know, and I want her to be comfortable.”
+
+Mary laughed, a contented little laugh. “She will be,” she declared.
+“Did I tell you of the talk Uncle Shad and I had the other day? He
+saw me sitting by the dining-room window looking out at nothing in
+particular--and looking silly enough, too, I dare say--and he asked me
+what I was thinking. I said, 'Nothing much,' which wasn't true, and he
+said nothing must be good to think of, I looked so cheerful. I told
+him I was. Then I asked him--my conscience troubled me a little, you
+know--if he was sure that he and Uncle Zoeth were happy, because I
+shouldn't be unless they were.”
+
+“Well, that was characteristic. What did he say to that?”
+
+“Oh, he laughed that big laugh of his and told me not to worry. 'I'M
+feelin' pretty average satisfied with life just now, Mary-'Gusta,' he
+said, 'and as for Zoeth--well, he asked me this mornin' if I didn't
+cal'late 'twas wicked for him and me to be so contented with the things
+of this world, so I know HE'S all right. When Zoeth gets real happy he
+always begins to feel sinful.' I hope that a consciousness of sin isn't
+the only test of happiness,” she added, “because I don't believe you
+feel wicked the least bit. At least you have never said you did.”
+
+Crawford laughed, and there followed one of those interruptions to
+conversation with which, although undoubtedly interesting to the
+participants, outsiders are not supposed to be concerned. When it was
+over Mary said:
+
+“Of course I am not so foolish as to mean that you must not touch the
+money your father left. That would be ridiculous. But I mean I think we
+should not depend upon it; it should not change our plans or spoil your
+life work, or anything like that. It will make life easier for us, of
+course, and with its help we can make it easier for other people. I
+think that is what we should do with it.”
+
+“So do I, my dear. And our first duty, it seems to me, is toward your
+uncles. If they would consent, and I suppose there isn't the least
+chance that they would, I should like to sell out the store and the
+Lookout and the rest of it and take them with us, wherever we decide to
+go, and give them an easy, carefree time of it the rest of their lives.”
+
+Mary shook her head. “They wouldn't like it a bit,” she said. “That
+precious old store is the joy of their lives. Without it they wouldn't
+know what to do; they would be as lost and lonesome and miserable as a
+pair of stray kittens. No, if we take care of them we must take care of
+Hamilton and Company, too. And we mustn't let them know we're doing it,
+either,” she added with decision.
+
+Crawford looked troubled. “I suppose you're right,” he said; “but it
+is likely to be something of a puzzle, their problem. It will mean, of
+course, that you and I must go and leave them.”
+
+“Oh, no, we can't do that--not for some time, at any rate.”
+
+“It seems to me we must. We have decided, you and I, that I shall go
+back West, finish my preparatory work, then come here and marry you.
+After that--well, after that we have decided that I am to locate
+somewhere or other and begin to practice my profession. You'll go with
+me then, I presume?”
+
+“Silly! Of course I will.”
+
+“I hoped so. But if we can't leave your uncles and they won't leave the
+store, what are we going to do? Put the store on a truck and take it
+with us?”
+
+She looked up at him and smiled. “I have a plan,” she said. “I haven't
+quite worked it out yet, but if it does work I think it's going to be a
+very nice plan indeed. No, I'm not going to tell you what it is yet, so
+you mustn't tease. You don't mind my planning for you and bossing you
+and all that sort of thing, do you? I hope you don't, because I can't
+help it. It's the way I'm made, I think.”
+
+“I don't mind. Boss away.”
+
+“Oh, I shall. I'm like that Scotch girl in the play Mrs. Wyeth took me
+to see in Boston--Bunty, her name was. She made me think of myself more
+than once, although she was ever so much more clever. At the end of the
+play she said to her sweetheart, 'William, I must tell ye this: if
+I marry ye I'll aye be managin' ye.' She meant she couldn't help it.
+Neither can I. I'm afraid I'm a born manager.”
+
+Crawford stooped and kissed her.
+
+“Do you remember William's answer?” he asked. “I do. It was: 'Bunty,
+I'll glory in my shame.' Manage all you like, my lady, I'll glory in
+it.”
+
+The plan did work out and it was this: Doctor Harley, who had practiced
+medicine for forty-one years in South Harniss, was thinking of retiring
+after two more years of active work. He was willing to sell out his
+practice at the end of that time. He liked Crawford, had taken a fancy
+to him on the occasion of his first visit to the town when he was a
+guest of the Keiths. Crawford, after Mary had suggested the idea to him,
+called upon the old doctor. Before the end of the week it was arranged
+that after Crawford's final season of college and hospital work he
+was to come to South Harniss, work with Doctor Harley as assistant for
+another year, and then buy out the practice and, as Captain Shad said,
+“put up his own shingle.”
