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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thankful's Inheritance, by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+
+Title: Thankful's Inheritance
+
+Author: Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+Release Date: May 18, 2006 [EBook #2552]
+Last Updated: March 5, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THANKFUL'S INHERITANCE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Lainson
+
+
+
+
+
+THANKFUL'S INHERITANCE
+
+By Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The road from Wellmouth Centre to East Wellmouth is not a good one; even
+in dry weather and daylight it is not that. For the first two miles it
+winds and twists its sandy way over bare hills, with cranberry
+swamps and marshy ponds in the hollows between. Then it enters upon a
+three-mile stretch bordered with scrubby pines and bayberry thickets,
+climbing at last a final hill to emerge upon the bluff with the ocean
+at its foot. And, fringing that bluff and clustering thickest in the
+lowlands just beyond, is the village of East Wellmouth, which must on
+no account be confused with South Wellmouth, or North Wellmouth, or West
+Wellmouth, or even Wellmouth Port.
+
+On a bright sunny summer day the East Wellmouth road is a hard one to
+travel. At nine o'clock of an evening in March, with a howling gale
+blowing and rain pouring in torrents, traveling it is an experience.
+Winnie S., who drives the East Wellmouth depot-wagon, had undergone the
+experience several times in the course of his professional career, but
+each time he vowed vehemently that he would not repeat it; he would
+“heave up” his job first.
+
+He was vowing it now. Perched on the edge of the depot wagon's front
+seat, the reins leading from his clenched fists through the slit in the
+“boot” to the rings on the collar of General Jackson, the aged horse, he
+expressed his opinion of the road, the night, and the job.
+
+“By Judas priest!” declared Winnie S.--his name was Winfield Scott
+Hancock Holt, but no resident of East Wellmouth called him anything but
+Winnie S.--“by Judas priest! If this ain't enough to make a feller give
+up tryin' to earn a livin', then I don't know! Tell him he can't ship
+aboard a schooner 'cause goin' to sea's a dog's life, and then put him
+on a job like this! Dog's life! Judas priest! What kind of a life's
+THIS, I want to know?”
+
+From the curtain depths of the depot-wagon behind him a voice answered,
+a woman's voice:
+
+“Judgin' by the amount of dampness in it I should think you might call
+it a duck's life,” it suggested.
+
+Winnie S. accepted this pleasantry with a grunt. “I 'most wish I was
+a duck,” he declared, savagely. “Then I could set in three inches of
+ice-water and like it, maybe. Now what's the matter with you?” This last
+a roar to the horse, whose splashy progress along the gullied road had
+suddenly ceased. “What's the matter with you now?” repeated Winnie.
+“What have you done; come to anchor? Git dap!”
+
+But General Jackson refused to “git dap.” Jerks at the reins only caused
+him to stamp and evince an inclination to turn around. Go ahead he would
+not.
+
+“Judas priest!” exclaimed the driver. “I do believe the critter's
+drowndin'! Somethin's wrong. I've got to get out and see, I s'pose. Set
+right where you be, ladies. I'll be back in a minute,” adding, as he
+took a lighted lantern from beneath the seat and pulled aside the heavy
+boot preparatory to alighting, “unless I get in over my head, which
+ain't so dummed unlikely as it sounds.”
+
+Lantern in hand he clambered clumsily from beneath the boot and
+disappeared. Inside the vehicle was blackness, dense, damp and profound.
+
+“Auntie,” said a second feminine voice, “Auntie, what DO you suppose has
+happened?”
+
+“I don't know, Emily. I'm prepared for 'most anything by this time.
+Maybe we've landed on Mount Ararat. I feel as if I'd been afloat for
+forty days and nights. Land sakes alive!” as another gust shot and beat
+its accompanying cloudburst through and between the carriage curtains;
+“right in my face and eyes! I don't wonder that boy wished he was a
+duck. I'd like to be a fish--or a mermaid. I couldn't be much wetter if
+I was either one, and I'd have gills so I could breathe under water. I
+SUPPOSE mermaids have gills, I don't know.”
+
+Emily laughed. “Aunt Thankful,” she declared, “I believe you would find
+something funny in a case of smallpox.”
+
+“Maybe I should; I never tried. 'Twouldn't be much harder than to be
+funny with--with rain-water on the brain. I'm so disgusted with myself
+I don't know what to do. The idea of me, daughter and granddaughter of
+seafarin' folks that studied the weather all their lives, not knowin'
+enough to stay to home when it looked as much like a storm as it did
+this mornin'. And draggin' you into it, too. We could have come tomorrow
+or next day just as well, but no, nothin' to do but I must start today
+'cause I'd planned to. This comes of figgerin' to profit by what folks
+leave to you in wills. Talk about dead men's shoes! Live men's rubber
+boots would be worth more to you and me this minute. SUCH a cruise as
+this has been!”
+
+It had been a hard trip, certainly, and the amount of water through
+which they had traveled the latter part of it almost justified its being
+called a “cruise.” Old Captain Abner Barnes, skipper, for the twenty
+years before his death, of the coasting schooner T. I. Smalley, had,
+during his life-long seafaring, never made a much rougher voyage, all
+things considered, than that upon which his last will and testament had
+sent his niece and her young companion.
+
+Captain Abner, a widower, had, when he died, left his house and land at
+East Wellmouth to his niece by marriage, Mrs. Thankful Barnes. Thankful,
+whose husband, Eben Barnes, was lost at sea the year after their
+marriage, had been living with and acting as housekeeper for an elderly
+woman named Pearson at South Middleboro. She, Thankful, had never
+visited her East Wellmouth inheritance. For four years after she
+inherited it she received the small rent paid her by the tenant, one
+Laban Eldredge. His name was all she knew concerning him. Then he died
+and for the next eight months the house stood empty. And then came one
+more death, that of old Mrs. Pearson, the lady for whom Thankful had
+“kept house.”
+
+Left alone and without present employment, the Widow Barnes considered
+what she should do next. And, thus considering, the desire to visit and
+inspect her East Wellmouth property grew and strengthened. She thought
+more and more concerning it. It was hers, she could do what she pleased
+with it, and she began to formulate vague ideas as to what she might
+like to do. She kept these ideas to herself, but she spoke to Emily
+Howes concerning the possibilities of a journey to East Wellmouth.
+
+Emily was Mrs. Barnes' favorite cousin, although only a second cousin.
+Her mother, Sarah Cahoon, Thankful's own cousin, had married a man named
+Howes. Emily was the only child by this marriage. But later there was
+another marriage, this time to a person named Hobbs, and there were five
+little Hobbses. Papa Hobbs worked occasionally, but not often. His wife
+and Emily worked all the time. The latter had been teaching school
+in Middleboro, but now it was spring vacation. So when Aunt Thankful
+suggested the Cape Cod tour of inspection Emily gladly agreed to go.
+The Hobbs house was not a haven of joy, especially to Mr. Hobbs'
+stepdaughter, and almost any change was likely to be an agreeable one.
+
+They had left South Middleboro that afternoon. The rain began when
+the train reached West Ostable. At Bayport it had become a storm. At
+Wellmouth Centre it was a gale and a miniature flood. And now, shut
+up in the back part of the depot-wagon, with the roaring wind and
+splashing, beating rain outside, Thankful's references to fish and ducks
+and mermaids, even to Mount Ararat, seemed to Emily quite appropriate.
+They had planned to spend the night at the East Wellmouth hotel and
+visit the Barnes' property in the morning. But it was five long miles to
+that hotel from the Wellmouth Centre station. Their progress so far had
+been slow enough. Now they had stopped altogether.
+
+A flash of light showed above the top of the carriage boot.
+
+“Mercy on us!” cried Aunt Thankful. “Is that lightnin'? All we need to
+make this complete is to be struck by lightnin'. No, 'tain't lightnin',
+it's just the lantern. Our pilot's comin' back, I guess likely. Well, he
+ain't been washed away, that's one comfort.”
+
+Winnie S., holding the lantern in his hand, reappeared beneath the boot.
+Raindrops sparkled on his eyebrows, his nose and the point of his chin.
+
+“Judas priest!” he gasped. “If this ain't--”
+
+“You needn't say it. We'll agree with you,” interrupted Mrs. Barnes,
+hastily. “Is anything the matter?”
+
+The driver's reply was in the form of elaborate sarcasm.
+
+“Oh, no!” he drawled, “there wasn't nothin' the matter. Just a few
+million pines blowed across the road and the breechin' busted and the
+for'ard wheel about ready to come off, that's all. Maybe there's a few
+other things I didn't notice, but that's all I see.”
+
+“Humph! Well, they'll do for a spell. How's the weather, any worse?”
+
+“Worse? No! they ain't no worse made. Looks as if 'twas breakin' a
+little over to west'ard, fur's that goes. But how in the nation we'll
+ever fetch East Wellmouth, I don't know. Git dap! GIT DAP! Have you
+growed fast?”
+
+General Jackson pulled one foot after the other from the mud and the
+wagon rocked and floundered as its pilot steered it past the fallen
+trees. For the next twenty minutes no one spoke. Then Winnie S. breathed
+a sigh of thankfulness.
+
+“Well, we're out of that stretch of woods, anyhow,” he declared. “And it
+'tain't rainin' so hard, nuther. Cal'late we can get to civilization if
+that breechin' holds and the pesky wheel don't come off. How are you, in
+aft there; tolerable snug?”
+
+Emily said nothing. Aunt Thankful chuckled at the word.
+
+“Snug!” she repeated. “My, yes! If this water was salt we'd be as snug
+as a couple of pickled mackerel. How far off is this civilization you're
+talkin' about?”
+
+“Well, our hotel where you're bound is a good two mile, but
+there's--Judas priest! there goes that breechin' again!”
+
+There was another halt while the breeching underwent temporary repairs.
+The wind blew as hard as ever, but the rain had almost stopped. A few
+minutes later it stopped altogether.
+
+“There!” declared Winnie S. “The fust mile's gone. I don't know's I
+hadn't ought to stop--”
+
+Aunt Thankful interrupted. “Stop!” she cried. “For mercy sakes, don't
+stop anywheres unless you have to. We've done nothin' but stop ever
+since we started. Go on as far as you can while this--this machine of
+yours is wound up.”
+
+But that was not destined to be far. From beneath the forward end of
+the depot-wagon sounded a most alarming creak, a long-drawn, threatening
+groan. Winnie S. uttered his favorite exclamation.
+
+“Judas priest!” he shouted. “There goes that wheel! I've, been expectin'
+it.”
+
+He tugged at the right hand rein. General Jackson, who, having been
+brought up in a seafaring community, had learned to answer his helm,
+swerved sharply from the road. Emily screamed faintly.
+
+“Where are you goin'?” demanded Mrs. Barnes.
+
+The driver did not answer. The groan from beneath the carriage was more
+ominously threatening than ever. And suddenly the threat was fulfilled.
+The depot-wagon jerked on for a few feet and then, with a crack, settled
+down to port in a most alarming fashion. Winnie S. settled down with it,
+still holding tight to the reins and roaring commands to General Jackson
+at the top of his lungs.
+
+“Whoa!” he hollered. “Whoa! Stand still! Stand still where you be!
+Whoa!”
+
+General Jackson stood still. Generally speaking he needed but one hint
+to do that. His commander climbed out, or fell out, from beneath the
+boot. The ground upon which he fell was damp but firm.
+
+“Whoa!” he roared again. Then scrambling to his feet he sprang toward
+the wagon, which, the forward wheel detached and flat beneath it,
+was resting on the remaining three in a fashion which promised total
+capsizing at any moment.
+
+“Be you hurt? Be you hurt?” demanded Winnie S.
+
+From inside, the tightly drawn curtains there came a variety of sounds,
+screams, exclamations, and grunts as of someone gasping for breath.
+
+“Be you hurt?” yelled the frantic Mr. Holt.
+
+It was the voice of the younger passenger which first made coherent
+reply.
+
+“No,” it panted. “No, I--I think I'm not hurt. But Aunt Thankful--Oh,
+Auntie, are you--”
+
+Aunt Thankful herself interrupted. Her voice was vigorous enough, but it
+sounded as if smothered beneath a heavy weight.
+
+“No, no,” she gasped. “I--I'm all right. I'm all right. Or I guess I
+shall be when you get--off of me.”
+
+“Judas priest!” cried Winnie S., and sprang to the scene. It was the
+younger woman, Emily, whom he rescued first. She, being on the upper
+side of the tilted wagon, had slid pell-mell along the seat down upon
+the body of her companion. Mrs. Barnes was beneath and getting her out
+was a harder task. However, it was accomplished at last.
+
+“Mercy on us!” exclaimed the lady, as her companions assisted her to
+rise. “Mercy on us! I feel like a pancake. I never knew you weighed so
+much, Emily Howes. Well, that's all right and no bones broke. Where
+are we now? Why--why, that's a house, I do believe! We're in somebody's
+yard.”
+
+They were, that was plain even on a night as dark as this. Behind them,
+bordering the stretch of mud and puddles which they had just left, was
+the silhouette of a dilapidated picket fence; and in front loomed the
+shadowy shapes of buildings.
+
+“We're in somebody's yard,” repeated Thankful. “And there's a house,
+as sure as I live! Well, I never thought I'd be so grateful just at the
+bare sight of one. I'd begun to think I never would see a house again.
+If we'd run afoul of a ship I shouldn't have been so surprised. Come on,
+Emily!”
+
+She seized her companion by the hand and led the way toward the nearest
+and largest building. Winnie S., having retrieved and relighted the
+overturned lantern, was inspecting the wreck of the depot-wagon. It was
+some minutes before he noticed that his passengers had disappeared. Then
+he set up a shout.
+
+“Hi! Where you be?” he shouted.
+
+“Here,” was the answer. “Here, by the front door.”
+
+“Hey? Oh, all right. Stay where you be. I'll be there pretty soon.”
+
+The “pretty soon” was not very soon. Mrs. Barnes began to lose patience.
+
+“I ain't goin' to roost on this step till mornin',” she declared. “I'm
+goin' inside. Ain't that a bell handle on your side of the door, Emily?
+Give it a pull, for mercy sakes!”
+
+“But, Auntie--”
+
+“Give it a pull, I tell you! I don't know who lives here and I don't
+care. If 'twas the President of the United States he'd have to turn out
+and let us in this night. Here, let me do it!”