+
+“I don't mean to stay here always,” Crawford said, “but it will do me
+good to be here for a time. Harley's a tiptop old chap and a thoroughly
+competent general practitioner. He'll give me points that may be
+invaluable by and by. And a country practice is the best of training.”
+
+Mary nodded. “Yes,” she said. “And at the end of this winter I shall
+have Simeon Crocker well broken in as manager of the store. And I can
+sell the tea-room, I think. My uncles don't care much for that, anyway.
+They will be perfectly happy with the store to putter about in and
+with Simeon to take the hard work and care off their shoulders they can
+putter to their hearts' content.”
+
+“But suppose Simeon doesn't make it pay!” suggested Crawford. “That's
+at least a possibility. Everyone isn't a Napoleon--I should say a Queen
+Elizabeth--of finance and business like yourself, young lady.”
+
+Mary's confidence was not in the least shaken.
+
+“It will pay,” she said. “If the townspeople and the summer cottagers
+don't buy enough--well, you and I can help out. There is that money in
+the West, you know.”
+
+He nodded emphatically.
+
+“Good!” he cried. “You're right. It will be a chance for us--just a
+little chance. And they will never know.”
+
+
+He went away at the end of the week, but he came back for Christmas
+and again at Easter and again in the latter part of May. And soon after
+that, on a day in early June, he stood, with Sam Keith at his elbow,
+in the parlor of the white house by the shore, while Edna Keith played
+“Here Comes the Bride” on the piano which had been hired for the
+occasion; and, with her hand in Zoeth's arm, and with Captain Shadrach
+and Barbara Howe just behind, Mary walked between the two lines of
+smiling, teary friends to meet him.
+
+It was a lovely wedding; everyone said so, and as there probably never
+was a wedding which was not pronounced lovely by friends and relatives,
+we may be doubly certain of the loveliness of this. And there never was
+a more beautiful bride. All brides are beautiful, more or less, but this
+one was more. Isaiah, who had been favored with a peep at the rehearsal
+on the previous evening, was found later on by Shadrach in the kitchen
+in a state of ecstatic incoherence.
+
+“I swan to godfreys!” cried Isaiah. “Ain't--ain't she an angel, though!
+Did you ever see anything prettier'n she is in them clothes and with
+that--that moskeeter net on her head? An angel--yes, sir-ee! one of them
+cherrybins out of the Bible, that's what she is. And to think it's our
+Mary-'Gusta! Say, Cap'n Shad, will checkered pants be all right to wear
+with my blue coat tomorrow? I burnt a hole in my lavender ones tryin' to
+press the wrinkles out of 'em. And I went down to the wharf in 'em last
+Sunday and they smell consider'ble of fish, besides.”
+
+The wedding company was small, but select. Judge Baxter and his wife
+were there and the Keiths--Mrs. Keith condescended to ornament the
+occasion; some of the “best people” had seen fit to make much of Mary
+Lathrop and Mrs. Keith never permitted herself to be very far behind the
+best people in anything--and Mrs. Wyeth was there, and Miss Pease, and
+Mr. Green who had received an invitation and had come from Boston, and
+Doctor Harley, and Simeon Crocker and his “steady company,” one of the
+tea-room young ladies, and Annabel and--and--well, a dozen or fifteen
+more.
+
+When the minister asked, “Who giveth this woman to this man?” Zoeth
+answered, bravely, “I do--that is, me and Shadrach.” But no one laughed,
+because Zoeth himself was trying to smile and making rather wet weather
+of it. As for the Captain, his expression during the ceremony was a
+sort of fixed grin which he had assumed before entering the room and had
+evidently determined to wear to the finish, no matter what his emotions
+might be. But Miss Pease, always susceptible, had a delightful cry all
+to herself, and Isaiah, retiring to the hall, blew his nose with a vigor
+which, as Captain Shad said afterwards, “had the Pollack Rip foghorn
+soundin' like a deef and dumb sign.”
+
+Mary had managed everything, of course. Her uncles had tried to
+remonstrate with her, telling her there were plenty of others to arrange
+the flowers and attend to what the local newspaper would, in its account
+of the affair, be sure to call the “collation,” and to make the hundred
+and one preparations necessary for even so small and simple a wedding as
+this. But she only laughed at their remonstrances.
+
+“I wouldn't miss it for anything,” she said. “I have always wanted to
+manage someone's wedding and I am certainly not going to let anyone else
+manage mine. I don't care a bit whether it is the proper thing or not.
+This isn't going to be a formal affair; I won't have it so. Uncle Shad,
+if you want to say 'Jumpin' fire' when Crawford drops the ring, as he is
+almost sure to do, you have my permission.”