+
+She gave the glass knob a sharp jerk. From within sounded the jingle of
+an old-fashioned spring bell.
+
+“There!” she exclaimed, “I guess they'll hear that. Anyway, I'll give
+'em one more for good measure.”
+
+She jerked the bell again. The peal died away in a series of lessening
+tinkles, but there was no other sound from within.
+
+“They must be sound sleepers,” whispered Emily, after a moment.
+
+“They must be dead,” declared Thankful. “There's been smashin' and
+crackin' and hollerin' enough to wake up anybody that wa'n't buried. How
+that wind does blow! I--Hello! here comes that man at last. About time,
+I should say!”
+
+Winnie S. appeared, bearing the lantern.
+
+“What you doin'?” he asked. “There ain't no use ringin' that bell.
+Nobody'll hear it.”
+
+Thankful, who had just given the bell a third pull, took her hand from
+the knob.
+
+“Why not?” she demanded. “It makes noise enough. I should think a graven
+image would hear it. What is this, a home for deaf people?”
+
+Winnie S. grinned. “'Tain't nobody's home, not now,” he said. “This
+house is empty. Ain't nobody lived in it for 'most a year.”
+
+The two women looked at each other. Mrs. Barnes drew along breath.
+
+“Well,” she observed, “if this ain't the last straw. Such a cruise as
+we've had; and finally be shipwrecked right in front of a house and find
+it's an empty one! Don't talk to ME! Well,” sharply, “what shall we do
+next?”
+
+The driver shook his head.
+
+“Dummed if I know!” he answered. “The old wagon can't go another yard.
+I--I cal'late you folks'll have to stay here for a spell.”
+
+“Stay? Where'll we stay; out here in the middle of this howlin'
+wilderness?”
+
+“I guess so. Unless you want to walk the rest of the way, same's I'm
+cal'latin' to. I'm goin' to unharness the horse and put him under the
+shed here and then hoof it over to the village and get somebody to come
+and help. You can come along if you want to, but it'll be a tougher
+v'yage than the one we've come through.”
+
+“How far off is this--this village of yours?”
+
+“Oh, about a mile and a half!”
+
+“A mile and a half! And it's beginnin' to rain again! Emily, I don't
+know how you feel, but if the horse can wait under the shed until
+somebody comes I guess we can. I say let's do it.”
+
+Emily nodded. “Of course, Auntie,” she said, emphatically. “We couldn't
+walk a mile and a half in a storm like this. Of course we must wait.
+Where is the shed?”
+
+Winnie S. led the way to the shed. It was a ramshackle affair, open
+on one side. General Jackson, tethered to a rusty ring at the back,
+whinnied a welcome.
+
+The driver, holding the lantern aloft, looked about him. His two
+passengers looked also.
+
+“Well,” observed Thankful, “this may have been a shed once, but it's
+more like a sieve now. There's more leaks to the roof than there is
+boards, enough sight. However, any port in a storm, and we've got the
+storm, sartin. All right, Mister What's-your-name, we'll wait.”
+
+Winnie S. turned away. Then he turned back again.
+
+“Maybe I'd better leave you the lantern,” he said, doubtfully. “I
+guess likely I could get along without it and--and 'twould make it more
+sociable for you.”
+
+He put the lantern down on the earth floor beside them and strode off
+into the dark. Mrs. Barnes called after him.
+
+“Ain't there any way of gettin' into that house?” she asked. “It acts as
+if 'twas goin' to storm hard as ever and this shed ain't the most--what
+did you call it?--sociable place in creation, in spite of the lantern.
+If we could only get inside that house--”
+
+Winnie S. interrupted. They could not see him, but there was a queer
+note in his voice.
+
+“Get inside!” he repeated. “Get into THAT house this time of night!
+Well--well, maybe you could, but I wouldn't do it, not for nothin'. You
+better wait in the shed. I'll be back soon as ever I can.”
+
+They heard him splashing along the road. Then a gust of wind and a
+torrent of rain beating upon the leaky roof drowned all other sounds.
+Emily turned to her companion.
+
+“Auntie,” she said, “if you and I were superstitious we might think
+all this, all that we've been through, was what people call a sign, a
+warning. That is what ever so many South Middleboro people would say.”
+
+“Humph! if I believed in signs I'd have noticed the weather signs afore
+we started. Those are all the 'signs' I believe in and I ought to have
+known better than to risk comin' when it looked so threatenin'. I can't
+forgive myself for that. However, we did come, and here we are--wherever
+'here' is. Now what in the world did that man mean by sayin' we better
+not try to get into that house? I don't care what he meant. Give me that
+lantern.”
+
+“Auntie, where are you going?”
+
+“I'm goin' to take an observation of those windows. Nine chances to one
+they ain't all locked, and if there's one open you and I can crawl
+into it. I wish we could boost the horse in, too, poor thing, but
+self-preservation is the first law of nature and if he's liable to
+perish it's no reason we should. I'm goin' to get into that house if
+such a thing's possible.”
+
+“But, Auntie--”
+
+“Don't say another word. I'm responsible for your bein' here this night,
+Emily Howes. You wouldn't have come if I hadn't coaxed you into it. And
+you shan't die of pneumonia or--or drownin' if I can help it. I'm goin'
+to have a look at those doors and windows. Don't be scared. I'll be
+back in a jiffy. Goodness me, what a puddle! Well, if you hear me holler
+you'll know I'm goin' under for the third time, so come quick. Here
+goes!”
+
+Lantern in hand, she splashed out into the wet, windy darkness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Miss Howes, left to share with General Jackson the “sociability” of the
+shed, watched that lantern with faint hope and strong anxiety. She
+saw it bobbing like a gigantic firefly about the walls of the house,
+stopping here and there and then hurrying on. Soon it passed around the
+further corner and disappeared altogether. The wind howled, the rain
+poured, General Jackson stamped and splashed, and Emily shivered.
+
+At last, just as the watcher had begun to think some serious accident
+had happened to her courageous relative and was considering starting on
+a relief expedition, the lantern reappeared.
+
+“Emily!” screamed Mrs. Barnes. “Emily! Come here!”
+
+Emily came, fighting her way against the wind. She found her cousin
+standing by the corner of the house.
+
+“I've got it,” cried Aunt Thankful, panting but triumphant. “I've
+got it. One of the windows on the other side is unfastened, just as I
+suspicioned it might be. I think one of us can get in if t'other helps.”
+
+She seized the arm of her fellow castaway and together they turned the
+corner, struggled on for a short distance and then stopped.
+
+“This is the window,” gasped the widow. “Here, right abreast of us.
+See!”
+
+She held up the lantern. The window was “abreast” of them, but also it
+was a trifle high.
+
+“It ain't fastened,” shouted Thankful; she was obliged to shout in order
+to be heard. “I could push it open a little mite from the bottom, but
+I couldn't reach to get it up all the way. You can if I steady you, I
+guess. Here! Put your foot on that box. I lugged it around from the back
+yard on purpose.”
+
+Standing on an empty and shaky cranberry crate and held there by the
+strong arm of Mrs. Barnes, Emily managed to push up the lower half
+of the window. The moment she let go of it, however, it fell with a
+tremendous bang.
+
+“One of the old-fashioned kind, you might know,” declared Thankful. “No
+weights nor nothin'. We'll have to prop it up with a stick. You wait
+where you are and I'll go get one. There's what's left of a woodpile out
+back here; that's where that crate came from.”
+
+She hastened away and was back in a moment with a stout stick. Emily
+raised the window once more and placed the stick beneath it.
+
+“There!” panted her companion. “We've got a gangway anyhow. Next thing
+is to get aboard. You come down and give me a boost.”
+
+But Emily declined.
+
+“Of course I shan't do any such thing,” she declared, indignantly. “I
+can climb through that window a great deal easier than you can, Auntie.
+I'm ever so much younger. Just give me a push, that's all.”
+
+Her cousin demurred. “I hate to have you do it,” she said. “For anybody
+that ain't any too strong or well you've been through enough tonight.
+Well, if you're so set on it. I presume likely you could make a better
+job of climbin' than I could. It ain't my age that bothers me though,
+it's my weight. All ready? Up you go! Humph! It's a mercy there ain't
+anybody lookin' on. . . . There! all right, are you?”
+
+Emily's head appeared framed by the window sash. “Yes,” she panted.
+“I--I think I'm all right. At least I'm through that window. Now what
+shall I do?”
+
+“Take this lantern and go to one of the doors and see if you can
+unfasten it. Try the back door; that's the most liable to be only bolted
+and hooked. The front one's probably locked with a key.”
+
+The lantern and its bearer disappeared. Mrs. Barnes plodded around to
+the back door. As she reached it it opened.
+
+“It was only hooked,” said Emily. “Come in, Auntie. Come in quick!”
+
+Thankful had not waited for the invitation; she was in already. She took
+the lantern from her relative's hand. Then she shut the door behind her.
+
+“Whew!” she exclaimed. “If it don't seem good to get under cover, real
+cover! What sort of a place is this, anyhow, Emily?”
+
+“I don't know. I--I've been too frightened to look. I--I feel like a--O,
+Aunt Thankful, don't you feel like a burglar?”
+
+“Me? A burglar? I feel like a wet dishcloth. I never was so soaked, with
+my clothes on, in my life. Hello! I thought this was an empty house.
+There's a stove and a chair, such as it is. Whoever lived here last
+didn't take away all their furniture. Let's go into the front rooms.”
+
+The first room they entered was evidently the dining-room. It was quite
+bare of furniture. The next, however, that which Emily had entered
+by the window, contained another stove, a ramshackle what-not, and a
+broken-down, ragged sofa.
+
+“Oh!” gasped Miss Howes, pointing to the sofa, “see! see! This ISN'T an
+empty house. Suppose--Oh, SUPPOSE there were people living here! What
+would they say to us?”
+
+For a moment Thankful was staggered. Then her common-sense came to her
+rescue.
+
+“Nonsense!” she said, firmly. “A house with folks livin' in it has
+somethin' in the dinin'-room besides dust. Anyhow, it's easy enough to
+settle that question. Where's that door lead to?”
+
+She marched across the floor and threw open the door to which she had
+pointed.
+
+“Humph!” she sniffed. “Best front parlor. The whole shebang smells shut
+up and musty enough, but there's somethin' about a best parlor smell
+that would give it away any time. Phew! I can almost smell wax wreaths
+and hair-cloth, even though they have been took away. No, this is an
+empty house all right, but I'll make good and sure for your sake, Emily.
+Ain't there any stairs to this old rattle-trap? Oh, yes, here's the
+front hall. Hello! Hello, up there! Hi-i!”
+
+She was shouting up the old-fashioned staircase. Her voice echoed above
+with the unmistakable echo of empty rooms. Only that echo and the howl
+of the wind and roar of rain answered her.
+
+She came back to the apartment where she had left her cousin.
+
+“It's all right, Emily,” she said. “We're the only passengers aboard the
+derelict. Now let's see if we can't be more comf'table. You set down on
+that sofa and rest. I've got an idea in my head.”
+
+The idea evidently involved an examination of the stove, for she opened
+its rusty door and peered inside. Then, without waiting to answer her
+companion's questions, she hurried out into the kitchen, returning with
+an armful of shavings and a few sticks of split pine.
+
+“I noticed that woodbox in the kitchen when I fust come in,” she said.
+“And 'twa'n't quite empty neither, though that's more or less of a
+miracle. Matches? Oh, yes, indeed! I never travel without 'em. I've been
+so used to lookin' out for myself and other folks that I'm a reg'lar man
+in some ways. There! now let's see if the draft is rusted up as much as
+the stove.”
+
+It was not, apparently, for, with the dampers wide open, the fire
+crackled and snapped. Also it smoked a little.
+
+“'Twill get over that pretty soon,” prophesied Mrs. Barnes. “I can stand
+'most any amount of smoke so long's there's heat with it. Now, Emily,
+we'll haul that sofa up alongside and you lay down on it and get rested
+and warm. I'd say get dry, too, but 'twould take a reg'lar blast furnace
+to dry a couple of water rats like you and me this night. Perhaps we
+can dry the upper layer, though; that'll be some help. Now, mind me! Lay
+right down on that sofa.”
+
+Emily protested. She was no wetter and no more tired than her cousin,
+she said. Why should she lie down while Aunt Thankful sat up?
+
+“'Cause I tell you to, for one thing,” said the widow, with decision.
+“And because I'm well and strong and you ain't. When I think of how I
+got you, a half invalid, as you might say, to come on this crazy trip
+I'm so provoked I feel like not speakin' to myself for a week. There!
+now you LOOK more comf'table, anyhow. If I only had somethin' to put
+over you, I'd feel better. I wonder if there's an old bed quilt or
+anything upstairs. I've a good mind to go and see.”
+
+Emily's protest was determined this time.
+
+“Indeed you shan't!” she cried. “You shan't stir. I wouldn't have you go
+prowling about this poky old place for anything. Do you suppose I could
+stay down here alone knowing that you might be--might be meeting or--or
+finding almost anything up there. Sit right down in that chair beside
+me. Don't you think it is almost time for that driver to be back?”
+
+“Land sakes--no! He's hardly started yet. It's goin' to take a good long
+spell afore he can wade a mile and a half in such a storm as this and
+get another horse and wagon and come back again. He'll come by and by.
+All we've got to do is to stay by this fire and be thankful we've got
+it.”
+
+Emily shivered. “I suppose so,” she said. “And I know I am nervous and a
+trial instead of a help. If you had only been alone--”
+
+“Alone! Heavens to Betey! Do you think I'd like this--this camp-meetin'
+any better if I was the only one to it. My! Just hear that wind! Hope
+these old chimneys are solid.”
+
+“Auntie, what do you suppose that man meant by saying he wouldn't enter
+this house at night for anything?”
+
+“Don't know. Perhaps he meant he'd be afraid of bein' arrested.”
+
+“But you don't think we'll be arrested?”
+
+“No, no, of course not. I'd be almost willin' to be arrested if they'd
+do it quick. A nice, dry lock-up and somethin' to eat wouldn't be so
+bad, would it? But no constable but a web-footed one would be out this
+night. Now do as I say--you lay still and give your nerves a rest.”
+
+For a few moments the order was obeyed. Then Miss Rowes said, with
+another shiver: “I do believe this is the worst storm I have ever
+experienced.”
+
+“'Tis pretty bad, that's a fact. Do you know, Emily, if I was a believer
+in signs such as mentioned a little while ago, I might almost be tempted
+to believe this storm was one of 'em. About every big change in my life
+has had a storm mixed up with it, comin' at the time it happened or
+just afore or just after. I was born, so my mother used to tell me, on a
+stormy night about like this one. And it poured great guns the day I was
+married. And Eben, my husband, went down with his vessel in a hurricane
+off Hatteras. And when poor Jedediah run off to go gold-diggin' there
+was such a snowstorm the next day that I expected to see him plowin' his
+way home again. Poor old Jed! I wonder where he is tonight? Let's see;
+six years ago, that was. I wonder if he's been frozen to death or eat up
+by polar bears, or what. One thing's sartin, he ain't made his fortune
+or he'd have come home to tell me of it. Last words he said to me was,
+'I'm a-goin', no matter what you say. And when I come back, loaded down
+with money, you'll be glad to see me.'”
+
+Jedediah Cahoon was Mrs. Barnes' only near relative, a brother. Always a
+visionary, easy-going, impractical little man, he had never been willing
+to stick at steady employment, but was always chasing rainbows and
+depending upon his sister for a home and means of existence. When
+the Klondike gold fever struck the country he was one of the first to
+succumb to the disease. And, after an argument--violent on his part
+and determined on Thankful's--he had left South Middleboro and
+gone--somewhere. From that somewhere he had never returned.
+
+“Yes,” mused Mrs. Barnes, “those were the last words he said to me.”
+
+“What did you say to him?” asked Emily, drowsily. She had heard the
+story often enough, but she asked the question as an aid to keeping
+awake.
+
+“Hey? What did I say? Oh, I said my part, I guess. 'When you come back,'
+says I, 'it'll be when I send money to you to pay your fare home, and I
+shan't do it. I've sewed and washed and cooked for you ever since Eben
+died, to say nothin' of goin' out nursin' and housekeepin' to earn money
+to buy somethin' TO cook. Now I'm through. This is my house--or, at
+any rate, I pay the rent for it. If you leave it to go gold-diggin' you
+needn't come back to it. If you do you won't be let in.' Of course I
+never thought he'd go, but he did. Ah hum! I'm afraid I didn't do
+right. I ought to have realized that he wa'n't really accountable, poor,
+weak-headed critter!”
+
+Emily's eyes were fast shutting, but she made one more remark.
+
+“Your life has been a hard one, hasn't it, Auntie,” she said.
+
+Thankful protested. “Oh, no, no!” she declared. “No harder'n anybody
+else's, I guess likely. This world has more hards than softs for the
+average mortal and I never flattered myself on bein' above the average.
+But there! How in the nation did I get onto this subject? You and
+me settin' here on other folks's furniture--or what was furniture
+once--soppin' wet through and half froze, and me talkin' about troubles
+that's all dead and done with! What DID get me started? Oh, yes, the
+storm. I was just thinkin' how most of the important things in my life
+had had bad weather mixed up with 'em. Come to think of it, it rained
+the day Mrs. Pearson was buried. And her dyin' was what set me to
+thinkin' of cruisin' down here to East Wellmouth and lookin' at the
+property Uncle Abner left me. I've never laid eyes on that property and
+I don't even know what the house looks like. I might have asked that
+depot-wagon driver, but I thought 'twas no use tellin' him my private
+affairs, so I said we was bound to the hotel, and let it go at that.
+If I had asked he might at least have told me where. . . . Hey?
+Why--why--my land! I never thought of it, but it might be! It might!
+Emily!”
+
+But Miss Howes' eyes were closed now. In spite of her wet garments and
+her nervousness concerning their burglarious entry of the empty house
+she had fallen asleep. Thankful did not attempt to wake her. Instead she
+tiptoed to the kitchen and the woodbox, took from the latter the last
+few slabs of pine wood and, returning, filled the stove to the top. Then
+she sat down in the chair once more.
+
+For some time she sat there, her hands folded in her lap. Occasionally
+she glanced about the room and her lips moved as if she were talking to
+herself. Then she rose and peered out of the window. Rain and blackness
+and storm were without, but nothing else. She returned to the sofa and
+stood looking down at the sleeper. Emily stirred a little and shivered.
+
+That shiver helped to strengthen the fears in Mrs. Barnes' mind. The
+girl was not strong. She had come home from her school duties almost
+worn out. A trip such as this had been was enough to upset even the most
+robust constitution. She was wet and cold. Sleeping in wet clothes was
+almost sure to bring on the dreaded pneumonia. If only there might be
+something in that house, something dry and warm with which to cover her.
+
+“Emily,” said Thankful, in a low tone. “Emily.”
+
+The sleeper did not stir. Mrs. Barnes took up the lantern. Its flame was
+much less bright than it had been and the wick sputtered. She held the
+lantern to her ear and shook it gently. The feeble “swash” that answered
+the shake was not reassuring. The oil was almost gone.
+
+Plainly if exploring of those upper rooms was to be done it must be done
+at once. With one more glance at the occupant of the sofa Mrs. Barnes,
+lantern in hand, tiptoed from the room, through the barren front hall
+and up the stairs. The stairs creaked abominably. Each creak echoed like
+the crack of doom.
+
+At the top of the stairs was another hall, long and narrow, extending
+apparently the whole length of the house. At intervals along this hall
+were doors. One after the other Thankful opened them. The first gave
+entrance to a closet, with a battered and ancient silk hat and a
+pasteboard box on the shelf. The next opened into a large room,
+evidently the spare bedroom. It was empty. So was the next and the next
+and the next. No furniture of any kind. Thankful's hope of finding
+a quilt or a wornout blanket, anything which would do to cover her
+sleeping and shivering relative, grew fainter with the opening of each
+door.
+
+There were an astonishing number of rooms and closets. Evidently this
+had been a big, commodious and comfortable house in its day. But that
+day was long past its sunset. Now the bigness only emphasized the
+dreariness and desolation. Dampness and spider webs everywhere, cracks
+in the ceiling, paper peeling from the walls. And around the gables and
+against the dormer-windows of these upper rooms the gale shrieked and
+howled and wailed like a drove of banshees.
+
+The room at the very end of the long hall was a large one. It was at
+the back of the house and there were windows on two sides of it. It was
+empty like the others, and Mrs. Barnes, reluctantly deciding that her
+exploration in quest of coverings had been a failure, was about to turn
+and retrace her steps to the stairs when she noticed another door.
+
+It was in the corner of the room furthest from the windows and was shut
+tight. A closet, probably, and all the closets she had inspected so
+far had contained nothing but rubbish. However, Thankful was not in the
+habit of doing things by halves, so, the feebly sputtering lantern held
+in her left hand, she opened the door with the other and looked in. Then
+she uttered an exclamation of joy.
+
+It was not a closet behind that door, but another room. A small room
+with but one little window, low down below the slope of the ceiling.
+But this room was to some extent furnished. There was a bed in it, and a
+rocking chair, and one or two pictures hanging crookedly upon the wall.
+Also, and this was the really important thing, upon that bed was a
+patchwork comforter.
+
+Thankful made a dash for that comforter. She set the lantern down upon
+the floor and snatched the gayly colored thing from the bed. And, as she
+did so, she heard a groan.
+
+There are always noises in an empty house, especially an old house.
+Creaks and cracks and rustlings mysterious and unexplainable. When the
+wind blows these noises are reenforced by a hundred others. In this
+particular house on this particular night there were noises enough,
+goodness knows. Howls and rattles and moans and shrieks. Every shutter
+and every shingle seemed to be loose and complaining of the fact. As for
+groans--old hinges groan when the wind blows and so do rickety gutters
+and water pipes. But this groan, or so it seemed to Mrs. Barnes, had a
+different and distinct quality of its own. It sounded--yes, it sounded
+human.
+
+Thankful dropped the patchwork comforter.
+
+“Who's that?” she asked, sharply.
+
+There was no answer. No sounds except those of the storm. Thankful
+picked up the comforter.
+
+“Humph!” she said aloud--talking to herself was a habit developed during
+the years of housekeeping for deaf old Mrs. Pearson. “Humph! I must be
+gettin' nerves, I guess.”
+
+She began folding the old quilt in order to make it easier to carry
+downstairs. And then she heard another groan, or sigh, or combination
+of both. It sounded, not outside the window or outside the house, but in
+that very room.
+
+Again Mrs. Barnes dropped the comforter. Also she went out of the room.
+But she did not go far. Halfway across the floor of the adjoining room
+she stopped and put her foot down, physically and mentally.
+
+“Fool!” she said, disgustedly. Then, turning on her heel, she marched
+back to the little bedroom and picked up the lantern; its flame had
+dwindled to the feeblest of feeble sparks.
+
+“Now then,” said Thankful, with determination, “whoever--or--or whatever
+thing you are that's makin' that noise you might just as well show
+yourself. If you're hidin' you'd better come out, for I'll find you.”
+
+But no one or no “thing” came out. Thankful waited a moment and then
+proceeded to give that room a very thorough looking-over. It was such
+a small apartment that the process took but little time. There was no
+closet. Except for the one window and the door by which she had entered,
+the four walls, covered with old-fashioned ugly paper, had no openings
+of any kind. There could be no attic or empty space above the ceiling
+because she could hear the rain upon the sloping roof. She looked under
+the bed and found nothing but dust. She looked in the bed, even under
+the rocking-chair.
+
+“Well, there!” she muttered. “I said it and I was right. I AM gettin'
+to be a nervous old fool. I'm glad Emily ain't here to see me. And yet I
+did--I swear I did hear somethin'.”
+
+The pictures on the wall by the window caught her eye. She walked over
+and looked at them. The lantern gave so little light that she could
+scarcely see anything, but she managed to make out that one was a dingy
+chromo with a Scriptural subject. The other was a battered “crayon
+enlargement,” a portrait of a man, a middle-aged man with a chin beard.
+There was something familiar about the face in the portrait. Something--
+
+Thankful gasped. “Uncle Abner!” she cried. “Why--why--”
+
+Then the lantern flame gave a last feeble sputter and went out. She
+heard the groan again. And in that room, the room she had examined so
+carefully, so close as to seem almost at her very ear, a faint voice
+wailed agonizingly, “Oh, Lord!”
+
+Thankful went away. She left the comforter and the lantern upon the
+floor and she did not stop to close the door of the little bedroom.
+Through the black darkness of the long hall she rushed and down the
+creaky stairs. Her entrance to the sitting-room was more noisy than her
+exit had been and Miss Howes stirred upon the sofa and opened her eyes.
+
+“Auntie!” she cried, sharply. “Aunt Thankful, where are you?”
+
+“I'm--I'm here, Emily. That is, I guess--yes, I'm here.”
+
+“But why is it so dark? Where is the lantern?”
+
+“The lantern?” Mrs. Barnes was trying to speak calmly but, between
+agitation and loss of breath, she found it hard work. “The lantern?
+Why--it's--it's gone,” she said.
+
+“Gone? What do you mean? Where has it gone?”
+
+“It's gone--gone out. There wa'n't enough oil in it to last any longer,
+I suppose.”
+
+“Oh!” Emily sat up. “And you've been sitting here alone in the dark
+while I have been asleep. How dreadful for you! Why didn't you speak to
+me? Has anything happened? Hasn't that man come back yet?”
+
+It was the last question which Thankful answered. “No. No, he ain't come
+back yet,” she said. “But he will pretty soon, I'm sure. He--he will,
+Emily, don't you fret.”
+
+“Oh, I'm not worried, Auntie. I am too sleepy to worry, I guess.”
+
+“Sleepy! You're not goin' to sleep AGAIN, are you?”
+
+Mrs. Barnes didn't mean to ask this question; certainly she did not
+mean to ask it with such evident anxiety. Emily noticed the tone and
+wondered.
+
+“Why, no,” she said. “I think not. Of course I'm not. But what made you
+speak in that way? You're not frightened, are you?”
+
+Thankful made a brave effort.
+
+“Frightened!” she repeated, stoutly. “What on earth should I be
+frightened of, I'd like to know?”
+
+“Why, nothing, I hope.”
+
+“I should say not. I--Good heavens above! What's that?”
+
+She started and clutched her companion by the arm. They both listened.
+
+“I don't hear anything but the storm,” said Emily. “Why, Auntie, you ARE
+frightened; you're trembling. I do believe there is something.”
+
+Thankful snatched her hand away.
+
+“There isn't,” she declared. “Of course there isn't.”
+
+“Then why are you so nervous?”
+
+“Me? Nervous! Emily Howes, don't you ever say that to me again. I ain't
+nervous and I ain't goin' to be nervous. There's no--no sane reason why
+I should be and I shan't. I shan't!”
+
+“But, Auntie, you are. Oh, what is it?”
+
+“Nothin'. Nothin' at all, I tell you. The idea!” with an attempt at a
+laugh. “The idea of you thinkin' I'm nervous. Young folks like you or
+rich old women are the only ones who can afford nerves. I ain't either
+young nor rich.”
+
+Emily laughed, too. This speech was natural and characteristic.
+
+“If you were a nervous wreck,” she said, “it would be no wonder, all
+alone in the dark as you have been in a deserted house like this. I
+can't forgive myself for falling asleep. Whose house do you suppose it
+is?”
+
+Aunt Thankful did not answer. Emily went on. Her short nap had revived
+her courage and spirit.
+
+“Perhaps it is a haunted house,” she said, jokingly. “Every village has
+a haunted house, you know. Perhaps that's why the stage-driver warned us
+not to go into it.”
+
+To her surprise Mrs. Barnes seemed to take offense at this attempt at
+humor.
+
+“Don't talk silly,” she snapped. “If I've lived all these years and
+been as down on spooks and long-haired mediums as I've been, and then
+to--there--there! Don't let's be idiots altogether. Talk about somethin'
+else. Talk about that depot-wagon driver and his pesky go-cart that got
+us into this mess. There's plenty of things I'd like to say about THEM.”