+
+But Crawford did not drop the ring, and so the Captain's favorite
+exclamation was not uttered, being unnecessary. In fact there were no
+mishaps, everything went exactly as it should, reception and “collation”
+ included, and, to quote from the South Harniss local once more, “A good
+time was had by all.”
+
+And when the bride and groom, dressed in their traveling costumes, came
+down the stairs to the carriage which was to take them to the station,
+Mary ran back, amid the shower of rice and confetti, to kiss Uncle Zoeth
+and Uncle Shad once more and whisper in their ears not to feel that she
+had really gone, because she hadn't but would be back in just a little
+while.
+
+“And I have told Isaiah about your rubbers and oilskins when it rains,”
+ she added, in Shadrach's ear, “and he is not to forget Uncle Zoeth's
+medicine. Good-by. Good-by. Don't be lonesome. Promise that you won't.”
+
+But to promise is easy and to keep that promise is often hard, as
+Shadrach observed when he and Zoeth were alone in the sitting-room that
+evening. “I feel as if the whole vitals of this place had gone away on
+that afternoon train,” the Captain admitted. “And yet I know it's awful
+foolish, 'cause she'll only be gone a couple of weeks.”
+
+“I'm glad that question about the name is settled,” mused Zoeth. “That
+kind of troubled me, that did.”
+
+The partners had worried not a little over the question of whether
+Crawford's name was legally Smith or Farmer. If it were Farmer and he
+must be so called in South Harniss, they feared the revival of the old
+scandal and all its miserable gossip. But when they asked Crawford he
+reassured them.
+
+“I consulted my lawyer about that,” he said. “My father's middle name
+was Smith; that is why he took it, I suppose. Edwin Smith is not so very
+different from Edgar Smith Farmer, shorter, that's all. He and my mother
+were married under the name of Smith. Mother never knew he had had
+another name. I was born Smith and christened Smith and my lawyer
+tells me that Smith I am. If there had been any question I should have
+petitioned to have the name changed.”
+
+So that question was settled and Shadrach and Zoeth felt easier because
+of it.
+
+“Zoeth,” observed Shadrach, after replying to his friend's remark
+concerning the name, “do you know what I kind of felt as if we'd ought
+to have had here this afternoon?”
+
+“No, Shadrach,” replied Zoeth, “I don't. What was it?”
+
+“Seemed to me we'd ought to had one of them music box chairs. I'd
+like to have put it under that Keith woman and seen her face when the
+Campbells started to come. Ho, ho!”
+
+“What in the world made you think of that?” demanded his partner.
+
+“Oh, I don't know. Thinkin' about Mary-'Gusta, I cal'late, set me to
+rememberin' how we fust met her and about Marcellus's funeral and all.
+That made me think of the chair, you see. I ain't thought of it afore
+for years.”
+
+Zoeth nodded. “Shadrach,” he said, “that was a blessed day for you and
+me, the day when we brought that child home in our old buggy. The Lord
+put her there, Shadrach.”
+
+“Well, I guess likely He did, maybe, in a way of speakin'. Does seem so,
+that's a fact.”
+
+“Our lives was pretty sot and narrow afore she came. She's changed
+everything.”
+
+“That's so. Hello! What's that noise? I declare if it ain't Isaiah
+liftin' up his voice in song! In a hymn tune! What do you think of
+that?”
+
+From the kitchen, above the rattle of dishes, Mr. Chase's nasal falsetto
+quavered shrilly:
+
+     “There shall be showers of blessin's--”
+
+The Captain interrupted.
+
+“Hi, you--what's your name--Jennie Lind--come in here,” he hailed.
+
+Mr. Chase appeared, his arms dripping soapsuds. “What do you want,
+callin' me out of my name?” he demanded.
+
+“Want to know what started you singin' about blessin's? Fust I thought
+'twas the weathervane squeakin'. What tuned you up, eh?”
+
+Isaiah looked rather foolish, but he grinned.
+
+“I was thinkin' about Mary-'Gusta,” he said.
+
+“You was, eh? Well, she's been a blessin' to us, there's no doubt about
+that.”
+
+“Indeed she has,” concurred Zoeth.
+
+But Isaiah had the final word.
+
+“Huh!” he declared, “she's more'n one blessin', she's a whole shower.
+That's what set me to singin' about 'em.”
+
+He departed for the kitchen once more, the falsetto rising triumphant:
+
+     “There shall be showers of blessin's,
+     Send 'em upon us, oh Lord!”
+
+Captain Shad looked after him. Then he turned to his friend and partner
+and said earnestly:
+
+“Do you know, Isaiah's gettin' real kind of sensible in his old age.”
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY-'GUSTA ***
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