+
+They talked, in low tones. Conversation there in the dark and under such
+circumstances, was rather difficult. Emily, although she was determined
+not to admit it, was growing alarmed for the return of Winnie S. and
+his promised rescue expedition. Aunt Thankful was thinking of the little
+back bedroom upstairs. An utter lack of superstition was something upon
+which she had prided herself. But now, as she thought of that room, of
+the portrait on the wall, and what she had heard--
+
+“Listen!” whispered Emily, suddenly. “Listen! I--I thought I heard
+something.”
+
+Mrs. Barnes leaned forward.
+
+“What? Where? Upstairs?” she asked, breathlessly.
+
+“No. Out--out there somewhere.” She pointed in the direction of the
+front hall. “It sounded as if someone had tried the front door. Hark!
+There it is again.”
+
+Aunt Thankful rose to her feet. “I heard it, too,” she said. “It's
+probably that driver man come back. I'll go and see.”
+
+“No--no, Auntie, you mustn't. I--I shan't let you.”
+
+“I shall! I shall, I tell you! If I've got any common-sense at all,
+I ain't goin' to be scared of--Of course it's that driver man. He's
+wonderin' where we are and he's lookin' for us. I'll go let him in.”
+
+She broke away from Miss Howes' grasp and started for the front hall.
+The action was a braver one than her cousin realized. If there was one
+thing on earth that Thankful Barnes did not wish to do at that moment,
+it was to go nearer the stairs landing to the rooms above.
+
+But she went, and Emily went with her. Cautiously they peered through
+the little windows at the sides of the front door. There was no one in
+sight, and, listening, they heard nothing.
+
+“I--I guess we was mistaken, Emily,” whispered Thankful. “Let's go back
+to the fire.”
+
+“But Auntie, I DID hear something. Didn't you?”
+
+“Well, I thought I did, but I guess--Oh, DON'T stay here another minute!
+I--I shall be hearin' 'most anything if we do.”
+
+They returned to the room they had left. But they had scarcely entered
+it when they stopped short and, clinging to each other, listened.
+
+It was the latch of the kitchen door they heard click now. And the door
+was opening. In the kitchen they heard the sounds of cautious footsteps,
+footsteps which entered the dining-room, which came on toward the
+sitting-room. And a voice, a man's voice, whispered:
+
+“I told you so! I--I told you so! I said I see a light. And--and that
+door was undone and--and--By time! Obed Bangs, you can go on if you want
+to, but I tell you you're riskin' your life. I--I ain't goin' to stay
+no longer. I'm goin' to fetch the constable--or--or the minister or
+somebody. I--”
+
+Another voice interrupted.
+
+“Shut up! Belay!” it ordered. “If there's anybody or anything in this
+house we'll have a look at it, that's all. You can go to the minister
+afterwards, if you want to. Just now you'll come along with me if I have
+to haul you by the neck. Let's see what's in here.”
+
+There was a flash of light in the crack of the door leading from the
+dining-room. That door was thrown open and the light became a blaze from
+a big lantern held aloft.
+
+“Hey! What!” exclaimed the second voice. “Who--women, by the
+everlastin'!”
+
+Mrs. Barnes and Emily clinging to each other, blinked in the lantern
+light.
+
+“Women! Two women!” said the voice again.
+
+Thankful answered. The voice was real and it came from a human throat.
+Anything human--and visible--she did not fear.
+
+“Yes,” she said, crisply, “we're women. What of it? Who are you?”
+
+The man with the lantern entered the room. He was big and
+broad-shouldered and bearded. His companion was short and stout and
+smooth-faced; also he appeared very much frightened. Both men wore
+oilskin coats and sou'westers.
+
+“Who are you?” repeated Aunt Thankful.
+
+The big man answered. His sunburned, good-humored face was wrinkled and
+puckered with amazement.
+
+“Well,” he stammered, “I--we--Humph! well, we're neighbors
+and--but--but, I don't know as I know you, ma'am, do I?”
+
+“I don't know why you should. I don't know you, fur's that goes. What
+are you doin' here? Did that depot-wagon man send you?”
+
+“Depot-wagon man? No, ma'am; nobody sent us. Kenelm--er--Mr. Parker
+here, saw a light a spell ago and, bein' as this house is supposed to be
+empty, he--”
+
+“Wait a minute!” Miss Howes interrupted. “Whose house is this?”
+
+“Why--why, it ain't anybody's house, ma'am. That is, nobody lives here.”
+
+“But somebody used to live here, it's likely. What was his name?”
+
+“His name? Well, old Laban Eldredge used to live here. The house belongs
+to Captain Abner Cahoon's heirs, I believe, and--”
+
+Again Thankful interrupted.
+
+“I knew it!” she cried, excitedly. “I wondered if it mightn't be so
+and when I see that picture of Uncle Abner I was sure. All right,
+Mr. Whoever-you-are, then I'm here because I own the house. My name's
+Barnes, Thankful Barnes of South Middleboro, and I'm Abner Cahoon's
+heir. Emily, this--this rattle-trap you and I broke into is the
+'property' we've talked so much about.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Emily said--well, the first thing she said was, “Oh, Aunt Thankful!”
+ Then she added that she couldn't believe it.
+
+“It's so,” declared Mrs. Barnes, “whether we believe it or not. When you
+come to think it over there's nothin' so wonderful about it, after all.
+I had a sneakin' suspicion when I was sittin' here by you, after you'd
+gone to sleep. What I saw afterwards made me almost sure. I--Hum! I
+guess likely that'll keep till we get to the hotel, if we ever do get
+there. Perhaps Mr.--Mr.--”
+
+“Bangs is my name, ma'am,” said the big man with the lantern. “Obed
+Bangs.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Bangs. Or it's 'Cap'n Bangs,' ain't it?”
+
+“They generally call me Cap'n, ma'am, though I ain't been doin' any
+active seafarin' for some time.”
+
+“I thought as much. Down here on Cape Cod, and givin' orders the way I
+heard you afore you come into this room, 'twas nine chances to one you
+was a cap'n, or you had been one. Bangs--Bangs--Obed Bangs? Why, that
+name sounds kind of familiar. Seems as if--Cap'n Bangs, you didn't use
+to know Eben Barnes of Provincetown, did you?”
+
+“Eben Barnes? Cap'n Eben of the White Foam, lost off Cape Hatteras in a
+gale?”
+
+“Yes, that's the one. I thought I heard him speak of you. He was my
+husband.”
+
+Captain Obed Bangs uttered an exclamation. Then he stepped forward and
+seized Mrs. Barnes' hand. The lady's hand was not a very small one but
+the Captain's was so large that, as Thankful remarked afterward, it
+might have shaken hers twice at the same time.
+
+“Eben Barnes' wife!” exclaimed Captain Obed. “Why, Eben and I was
+messmates on I don't know how many v'yages! Well, well, well, ma'am, I'm
+real glad to see you.”
+
+“You ain't so glad as we are to see you--and your friend,” observed
+Thankful, drily. “Is he a captain, too?”
+
+He didn't look like one, certainly. He had removed his sou'wester,
+uncovering a round head, with reddish-gray hair surrounding a bald spot
+at the crown. He had a double chin and a smile which was apologetic but
+ingratiating. He seemed less frightened than when he first entered the
+room, but still glanced about him with evident apprehension.
+
+“No--no, ma'am,” he stammered, in answer to the question. “No, ma'am,
+I--I--my name's Parker. I--I ain't a cap'n; no, ma'am.”
+
+“Kenelm ain't been promoted yet,” observed Captain Obed gravely. “He's
+waitin' until he get's old enough to go to sea. Ain't that it, Kenelm?”
+
+Kenelm smiled and shifted his sou'wester from his right hand to his
+left.
+
+“I--I cal'late so,” he answered.
+
+“Well, it don't make any difference,” declared Thankful. “My cousin
+and I are just as glad to see him as if he was an admiral. We've been
+waitin' so long to see any human bein' that we'd begun to think they was
+all drowned. But you haven't met my cousin yet. Her name's Howes.”
+
+Emily, who had stood by, patient but chilly, during the introductions
+and reminiscences, shook hands with Captain Bangs and Mr. Parker. Both
+gentlemen said they were pleased to meet her; no, Captain Obed said
+that--Kenelm said that he was “glad to be acquaintanced.”
+
+“I don't know as we hadn't ought to beg your pardon for creepin' in on
+you this way,” said the captain. “We thought the house was empty. We
+didn't know you was visitin' your--your property.”
+
+“Well, so far as that goes, neither did we. I don't wonder you expected
+to find burglars or tramps or whatever you did expect. We've had an
+awful time this night, ain't we, Emily?”
+
+“We certainly have,” declared Miss Howes, with emphasis.
+
+“Yes, you see--”
+
+She gave a brief history of the cruise and wreck of the depot-wagon.
+Also of their burglarious entry of the house.
+
+“And now, Cap'n,” she said, in conclusion, “if you could think up any
+way of our gettin' to that hotel, we'd be ever so much obliged. . . .
+Hello! There's that driver, I do believe! And about time, I should say!”
+
+From without came the sound of wheels and the voice of Winnie S.,
+hailing his missing passengers.
+
+“Hi! Hi-i! Where be ye?”
+
+“He'll wear his lungs out, screamin' that way,” snapped Thankful. “Can't
+he see the light, for goodness sakes?”
+
+Captain Obed answered. “He couldn't see nothin' unless 'twas hung on the
+end of his nose,” he said. “That boy's eyes and brains ain't connected.
+Here, Kenelm,” turning to Mr. Parker, “you go out and tell Win to shut
+down on his fog whistle; he's wastin' steam. Tell him the women-folks
+are in here. Look alive, now!”
+
+Kenelm looked alive, but not much more than that.
+
+“All right, Cap'n,” he stammered. “A--a--all right. What--what--shall I
+say--what shall I--had I better--”
+
+“Thunderation! Do you need a chart and compass? Stay where you are. I'll
+say it myself.”
+
+He strode to the window, threw it open, and shouted in a voice which had
+been trained to carry above worse gales than the present one:
+
+“Ahoy! Ahoy! Win! Fetch her around aft here. Lay alongside the kitchen
+door! D'you hear? Ahoy! Win! d'you hear?”
+
+Silence. Then, after a moment, came the reply. “Yup, I hear ye. Be right
+there.”
+
+The captain turned from the window.
+
+“Took some time for him to let us know he heard, didn't it,” he
+observed. “Cal'late he had to say 'Judas priest' four or five times
+afore he answered. If you cut all the 'Judas priests' out of that boy's
+talk he'd be next door to tongue-tied.”
+
+Thankful turned to her relative.
+
+“There, Emily,” she said, with a sigh of relief. “I guess likely we'll
+make the hotel this tack. I begun to think we never would.”
+
+Captain Bangs shook his head.
+
+“You won't go to no hotel this night,” he said, decidedly. “It's a long
+ways off and pretty poor harbor after you make it. You'll come right
+along with me and Kenelm to his sister's house. It's only a little
+ways and Hannah's got a spare room and she'll be glad to have you. I'm
+boardin' there myself just now. Yes, you will,” he added. “Of course you
+will. Suppose I'm goin' to let relations of Eben Barnes put up at the
+East Wellmouth tavern? By the everlastin', I guess not! I wouldn't send
+a--a Democrat there. Come right along! Don't say another word.”
+
+Both of the ladies said other words, a good many of them, but they might
+as well have been orders to the wind to stop blowing. Captain Obed Bangs
+was, evidently, a person accustomed to having his own way. Even as they
+were still protesting their new acquaintance led them to the kitchen
+door, where Winnie S. and a companion, a long-legged person who answered
+to the name of “Jabez,” were waiting on the front seat of a vehicle
+attached to a dripping and dejected horse. To the rear of this vehicle
+“General Jackson” was tethered by a halter. Winnie S. was loaded to the
+guards with exclamatory explanations.
+
+“Judas priest!” he exclaimed, as the captain assisted Mrs. Barnes and
+Emily into the carriage. “If I ain't glad to see you folks! When I got
+back here and there wa'n't a sign of you nowheres, I was took some off
+my pins, I tell ye. Didn't know what to do. I says to Jabez, I says--”
+
+Captain Obed interrupted. “Never mind what you said to Jabez, Win,” he
+said. “Why didn't you get back sooner? That's what we want to know.”
+
+Winnie S. was righteously indignant. “Sooner!” he repeated. “Judas
+priest! I tell ye right now I'm lucky to get back at all. Took me pretty
+nigh an hour to get to the village. Such travelin' I never see. Tried to
+save time by takin' the short cut acrost the meadow, and there ain't no
+meadow no more. It's three foot under water. You never see such a tide.
+So back I had to frog it and when I got far as Jabe's house all hands
+had turned in. I had to pretty nigh bust the door down 'fore I could
+wake anybody up. Then Jabe he had to get dressed and we had to harness
+up and--hey? Did you say anything, ma'am?”
+
+The question was addressed to Mrs. Barnes, who had been vainly trying to
+ask one on her own account.
+
+“I say have you got our valises?” asked Thankful. “Last I saw of them
+they was in that other wagon, the one that broke down.”
+
+The driver slapped his knee. “Judas priest!” he cried. “I forgot all
+about them satchels. Here, Jabe,” handing the reins to his companion.
+“You take the hellum while I run back and fetch 'em.”
+
+He was back in a few moments with the missing satchels. Then Jabez,
+who was evidently not given to wasting words, drawled: “Did you get the
+mail? That's in there, too, ain't it?”
+
+“Judas priest! So 'tis. Why didn't you remind me of it afore? Set there
+like--like a wooden figurehead and let me run my legs off--”
+
+His complaints died away in the distance. At last, with the mail bag
+under the seat, the caravan moved on. It was still raining, but not
+so hard, and the wind blew less fiercely. They jogged and rocked and
+splashed onward. Suddenly Winnie S. uttered another shout.
+
+“The lantern!” he cried. “Where's that lantern I lent ye?”
+
+“It's there in the house,” said Thankful. “It burned itself out and I
+forgot it. Mercy on us! You're not goin' back after that, I hope.”
+
+“Well, I dunno. That lantern belongs to the old man--dad, I mean--and he
+sets a lot of store by it. If I've lost that lantern on him, let alone
+leavin' his depot-wagon all stove up, he'll give me--”
+
+“Never mind what he'll give you,” broke in Captain Bangs. “You keep on
+your course or I'LL give you somethin'. Don't you say another word till
+we get abreast of Hannah Parker's.”
+
+“Humph! We're there now. I thought these folks was goin' to our hotel.”
+
+“Take my advice and don't think so much. You'll open a seam in your
+head and founder, first thing you know. Here we are! And here's Hannah!
+Hannah, Kenelm and I've brought you a couple of lodgers. Now, ma'am, if
+you'll stand by. Kenelm, open that hatch.”
+
+Mr. Parker opened the hatch--the door of the carriage--and the captain
+assisted the passengers to alight. Emily caught a glimpse of the white
+front of a little house and of a tall, angular woman standing in the
+doorway holding a lamp. Then she and Mrs. Barnes were propelled by
+the strong arms of their pilot through that doorway and into a little
+sitting-room, bright and warm and cheery.
+
+“There!” declared Captain Obed. “That cruise is over. Kenelm! Where is
+Kenelm? Oh, there you are! You tell that Winnie S. to trot along. We'll
+settle for passage tomorrow mornin'. Now, ma'am,” turning to Thankful,
+“you and your relation want to make yourselves as comf'table as you can.
+This is Miss Parker, Kenelm's sister. Hannah, this is Mrs. Barnes, Eben
+Barnes' widow. You've heard me speak of him. And this is Miss Howes. I
+cal'late they're hungry and I know they're wet. Seems's if dry clothes
+and supper might be the next items on the manifest.”
+
+Miss Parker rose to the occasion. She flew about preparing the “items.”
+ Thankful and Emily were shown to the spare room, hot water and towels
+were provided, the valise was brought in. When the ladies again made
+their appearance in the sitting-room, they were arrayed in dry, warm
+garments, partly their own and partly supplied from the wardrobe of
+their hostess. As to the fit of these latter, Mrs. Barnes expressed her
+opinion when she said:
+
+“Don't look at me, Emily. I feel like a barrel squeezed into an umbrella
+cover. This dress is long enough, land knows, but that's about all you
+can say of it. However, I suppose we hadn't ought to--to look a gift
+dress in the waistband.”
+
+Supper was ready in the dining-room and thither they were piloted by
+Kenelm, whose hair, what there was of it, was elaborately “slicked
+down,” and whose celluloid collar had evidently received a scrubbing. In
+the dining-room they found Captain Bangs awaiting them. Miss Parker made
+her appearance bearing a steaming teapot. Hannah, now that they had an
+opportunity to inspect her, was seen to be as tall and sharp-featured
+as her brother was short and round. She was at least fifteen years older
+than he, but she moved much more briskly. Also she treated Kenelm as
+she might have treated a child, an only child who needed constant
+suppression.
+
+“Please to be seated, everybody,” she said. “Cap'n Obed, you take your
+reg'lar place. Mrs. Barnes, if you'll be so kind as to set here, and
+Miss Howes next to you. Kenelm, you set side of me. Set down, don't
+stand there fidgetin'. WHAT did you put on that necktie for? I told you
+to put on the red one.”
+
+Kenelm fingered his tie. “I--I cal'late I must have forgot, Hannah,” he
+stammered. “I never noticed. This one's all right, ain't it?”
+
+“All right! It'll have to be. You can't change it now. But, for goodness
+sakes, look out it stays on. The elastic's all worn loose and it's
+li'ble to drop into your tea or anywheres else. Now,” with a sudden
+change from a family to a “company” manner, “may I assist you to a piece
+of the cold ham, Miss Howes? I trust you are feelin' quite restored to
+yourself again?”
+
+Emily's answer being in the affirmative, their hostess continued:
+
+“I'm so sorry to be obliged to set nothin' but cold ham and toast and
+tea before you,” she said. “If I had known you was comin' I should have
+prepared somethin' more fittin'. After such an experience as you must
+have been through this night to set down to ham and toast! I--I declare
+I feel real debilitated and ashamed to offer 'em to you.”
+
+Thankful answered.
+
+“Don't say a word, Miss Parker,” she said, heartily. “We're the ones
+that ought to be ashamed. Landin' on you this way in the middle of the
+night. You're awfully good to take us in at all. My cousin and I were
+on our way to the hotel, but Cap'n Bangs wouldn't hear of it. He's
+responsible for our comin' here.”
+
+Miss Parker nodded.
+
+“Cap'n Obed is the most hospital soul livin',” she said, grandly. “He
+done just right. If he'd done anything else Kenelm and I would have felt
+hurt. I--Look out!” with a sudden snatch at her brother's shirt front.
+“There goes that tie. Another second and 'twould have been right in your
+plate.”
+
+Kenelm snapped the loop of the “made” tie over his collar button. “Don't
+grab at me that way, Hannah,” he protested mildly. “I'm kind of nervous
+tonight, after what I've been through. 'Twouldn't have done no great
+harm if I had dropped it. I could pick it up again, couldn't I?”
+
+“You could, but I doubt if you would. You might have ate it, you're
+so absent-minded. Nervous! YOU nervous! What do you think of me? Mrs.
+Barnes,” turning to Thankful and once more resuming the “company”
+ manner, “you'll excuse our bein' a little upset. You see, when my
+brother came home and said he'd seen lights movin' around in the old
+Barnes' house, he frightened us all pretty near to death. All Cap'n Obed
+could think of was tramps, or thieves or somethin'. Nothin' would do but
+he must drag Kenelm right back to see who or what was in there. And I
+was left alone to imagine all sorts of dreadful things. Tramps I might
+stand. They belong to this world, anyhow. But in THAT house, at eleven
+o'clock at night, I--Mrs. Barnes, do you believe in aberrations?”
+
+Thankful was nonplused. “In--in which?” she asked.
+
+“In aberrations, spirits of dead folks comin' alive again?”
+
+For just a moment Mrs. Barnes hesitated. Then she glanced at Emily,
+who was trying hard not to smile, and answered, with decision: “No, I
+don't.”
+
+“Well, I don't either, so far as that goes. I never see one myself, and
+I've never seen anybody that has. But when Kenelm came tearin' in to say
+he'd seen a light in a house shut up as long as that one has been, and a
+house that folks--”
+
+Captain Bangs interrupted. He had been regarding Thankful closely and
+now he changed the subject.
+
+“How did it happen you saw that light, Kenelm?” he asked. “What was you
+doin' over in that direction a night like this?”
+
+Kenelm hesitated. He seemed to find it difficult to answer.
+
+“Why--why--” he stammered, “I'd been up to the office after the mail.
+And--and--it was so late comin' that I give it up. I says to Lemuel
+Ryder, 'Lem,' I says--”
+
+His sister broke in.
+
+“Lem Ryder!” she repeated. “Was he at the post-office?”
+
+“Well--well--” Kenelm's confusion was more marked than ever.
+“Well--well--” he stammered, “I see him, and I says--”
+
+“You see him! Where did you see him? Kenelm Parker, I don't believe you
+was at the postoffice at all. You was at the clubroom, that's where you
+was. At that clubroom, smokin' and playin' cards with that deprivated
+crowd of loafers and gamblers. Tell me the truth, now, wasn't you?”
+
+Mr. Parker's tie fell off then, but neither he nor his sister noticed
+it.
+
+“Gamblers!” he snorted. “There ain't no gamblers there. Playin' a hand
+or two of Californy Jack just for fun ain't gamblin'. I wouldn't gamble,
+not for a million dollars.”
+
+Captain Obed laughed. “Neither would I,” he observed. “Nor for two
+cents, with that clubroom gang; 'twould be too much nerve strain
+collectin' my winnin's. I see now why you come by the Barnes' house,
+Kenelm. It's the nighest way home from that clubhouse. Well, I'm glad
+you did. Mrs. Barnes and Miss Howes would have had a long session in the
+dark if you hadn't. Yes, and a night at Darius Holt's hotel, which would
+have been a heap worse. So you've been livin' at South Middleboro, Mrs.
+Barnes, have you? Does Miss Howes live there, too?”
+
+Thankful, very grateful for the change of topic, told of her life since
+her husband's death, of her long stay with Mrs. Pearson, of Emily's
+teaching school, and their trip aboard the depot-wagon.
+
+“Well,” exclaimed Miss Parker, when she had finished, “you have been
+through enough, I should say! A reg'lar story-book adventure, ain't it?
+Lost in a storm and shut up in an empty house, the one you come purpose
+to see. It's a mercy you wa'n't either of you hurt, climbin' in that
+window the way you did. You might have broke your arms or your necks
+or somethin'. Mr. Alpheus Bassett, down to the Point--a great, strong,
+fleshy man, weighs close to two hundred and fifty and never sick a
+day in his life--he was up in the second story of his buildin' walkin'
+around spry as anybody--all alone, which he shouldn't have been at his
+age--and he stepped on a fish and away he went. And the next thing we
+hear he's in bed with his collar-bone. Did you ever hear anything like
+that in your life, Miss Howes?”
+
+It was plain that Emily never had. “I--I'm afraid I don't understand,”
+ she faltered. “You say he was in the second story of a building and he
+stepped on--on a FISH?”
+
+“Yes, just a mackerel 'twas, and not a very big one, they tell me. At
+first they was afraid 'twas the spine he'd broke, but it turned out to
+be only the collar-bone, though that's bad enough.”
+
+Captain Obed burst into a laugh. “'Twa'n't the mackerel's collar-bone,
+Miss Howes,” he explained, “though I presume likely that was broke, too,
+if Alpheus stepped on it. He was up in the loft of his fish shanty icin'
+and barrelin' fish to send to Boston, and he fell downstairs. Wonder it
+didn't kill him.”
+
+Miss Parker nodded. “That's what I say,” she declared. “And
+Sarah--that's his wife--tells me the doctors are real worried because
+the fraction ain't ignited yet.”
+
+Thankful coughed and then observed that she should think they would be.
+
+“If you don't mind,” she added, “I think it's high time all hands went
+to bed. It must be way along into the small hours and if we set here any
+longer it'll be time for breakfast. You folks must be tired, settin' up
+this way and I'm sure Emily and I am. If we turn in now we may have a
+chance to look over that precious property of mine afore we go back to
+South Middleboro. I don't know, though, as we haven't seen enough of it
+already. It don't look very promisin' to me.”
+
+The captain rose from the table and, walking to the window, pushed aside
+the shade.
+
+“It'll look better tomorrow--today, I should say,” he observed. “The
+storm's about over, and the wind's hauled to the west'ard. We'll have a
+spell of fair weather now, I guess. That property of yours, Mrs. Barnes,
+'ll look a lot more promisin' in the sunshine. There's no better view
+along shore than from the front windows of that house. 'Tain't half bad,
+that old house ain't. All it needs is fixin' up.”
+
+Good nights--good mornings, for it was after two o'clock--were said and
+the guests withdrew to their bedroom. Once inside, with the door shut,
+Thankful and Emily looked at each other and both burst out laughing.
+
+“Oh, dear me!” gasped the former, wiping her eyes. “Maybe it's mean to
+laugh at folks that's been as kind to us as these Parkers have been, but
+I never had such a job keepin' a straight face in my life. When she said
+she was 'debilitated' at havin' to give us ham and toast that was funny
+enough, but what come afterwards was funnier. The 'fraction' ain't
+'ignited' yet and the doctors are worried. I should think they'd be more
+worried if it had.”
+
+Emily shook her head. “I am glad I didn't have to answer that remark,
+Auntie,” she said. “I never could have done it without disgracing
+myself. She is a genuine Mrs. Malaprop, isn't she?”
+
+This was a trifle too deep for Mrs. Barnes, who replied that she didn't
+know, she having never met the Mrs. What's-her-name to whom her cousin
+referred. “She's a genuine curiosity, this Parker woman, if that's what
+you mean, Emily,” she said. “And so's her brother, though a different
+kind of one. We must get Cap'n Bangs to tell us more about 'em in the
+mornin'. He thinks that--that heirloom house of mine will look better
+in the daylight. Well, I hope he's right; it looked hopeless enough
+tonight, what I could see of it.”
+
+“I like that Captain Bangs,” observed Emily.
+
+“So do I. It seems as if we'd known him for ever so long. And how his
+salt-water talk does take me back. Seems as if I was hearin' my father
+and Uncle Abner--yes, and Eben, too--speakin'. And it is so sort of good
+and natural to be callin' somebody 'Cap'n.' I was brought up amongst
+cap'ns and I guess I've missed 'em more'n I realized. Now you must go
+to sleep; you'll need all the sleep you can get, and that won't be much.
+Good night.”
+
+“Good night,” said Emily, sleepily. A few minutes later she said:
+“Auntie, what did become of that lantern our driver was so anxious
+about? The last I saw of it it was on the floor by the sofa where I was
+lying. But I didn't seem to remember it after the captain and Mr. Parker
+came.”
+
+Mrs. Barnes' reply was, if not prompt, at least conclusive.
+
+“It's over there somewhere,” she said. “The light went out, but it ain't
+likely the lantern went with it. Now you go to sleep.”
+
+Miss Howes obeyed. She was asleep very soon thereafter. But Thankful lay
+awake, thinking and wondering--yes, and dreading. What sort of a place
+was this she had inherited? She distinctly did not believe in
+what Hannah Parker had called “aberrations,” but she had heard
+something--something strange and inexplicable in that little back
+bedroom. The groans might have been caused by the gale, but no gale
+spoke English, or spoke at all, for that matter. Who, or what, was it
+that had said “Oh Lord!” in the darkness and solitude of that bedroom?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Thankful opened her eyes. The sunlight was streaming in at the window.
+Beneath that window hens were clucking noisily. Also in the room
+adjoining someone was talking, protesting.
+
+“I don't know, Hannah,” said Mr. Parker's voice. “I tell you I don't
+know where it is. If I knew I'd tell you, wouldn't I? I don't seem to
+remember what I done with it.”
+
+“Well, then, you've got to set down and not stir till you do remember,
+that's all. When you went out of this house last evenin' to go to the
+postoffice--Oh, yes! To the postoffice--that's where you said you
+was goin'--you had the lantern and that umbrella. When you came back,
+hollerin' about the light you see in the Cap'n Abner house, you had the
+lantern. But the umbrella you didn't have. Now where is it?”
+
+“I don't know, Hannah. I--I--do seem to remember havin' had it, but--”
+
+“Well, I'm glad you remember that much. You lost one of your mittens,
+too, but 'twas an old one, so I don't mind that so much. But that
+umbrella was your Christmas present and 'twas good gloria silk with
+a real gilt-plated handle. I paid two dollars and a quarter for that
+umbrella, and I told you never to take it out in a storm because you
+were likely to turn it inside out and spile it. If I'd seen you take it
+last night I'd have stopped you, but you was gone afore I missed it.”
+
+“But--but, consarn it all, Hannah--”
+
+“Don't swear, Kenelm. Profanity won't help you none.”
+
+“I wa'n't swearin'. All I say is what's the use of an umbrella if you
+can't hist it in a storm? I wouldn't give a darn for a schooner load of
+'em when 'twas fair weather. I--I cal'late I--I left it somewheres.”
+
+“I cal'late you did. I'm goin' over to the village this mornin' and I'll
+stop in at that clubhouse, myself.”
+
+“I--I don't believe it's at the clubhouse, Hannah.”
+
+“You don't? Why don't you?”
+
+“I--I don't know. I just guess it ain't, that's all. Somethin' seems to
+tell me 'tain't.”
+
+“Oh, it does, hey? I want to know! Hum! Was you anywheres else last
+night? Answer me the truth now, Kenelm Parker. Was you anywheres else
+last night?”
+
+“Anywheres else. What do you mean by that?”
+
+“I mean what I say. You know what I mean well enough. Was you--well, was
+you callin' on anybody?”
+
+“Callin' on anybody? CALLIN' on 'em?”
+
+“Yes, callin' on 'em. Oh, you needn't look so innocent and buttery!
+You ain't above it. Ain't I had experience? Haven't I been through it?
+Didn't you use to say that I, your sister that's been a mother to you,
+was the only woman in this world for you, and then, the minute I was out
+of sight and hardly out of hearin', you--”
+
+“My soul! You've got Abbie Larkin in your head again, ain't you?
+It--it--I swear it's a reg'lar disease with you, seems so. Ain't I told
+you I ain't seen Abbie Larkin, nor her me, for the land knows how long?
+And I don't want to see her. My time! Do you suppose I waded and paddled
+a mile and a quarter down to call on Abbie Larkin a night like last
+night? What do you think I am--a bull frog? I wouldn't do it to see
+the--the Queen of Rooshy.”
+
+This vehement outburst seemed to have some effect. Miss Parker's tone
+was more conciliatory.
+
+“Well, all right,” she said. “I s'pose likely you didn't call on her, if
+you say so, Kenelm. I suppose I am a foolish, lone woman. But, O Kenelm,
+I do think such a sight of you. And you know you've got money and that
+Abbie Larkin is so worldly she'd marry you for it in a minute. I didn't
+know but you might have met her.”
+
+“Met her! Tut--tut--tut! If that ain't--and in a typhoon like last
+night! Oh, sartin, I met her! I was up here on top of Meetin'-house
+Hill, larnin' her to swim in the mud puddles. You do talk so silly
+sometimes, Hannah.”
+
+“Maybe I do,” with a sniff. “Maybe I do, Kenelm, but you mean so much to
+me. I just can't let you go.”
+
+“Go! I ain't goin' nowheres, am I? What kind of talk's that?”
+
+“And to think you'd heave away that umbrella--the umbrella I gave you!
+That's what makes me feel so bad. A nice, new, gilt-plated umbrella--”
+
+“I never hove it away. I--I--well, I left it somewheres, I--I cal'late.
+I'll go look for it after breakfast. Say, when are we goin' to have
+breakfast, anyhow? It's almost eight o'clock now. Ain't them women-folks
+EVER goin' to turn out?”
+
+Thankful had heard enough. She was out of bed the next instant.
+
+“Emily! Emily!” she cried. “It's late. We must get up now.”
+
+The voices in the sitting-room died to whispers.
+
+“I--I can't help it,” pleaded Kenelm. “I never meant nothin'. I thought
+they was asleep. And 'TIS most eight. By time, Hannah, you do pick on
+me--”
+
+A vigorous “Sshh!” interrupted him. The door between the sitting-room
+and dining-room closed with a slam. Mrs. Barnes and Emily dressed
+hurriedly.
+
+They gathered about the breakfast table, the Parkers, Captain Obed and
+the guests. Miss Parker's “company manner” was again much in evidence
+and she seemed to feel it her duty to lead the conversation. She
+professed to have discovered a striking resemblance between Miss Howes
+and a deceased relative of her own named Melinda Ellis.
+
+“The more I see of you, Miss Howes,” she declared, “the more I can't
+help thinkin' of poor Melindy. She was pretty and had dark eyes and hair
+same's you've got, and that same sort of--of consumptic look to her. Not
+that you've got consumption, I don't mean that. Only you look the way
+she done, that's all. She did have consumption, poor thing. Everybody
+thought she'd die of it, but she didn't. She got up in the night to take
+some medicine and she took the wrong kind--toothache lotion it was and
+awful powerful--and it ate right through to her diagram. She didn't live
+long afterwards, poor soul.”
+
+No one said anything for a moment after this tragic recital. Then
+Captain Bangs observed cheerfully:
+
+“Well, I guess Miss Howes ain't likely to drink any toothache lotion.”
+
+Hannah nodded sedately. “I trust not,” she said. “But accidents do
+happen. And Melindy and Miss Howes look awful like each other. You're
+real well, I hope, Miss Howes. After bein' exposed the way you was last
+night I HOPE you haven't caught cold. You never can tell what'll follow
+a cold--with some people.”
+
+Thankful was glad when the meal was over. She, too, was fearful that her
+cousin might have taken cold during the wet chill of the previous night.
+But Emily declared she was very well indeed; that the very sight of the
+sunlit sea through the dining-room windows had acted like a tonic.
+
+“Good enough!” exclaimed Captain Obed, heartily. “Then we ought to be
+gettin' a bigger dose of that tonic. Mrs. Barnes, if you and Miss Howes
+would like to walk over and have a look at that property of yours, now's
+as good a time as any to be doin' it. I'll go along with you if I won't
+be in the way.”
+
+Thankful looked down rather doubtfully at the borrowed gown she was
+wearing, but Miss Parker came to the rescue by announcing that her
+guests' own garments must be dry by this time, they had been hanging by
+the stove all night. So, after the change had been made, the two left
+the Parker residence and took the foot-path at the top of the bluff.
+Captain Obed seemed at first rather uneasy.
+
+“Hope I ain't hurryin' you too much,” he said. “I thought maybe it would
+be just as well to get out of sight of Hannah as quick as possible. She
+might take a notion to come with us. I thought sure Kenelm would, but
+he's gone on a cruise of his own somewheres. He hustled outdoor soon as
+breakfast was over.”
+
+Emily burst out laughing. “Excuse me, please,” she said, “but I've
+been dying to do this for so long. That--that Miss Parker is the oddest
+person!”
+
+The captain grinned. “Thinkin' about that 'diagram' yarn?” he asked.
+“'Tis funny when you hear it the first four or five times. Hannah Parker
+can get more wrong words in the right places than anybody I ever run
+across. She must have swallowed a dictionary some time or 'nother, but
+it ain't digested well, I'm afraid.”
+
+Thankful laughed, too. “You must find her pretty amusin', Cap'n Bangs,”
+ she said.
+
+The captain shook his head. “She's a reg'lar dime show,” he observed.
+Then he added: “Only trouble with that kind of a show is it gets kind of
+tiresome when you have to set through it all winter. There! now you can
+see your property, Mrs. Barnes, and ten mile either side of it. Look's
+some more lifelike and cheerful than it did last night, don't it?”
+
+It most assuredly did. They had reached the summit of a little hill
+and before and behind and beneath them was a view of shore and sea that
+caused Emily to utter an exclamation of delight.
+
+“Oh!” she cried. “WHAT a view! What a wonderful view!”
+
+Behind them, beyond the knoll upon which stood the little Parker house
+which they had just left, at the further side of the stretch of salt
+meadow with the creek and bridge, was East Wellmouth village. Along the
+white sand of the beach, now garlanded with lines of fresh seaweed
+torn up and washed ashore by the gale, were scattered a half dozen
+fishhouses, with dories and lobster pots before them, and at the rear
+of these began the gray and white huddle of houses and stores, with two
+white church spires and the belfry of the schoolhouse rising above their
+roofs.
+
+At their right, only a few yards from the foot-path where they stood,
+the high sand bluff broke sharply down to the beach and the sea.
+The great waves, tossing their white plumes on high, came marching
+majestically in, to trip, topple and fall, one after the other, in
+roaring, hissing Niagaras upon the shore. Over their raveled crests
+the gulls dipped and soared. The air was clear, the breeze keen and
+refreshing and the salty smell of the torn seaweed rose to the nostrils
+of the watchers.
+
+To the left were barren hills, dotted with scrub, and farther on the
+pine groves, with the road from Wellmouth Centre winding out from their
+midst.
+
+All these things Thankful and Emily noticed, but it was on the prospect
+directly ahead that their interest centered. For there, upon the slope
+of the next knoll stood the “property” they had come to see and to which
+they had been introduced in such an odd fashion.
+
+Seen by daylight and in the glorious sunshine the old Barnes house
+did look, as their guide said, more “lifelike and cheerful.” A big,
+rambling, gray-gabled affair, of colonial pattern, a large yard before
+it and a larger one behind, the tumble-down shed in which General
+Jackson had been tethered, a large barn, also rather tumble-down,
+with henhouses and corncribs beside it and attached to it in haphazard
+fashion. In the front yard were overgrown clusters of lilac and rose
+bushes and, behind the barn, was the stubble of a departed garden.
+Thankful looked at all these.
+
+“So that's it,” she said.
+
+“That's it,” said Captain Obed. “What do you think of it?”
+
+“Humph! Well, there's enough of it, anyhow, as the little boy said about
+the spring medicine. What do you think, Emily?”
+
+Emily's answer was prompt and emphatic.
+
+“I like it,” she declared. “It looks so different this morning. Last
+night it seemed lonesome and pokey and horrid, but now it is almost
+inviting. Think what it must be in the spring and summer. Think of
+opening those upper windows on a summer morning and looking out and away
+for miles and miles. It would be splendid!”
+
+“Um--yes. But spring and summer don't last all the time. There's
+December and January and February to think of. Even March ain't all joy;
+we've got last night to prove it by. However, it doesn't look quite so
+desperate as I thought it might; I'll give in to that. Last night I
+was about ready to sell it for the price of a return ticket to South
+Middleboro. Now I guess likely I ought to get a few tradin' stamps along
+with the ticket. Humph! This sartin isn't ALL Poverty Lane, is it? THAT
+place wa'n't built with tradin' stamps. Who lives there?”
+
+She was pointing to the estate adjoining the Barnes house and fronting
+the sea further on. “Estate” is a much abused term and is sometimes
+applied to rather insignificant holdings, but this one deserved the
+name. Great stretches of lawns and shrubbery, ornamental windmill,
+greenhouses, stables, drives and a towered and turreted mansion
+dominating all.
+
+“I seem to have aristocratic neighbors, anyhow,” observed Mrs. Barnes.
+“Whose tintype belongs in THAT gilt frame?”
+
+Captain Obed chuckled at the question.
+
+“Why, nobody's just now,” he said. “There was one up to last fall,
+though I shouldn't have called him a tintype. More of a panorama, if
+you asked me--or him, either. That place belonged to our leadin' summer
+resident, Mr. Hamilton Colfax, of New York. There's a good view from
+there, too, but not as fine as this one of yours, Mrs. Barnes. When your
+uncle, Cap'n Abner, bought this old house it used to set over on a part
+of that land there. The cap'n didn't like the outlook so well as the one
+from here, so he bought this strip and moved the house down. Quite a job
+movin' a house as old as this one.
+
+“Mr. Colfax died last October,” he added, “and the place is for sale.
+Good deal of a shock, his death was, to East Wellmouth. Kind of like
+takin' away the doughnut and leavin' nothin' but the hole. The Wellmouth
+Weekly Advocate pretty nigh gave up the ghost when Mr. Colfax did. It
+always cal'lated on fillin' at least three columns with the doin's of
+the Colfaxes and their 'house parties' and such. All summer it told
+what they did do and all winter it guessed what they was goin' to do. It
+ain't been much more than a patent medicine advertisin' circular since
+the blow struck. Well, have you looked enough? Shall we heave ahead and
+go aboard your craft, Mrs. Barnes?”
+
+They walked on, down the little hill and up the next, and entered the
+front yard of the Barnes house. There were the marks in the mud and sand
+where the depot-wagon had overturned, but the wagon itself was gone.
+“Cal'late Winnie S. and his dad come around early and towed it home,”
+ surmised Captain Obed. “Seemed to me I smelled sulphur when I opened my
+bedroom window this mornin'. Guess 'twas a sort of floatin' memory of
+old man Holt's remarks when he went by. That depot-wagon was an antique
+and antiques are valuable these days. Want to go inside, do you?”
+
+Thankful hesitated. “I haven't got the key,” she said. “I suppose it's
+at that Badger man's in the village. You know who I mean, Cap'n Bangs.”
+
+The captain nodded.
+
+“Christopher S. H. Badger, tinware, groceries, real estate, boots and
+shoes, and insurance,” he said. “Likewise justice of the peace and first
+mate of all creation. Yes, I know Chris.”
+
+“Well, he's been in charge of this property of mine. He collected the
+rent from that Mr. Eldredge who used to live here. I had a good many
+letters from him, mainly about paintin' and repairs.”
+
+“Um--hum; I ain't surprised. Chris sells paint as well as tea and
+tinware. He's got the key, has he?”
+
+“I suppose he has. I ought to have gone up and got it from him.”
+
+“Well, I wouldn't fret about it. Of course we can't go in the front
+door like the minister and weddin' company, but the kitchen door was
+unfastened last night and I presume likely it's that way now. You
+haven't any objection to the kitchen door, have you? When old Laban
+lived here it's a safe bet he never used any other. Cur'ous old critter,
+he was.”
+
+They entered by the kitchen door. The inside of the house, like the
+outside, was transformed by day and sunshine. The rooms downstairs were
+large and well lighted, and, in spite of their emptiness, they seemed
+almost cheerful.
+
+“Whose furniture is this?” asked Thankful, referring to the stove and
+chair and sofa in the dining-room.
+
+“Laban's; that is, it used to be. When he died he didn't have chick nor
+child nor relation, so fur's anybody knew, and his stuff stayed right
+here. There wa'n't very much of it. That is--” He hesitated.
+
+“But, there must have been more than this,” said Thankful. “What, became
+of it?”
+
+Captain Obed shook his head. “You might ask Chris Badger,” he suggested.
+“Chris sells antiques on the side--the high side.”
+
+“Did old Mr. Eldredge live here ALL alone?” asked Emily.
+
+“Yup. And died all alone, too. Course I don't mean he was alone all the
+time he was sick. Most of that time he was out of his head and folks
+could stay with him, but he came to himself occasional and when he did
+he'd fire 'em out because feedin' 'em cost money. He wa'n't what you'd
+call generous, Laban wa'n't.”
+
+“Where did he die?” asked Thankful, who was looking out of the window.
+
+“Upstairs in the little back bedroom. Smallest room in the house 'tis,
+and folks used to say he slept there 'cause he could heat it by his
+cussin' instead of a stove. 'Most always cussin', he was--cussin' and
+groanin'.”
+
+Thankful was silent. Emily said: “Groaning? You mean he groaned when he
+was ill?”
+
+“Yes, and when he was well, too. A habit of his, groanin' was. I don't
+know why he done it--see himself in the lookin'-glass, maybe; that was
+enough to make anybody groan. He'd groan in his sleep--or snore--or
+both. He was the noisiest sleeper ever I set up with. Shall we go
+upstairs?”
+
+The narrow front stairs creaked as loudly in the daytime as they had
+on the previous night, but the long hall on the upper floor was neither
+dark nor terrifying. Nevertheless it was with just a suspicion of dread
+that Mrs. Barnes approached the large room at the end of the hall and
+the small one adjoining it. Her common-sense had returned and she
+was naturally brave, but an experience such as hers had been is not
+forgotten in a few hours. However, she was determined that no one should
+know her feelings; therefore she was the first to enter the little room.
+
+“Here's where Laban bunked,” said the captain. “You'd think with all
+the big comf'table bedrooms to choose from he wouldn't pick out this
+two-by-four, would you? But he did, probably because nobody else would.
+He was a contrary old rooster, and odd as Dick's hat-band.”
+
+Thankful was listening, although not to their guide's remarks. She was
+listening for sounds such as she had heard--or thought she had heard--on
+the occasion of her previous visit to that room. But there were no such
+sounds. There was the bed, the patchwork comforter, the chair and the
+pictures on the walls, but when she approached that bed there came
+no disturbing groans. And, by day, the memory of her fright seemed
+absolutely ridiculous. For at least the tenth time she solemnly resolved
+that no one should ever know how foolish she had been.
+
+Emily uttered an exclamation and pointed.
+
+“Why, Auntie!” she cried. “Isn't that--where did that lantern come
+from?”
+
+Captain Obed looked where she was pointing. He stepped forward and
+picked up the overturned lantern.
+
+“That's Darius Holt's lantern, I do believe,” he declared. “The one
+Winnie S. was makin' such a fuss about last night. How in the nation did
+it get up here?”
+
+Thankful laughed. “I brought it up,” she said. “I come on a little
+explorin' cruise when Emily dropped asleep on that sittin'-room lounge,
+but I hadn't much more'n got in here when the pesky thing went out. You
+ought to have seen me hurryin' along that hall to get down before
+you woke up, Emily. No, come to think of it, you couldn't have seen
+me--'twas too dark to see anything. . . . Well,” she added, quickly,
+in order to head off troublesome questioning, “we've looked around here
+pretty well. What else is there to see?”
+
+They visited the garret and the cellar; both were spacious and not too
+clean.
+
+“If I ever come here to live,” declared Thankful, with decision,
+“there'll be some dustin' and sweepin' done, I know that.”
+
+Emily looked at her in surprise.
+
+“Come here to live!” she repeated. “Why, Auntie, are you thinking of
+coming here to live?”
+
+Her cousin's answer was not very satisfactory. “I've been thinkin' a
+good many things lately,” she said. “Some of 'em was even more crazy
+than that sounds.”
+
+The inside of the house having been thus thoroughly inspected they
+explored the yard and the outbuildings. The barn was a large one, with
+stalls for two horses and a cow and a carriage-room with the remnants of
+an old-fashioned carryall in it.
+
+“This is about the way it used to be in Cap'n Abner's day,” said Captain
+Obed. “That carryall belonged to your uncle, the cap'n, Mrs. Barnes.
+The boys have had it out for two or three Fourth of July Antiques and
+Horribles' parades; 'twon't last for many more by the looks of it.”
+
+“And what,” asked Thankful, “is that? It looks like a pigsty.”
+
+They were standing at the rear of the house, which was built upon a
+slope. Under the washshed, which adjoined the kitchen, was a rickety
+door. Beside that door was a boarded enclosure which extended both into
+the yard and beneath the washshed.
+
+Captain Bangs laughed. “You've guessed it, first crack,” he said. “It
+is a pigpen. Some of Laban's doin's, that is. He used to keep a pig and
+'twas too much trouble to travel way out back of the barn to feed it, so
+Labe rigged up this contraption. That door leads into the potato cellar.
+Labe fenced off half the cellar to make a stateroom for the pig. He
+thought as much of that hog as if 'twas his own brother, and there WAS a
+sort of family likeness.”
+
+Thankful snorted. “A pigsty under the house!” she said. “Well, that's
+all I want to know about THAT man!”
+
+As they were returning along the foot-path by the bluff Captain Obed,
+who had been looking over his shoulder, suddenly stopped.
+
+“That's kind of funny,” he said.
+
+“What?” asked Emily.
+
+“Oh, nothin', I guess. I thought I caught a sight of somebody peekin'
+around the back of that henhouse. If 'twas somebody he dodged back so
+quick I couldn't be sure. Humph! I guess I was mistaken, or 'twas just
+one of Solon Taylor's young ones. Solon's a sort of--sort of stevedore
+at the Colfax place. Lives there and takes care of it while the owners
+are away. No-o; no, I don't see nobody now.”
+
+Thankful was silent during the homeward walk. When she and Miss Howes
+were alone in their room, she said:
+
+“Emily, are you real set on gettin' back to South Middleboro tonight?”
+
+“No, Auntie. Why?”
+
+“Well, if you ain't I think I'd like to stay over another day. I've got
+an idea in my head and, such a thing bein' kind of unusual, I'd like
+to keep company with it for a spell. I'll tell you about it by and by;
+probably 'twon't come to anything, anyway.”
+
+“But do you think we ought to stay here, as Miss Parker's guests?
+Wouldn't it be--”
+
+“Of course it would. We'll go over to that hotel, the one we started
+for in the first place. Judgin' from what I hear of that tavern it'll be
+wuth experiencin'; and--and somethin' may come of that, too.”
+
+She would not explain further, and Emily, knowing her well, did not
+press the point.
+
+Hannah Parker protested volubly when her “company” declared its
+intention of going to the East Wellmouth Hotel.
+
+“Of course you shan't do no such thing,” she declared. “The idea! It's
+no trouble at all to have you, and that hotel really ain't fit for such
+folks as you to stay at. Mrs. Bacon, from Boston, stayed there one night
+in November and she pretty nigh famished with the cold, to say nothin'
+of havin' to eat huckleberry preserves for supper two nights runnin'.
+Course they had plenty of other things in the closet, but they'd opened
+a jar of huckleberries, so they had to be et up afore they spiled.
+That's the way they run THAT hotel. And Mrs. Bacon is eastern
+Massachusetts delegate from the State Grange. She's Grand Excited
+Matron. Just think of treatin' her that way! Well, where've you been all
+the forenoon?”
+
+The question was addressed to her brother, who entered the house by the
+side door at that moment. Kenelm seemed a trifle confused.
+
+“I--I been lookin' for that umbrella, Hannah,” he explained. “I knew I
+must have left it somewheres 'cause--'cause, you see I--I took it out
+with me last night and--and--”
+
+“And come home without it. It wouldn't take a King Solomon to know that.
+Did you find it?”
+
+Kenelm's embarrassment appeared to increase.
+
+“Well,” he stammered, “I ain't exactly found it--but--”
+
+“But what?”
+
+“I--I'm cal'latin' to find it, Hannah.”
+
+“Yes, I know. You're cal'latin' to get to Heaven some time or other,
+I s'pose, but if the path is as narrow and crooked as they say 'tis I
+should be scared if I was you. You'll find a way to lose it, if there is
+one. Oh, dear me!” with a sudden change to a tone almost pleading. “Be
+you goin' to smoke again?”
+
+Kenelm's reply was strange for him. He scratched a match and lit his
+pipe with calm deliberation.
+
+“I'm cal'latin' to,” he said, cheerfully. And his sister, to the
+surprise of Mrs. Barnes and Emily, did not utter another word of
+protest.
+
+Captain Obed volunteered to accompany them to the hotel and to the
+store of Mr. Badger. On the way Thankful mentioned Mr. Parker's amazing
+independence in the matter of the pipe.
+
+The captain chuckled. “Yes,” he said, “Kenelm smokes when he wants to,
+and sometimes when he don't, I guess, just to keep his self-respect.
+Smokin' is one p'int where he beat out Hannah. It's quite a yarn, the
+way he done it is. Some time I'll tell it to you, maybe.”
+
+The hotel--it was kept by Darius Holt, father of Winnie S.--was no more
+inviting than Miss Parker's and Captain Bangs' hints had led them to
+expect. But Thankful insisted on engaging a room for the night and on
+returning there for dinner, supper and breakfast the following day.
+
+“After that, we'll see,” she said. “Now let's go and make a call on that
+rent collector of mine.”
+
+Mr. Badger was surprised to meet the owner of the Barnes house,
+surprised and a bit taken aback, so it seemed to Mrs. Barnes and her
+cousin. He was very polite, almost obsequiously so, and his explanations
+concerning the repairs which he had found it necessary to make and the
+painting which he had had done were lengthy if not convincing.
+
+As they left him, smiling and bowing in the doorway of his store,
+Thankful shook her head. When they were out of earshot she said:
+
+“Hum! The paint he says he put on that precious property of mine don't
+show as much as you'd expect, but he used enough butter and whitewash
+this morning to make up. He's a slick party, that Mr. Badger is, or
+I miss my guess. His business arithmetic don't go much further than
+addition. Everything in creation added to one makes one and he's the
+one. Mr. Chris Badger's got jobs enough, accordin' to his sign. He won't
+starve if he don't collect rents for me any more.”
+
+The hotel dinner was neither bountiful nor particularly well cooked.
+The Holts joined them at table and Winnie S. talked a good deal. He
+expressed much joy at the recovery of his lantern.
+
+“But when I see you folks in that house last night,” he said, “I thought
+to myself, 'Judas priest!' thinks I. 'Them women has got more spunk than
+I've got.' Gettin' into a house like that all alone in the dark--Whew!
+Judas priest! I wouldn't do it!”
+
+“Why not?” asked Emily.
+
+“Oh, just 'cause I wouldn't, I suppose. Now I don't believe in such
+things, of course, but old Laban he did die there. I never heard
+nothin', but they tell me--”
+
+“Rubbish!” broke in Mr. Holt, Senior. “'Tain't nothin' but fool yarns,
+the whole of it. Take an old house, a hundred year old same as that is,
+and shut her up and 'tain't long afore folks do get to pretendin' they
+hear things. I never heard nothin'. Have some more pie, Miss Howes? Huh!
+There AIN'T no more, is there!”
+
+After dinner Emily retired to her room for a nap. She did so under
+protest, declaring that she was not tired, but Thankful insisted.
+
+“If you ain't tired now you will be when the excitement's over,” she
+said. “My conscience is plaguin' me enough about fetchin' you on this
+cruise, as it is. Just take it as easy as you can, Emily. Lie down and
+rest, and please me.”
+
+So Emily obeyed orders and Mrs. Barnes, after drawing the curtains and
+asking over and over again if her cousin was sure she was comfortable,
+went out. It was late in the afternoon when she returned.
+
+“I've been talkin' until my face aches,” she declared. “And my mind is
+about made up to do--to do what may turn out to be the craziest thing
+I ever DID do. I'll tell you the whole thing after supper, Emily. Let's
+let my tongue have a vacation till then.”
+
+And, after supper, which, by the way, was no better than the dinner, she
+fulfilled her promise. They retired to the bedroom and Thankful, having
+carefully closed the windows and door and hung a towel over the keyhole,
+told of her half-formed plan.
+
+“Emily,” she began, “I presume likely you'll feel that you'd ought to go
+back home tomorrow? Yes, I knew you'd feel that way. Well, I ain't goin'
+with you. I've made up my mind to stay here for a few days longer. Now
+I'll tell you why.
+
+“You see, Emily,” she went on, “my comin' down here to East Wellmouth
+wa'n't altogether for the fun of lookin' at the heirloom Uncle Abner
+left me. The first thing I wanted to do was see it, but when I had
+seen it, and if it turned out to be what I hoped it might be, there was
+somethin' else. Emily, Mrs. Pearson's dyin' leaves me without a job. Oh,
+of course I know I could 'most likely get another chance at nursin' or
+keepin' house for somebody, but, to tell you the truth, I'm gettin'
+kind of tired of that sort of thing. Other folks' houses are like other
+folks' ailments; they don't interest you as much as your own do. I'm
+sick of askin' somebody else what they want for dinner; I'd like to get
+my own dinner, or, at least, if somebody else is to eat with me, I want
+to decide myself what they'll have to eat. I want to run my own house
+once more afore I die. And it seems--yes, it seems to me as if here was
+the chance; nothin' but a chance, and a risky one, but a chance just the
+same. Emily, I'm thinkin' of fixin' up Uncle Abner's old rattletrap and
+openin' a boardin'-house for summer folks in it.
+
+“Yes, yes; I know,” she continued, noticing the expression on her
+companion's face. “There's as much objection to the plan as there is
+slack managin' in this hotel, and that's some consider'ble. Fust off,
+it'll cost money. Well; I've saved a little money and those cranberry
+bog shares Mrs. Pearson left me will sell for two thousand at least.
+That would be enough, maybe, if I wanted to risk it all, but I don't.
+I've got another scheme. This property of mine down here is free and
+clear, but, on account of its location and the view, Cap'n Bangs tells
+me it's worth consider'ble more than I thought it was. I believe--yes, I
+do believe I could put a mortgage on it for enough to pay for the fixin'
+over, maybe more.”
+
+Emily interrupted.
+
+“But, Auntie,” she said, “a mortgage is a debt, isn't it? A debt that
+must be paid. And if you borrow from a stranger--”
+
+“Just a minute, Emily. Course a mortgage is a debt, but it's a debt on
+the house and land and, if worse comes to worst, the house and land can
+go to pay for it. And I don't mean to borrow from a stranger, if I can
+help it. I've got a relation down here on the Cape, although he's a
+pretty fur-off, round-the-corner relation, third cousin, or somethin'
+like that. His name's Solomon Cobb and he lives over to Trumet, about
+nine mile from here, so Cap'n Bangs says. And he and Uncle Abner used
+to sail together for years. He was mate aboard the schooner when
+Uncle Abner died on a v'yage from Charleston home. This Cobb man is a
+tight-fisted old bachelor, they say, but his milk of human kindness may
+not be all skimmed. And, anyhow, he does take mortgages; that's the heft
+of his business--I got that from the cap'n without tellin' him what I
+wanted to know for.”
+
+Miss Howes smiled.
+
+“You and Captain Bangs have been putting your heads together, I see,”
+ she said.
+
+“Um--hm. And his head ain't all mush and seeds like a pumpkin, if I'm
+any judge. The cap'n tells me that east Wellmouth needs a good summer
+boardin'-house. This--this contraption we're in now is the nighest thing
+there is to it, and that's as far off as dirt is from soap; you can see
+that yourself. 'Cordin' to Cap'n Bangs, lots and lots of city people
+would come here summers if there was a respectable, decent place to go
+to. Now, Emily, why can't I give 'em such a place? Seems to me I can.
+Anyhow, if I can mortgage the place to Cousin Sol Cobb I think--yes, I'm
+pretty sure I shall try. Now what do you think? Is your Aunt Thankful
+Barnes losin' her sense--always providin' she's ever had any to lose--or
+is she gettin' to be a real business woman at last?”
+
+Emily's reply was at first rather doubtful. She raised one objection
+after the other, but Mrs. Barnes was always ready with an answer. It was
+plain that she had looked at her plan from every angle. And, at last,
+Miss Howes, too, became almost enthusiastic.
+
+“I do believe,” she said, “it may turn out to be a splendid thing for
+you, Auntie. At least, I'm sure you will succeed if anyone can. Oh
+dear!” wistfully. “I only wish it were possible for me to stay here and
+help with it all. But I can't--I can't. Mother and the children need the
+money and I must go back to my school.”
+
+Thankful nodded. “Yes,” she admitted, “I suppose likely you must, for
+the present. But--but if it SHOULD be a go and I SHOULD see plainer
+sailin' ahead, then I'd need somebody to help manage, somebody younger
+and more up-to-date than I am. And I know mighty well who I shall send
+for.”
+
+They talked for a long time, but at last, after they were in bed and the
+lamp was extinguished, Emily said:
+
+“I hate to go back and leave you here, Auntie; indeed I do. I shall
+be so interested and excited I shall scarcely be able to wait for your
+letters. You will write just as soon as you have seen this Mr. Cobb,
+won't you?”
+
+“Yes, sartin sure I will. I know it's goin' to be hard for you to go and
+leave me, Emily, but I shan't be havin' a Sunday-school picnic, exactly,
+myself. From what I used to hear about Cousin Solomon, unless he's
+changed a whole lot since, gettin' a dollar from him won't be as easy
+as pullin' a spoon out of a kittle of soft-soap. I'll have to do some
+persuadin', I guess. Wish my tongue was as soothin'-syrupy as that Mr.
+Badger's is. But I'm goin' to do my best. And if talkin' won't do it
+I'll--I swear I don't know as I shan't give him ether. Maybe he'd take
+THAT if he could get it for nothin'. Good night.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+“Well,” said Thankful, with a sigh, “she's gone, anyhow. I feel almost
+as if I'd cut my anchor rope and was driftin' out of sight of land. It's
+queer, ain't it, how you can make up your mind to do a thing, and
+then, when you've really started to do it, almost wish you hadn't. Last
+night--yes, and this mornin'--I was as set on carryin' through this plan
+of mine as a body could be, but just now, when I saw Emily get aboard
+those cars, it was all I could do to keep from goin' along with her.”
+
+Captain Obed nodded. “Sartin,” he agreed. “That's natural enough. When I
+was a youngster I was forever teasin' to go to sea. I thought my dad was
+meaner than a spiled herrin' to keep on sayin' no when I said yes. But
+when he did say yes and I climbed aboard the stagecoach to start for
+Boston, where my ship was, I never was more homesick in my life. I was
+later on, though--homesick and other kinds.”
+
+They were standing on the station platform at Wellmouth Centre, and
+the train which was taking Emily back to South Middleboro was a rapidly
+moving, smoking blur in the distance. The captain, who seemed to
+have taken a decided fancy to his prospective neighbor and her young
+relative, had come with them to the station. Thankful had hired a horse
+and “open wagon” at the livery stable in East Wellmouth and had intended
+engaging a driver as well, but Captain Bangs had volunteered to act in
+that capacity.
+
+“I haven't got much to do this mornin',” he said. “Fact is, I generally
+do have more time on my hands than anything else this season of the
+year. Later on, when I put out my fish weirs, I'm pretty busy, but now
+I'm a sort of 'longshore loafer. You're figurin' to go to Trumet after
+you've seen Miss Emily leave the dock, you said, didn't you? Well, I've
+got an errand of my own in Trumet that might as well be done now as any
+time. I'll drive you over and back if you're willin' to trust the vessel
+in my hands. I don't set up to be head of the Pilots' Association
+when it comes to steerin' a horse, but I cal'late I can handle any
+four-legged craft you're liable to charter in East Wellmouth.”
+
+His offer was accepted and so far he had proved a competent and able
+helmsman. Now, Miss Howes having been started on her homeward way, the
+next port of call was to be the office of Mr. Solomon Cobb at Trumet.
+
+During the first part of the drive Thankful was silent and answered
+only when spoken to. The parting with Emily and the sense of heavy
+responsibility entailed by the project she had in mind made her rather
+solemn and downcast. Captain Obed, noticing this, and suspecting the
+cause, chatted and laughed, and after a time his passenger seemed to
+forget her troubles and to enjoy the trip.
+
+They jogged up the main street of Trumet until they reached the little
+three-cornered “square” which is the business center of the village.
+Next beyond the barbershop, which is two doors beyond the general store
+and postoffice, was a little one-story building, weather-beaten and
+badly in need of paint. The captain steered his “craft” up to the
+sidewalk before this building and pulled up.
+
+“Whoa!” he ordered, addressing the horse. Then, turning to Thankful, he
+said:
+
+“Here you are, ma'am. This is Sol Cobb's place.”
+
+Mrs. Barnes looked at the little building. Its exterior certainly was
+not inviting. The windows looked as if they had not been washed for
+weeks, the window shades were yellow and crooked, and one of the panes
+of glass in the front door was cracked across. Thankful had not seen her
+“Cousin Solomon” for years, not since she was a young woman, but she had
+heard stories of his numerous investments and business prosperity, and
+she could scarcely believe this dingy establishment was his.
+
+“Are you sure, Cap'n Bangs?” she faltered. “This can't be the Solomon
+Cobb I mean. He's well off and it don't seem as if he would be in an
+office like this--if 'tis an office,” she added. “It looks more like a
+henhouse to me. And there's no signs anywhere.”
+
+The captain laughed. “Signs cost money,” he said. “It takes paint to
+make a sign, same as it does to keep a henhouse lookin' respectable.
+This is the only Sol Cobb in Trumet, fur's I ever heard, and he's well
+off, sartin. He ought to be; I never heard of him lettin' go of anything
+he got hold of. Maybe you think I'm talkin' pretty free about your
+relation, Mrs. Barnes,” he added, apologetically. “I hadn't ought to, I
+suppose, but I've had one or two little dealin's with Sol, one time or
+'nother, and I--well, maybe I'm prejudiced. Excuse me, won't you? He may
+be altogether different with his own folks.”
+
+Thankful was still staring at the dubious and forbidding front door.
+
+“It doesn't seem as if it could be,” she said. “But if you say so of
+course 'tis.”
+
+“Yes, ma'am, I guess 'tis. That's Sol Cobb's henhouse and the old
+rooster is in, judgin' by the signs. Those are his rubbers on the step.
+Wearin' rubbers winter or summer is a habit of his. Humph! I'm talkin'
+too much again. You're goin' in, I suppose, ma'am?”
+
+Thankful threw aside the carriage robe and prepared to clamber from the
+wagon.
+
+“I surely am,” she declared. “That's what I came way over here for.”
+
+The captain sprang to the ground and helped her to alight.
+
+“I'll be right across the road at the store there,” he said. “I'll be on
+the watch when you came out. I--I--”
+
+He hesitated. Evidently there was something else he wished to say, but
+he found the saying difficult. Thankful noticed the hesitation.
+
+“Yes, what was it, Cap'n Bangs?” she asked.
+
+Captain Obed fidgeted with the reins.
+
+“Why, nothin', I guess,” he faltered. “Only--only--well, I tell you,
+Mrs. Barnes, if--if you was figgerin' on doin' any business with Mr.
+Cobb, any money business, I mean, and--and you'd rather go anywheres
+else I--I--well, I'm pretty well acquainted round here on the Cape
+amongst the bank folks and such and I'd be real glad to--”
+
+Thankful interrupted. She had, after much misgiving and reluctance,
+made up her mind to approach her distant relative with the mortgage
+proposition, but to discuss that proposition with strangers was, to her
+mind, very different. She had mentioned the proposed mortgage to Emily,
+but she had told no one else, not even the captain himself. And she did
+not mean to tell. The boarding house plan must stand or fall according
+to Mr. Cobb's reception of it.
+
+“No, no,” she said, hastily. “It ain't anything important--that is, very
+important.”
+
+“Well, all right. You see--I only meant--excuse me, Mrs. Barnes. I hope
+you don't think I meant to be nosey or interferin' in your affairs.”
+
+“Of course I don't. You've gone to a lot of trouble on my account as
+'tis, and you've been real kind.”
+
+The captain hurriedly muttered that he hadn't been kind at all and
+watched her as she walked up the short path to Mr. Cobb's front door.
+Then, with a solemn shake of the head, he clinched again at the wagon
+seat and drove across the road to the hitching-posts before the store.
+Thankful opened the door of the “henhouse” and entered.
+
+The interior of the little building was no mare inviting than its
+outside. One room, dark, with a bare floor, and with cracked plastered
+walls upon which a few calendars and an ancient map were hanging. There
+was a worn wooden settee and two wooden armchairs at the front, near the
+stove, and at the rear an old-fashioned walnut desk.
+
+At this desk in a shabby, leather-cushioned armchair, sat a little old
+man with scant gray hair and a fringe of gray throat whiskers. He wore
+steel-rimmed spectacles and over these he peered at his visitor.
+
+“Good mornin',” said Thankful. It seemed to her high time that someone
+said something, and the little man had not opened his lips. He did not
+open them even now.
+
+“Um,” he grunted, and that was all.
+
+“Are you Mr. Solomon Cobb?” she asked. She knew now that he was; he had
+changed a great deal since she had last seen him, but his eyes had not
+changed, and he still had the habit she remembered, that of pulling at
+his whiskers in little, short tugs as if trying to pull them out. “Like
+a man hauling wild carrots out of a turnip patch,” she wrote Emily when
+describing the interview.
+
+He did not answer the question. Instead, after another long look, he
+said:
+
+“If you're sellin' books, I don't want none. Don't use 'em.”
+
+This was so entirely unexpected that Mrs. Barnes was, for the moment,
+confused and taken aback.
+
+“Books!” she repeated, wonderingly. “I didn't say anything about books.
+I asked you if you was Mr. Cobb.”
+
+Another look. “If you're sellin' or peddlin' or agentin' or anything I
+don't want none,” said the little man. “I'm tellin' you now so's you can
+save your breath and mine. I've got all I want.”
+
+Thankful looked at him and his surroundings. This ungracious and
+unlooked for reception began to have its effect upon her temper; as she
+wrote Emily in the letter, her “back fin began to rise.” It was on the
+tip of her tongue to say that, judging by appearances, he should want a
+good many things, politeness among others. But she did not say it.
+
+“I ain't a peddler or a book agent,” she declared, crisply. “When I
+ask you to buy, seems to me 'twould be time enough to say no. If you're
+Solomon Cobb, and I know you are, I've come to see you on business.”
+
+The word “business” had an effect. Mr. Cobb swung about in his chair and
+regarded her fixedly. There was a slight change in his tone.
+
+“Business, hey?” he repeated. “Well, I'm a business man, ma'am. What
+sort of business is it you've got?”
+
+Thankful did not answer the question immediately. Instead she walked
+nearer to the desk.
+
+“Yes,” she said, slowly, “you're Solomon Cobb. I should know you
+anywhere now. And I ain't seen you for twenty year. I presume likely you
+don't know me.”
+
+The man of business stared harder than ever. He took off his spectacles,
+rubbed them with his handkerchief, put them on and stared again.
+
+“No, ma'am, I don't,” he said. “You don't live in Trumet, I know that.
+You ain't seen me for twenty year, eh? Twenty year is quite a spell. And
+yet there's somethin' sort of--sort of familiar about you, now that I
+look closer. Who be you?”
+
+“My name is Thankful Barnes--now. It didn't used to be. When you knew
+me 'twas Thankful Cahoon. My grandmother, on my father's side, was your
+mother's own cousin. Her name was Matilda Myrick. That makes you and me
+sort of distant relations, Mr. Cobb.”
+
+If she expected this statement to have the effect of making the little
+man more cordial she was disappointed. In fact, if it had any effect at
+all, it was the opposite, judging by his manner and expression. His only
+comments on the disclosure of kinship were a “Humph!” and a brief “Want
+to know!” He stared at Thankful and she at him. Then he said:
+
+“Well?”
+
+Mrs. Barnes was astonished.
+
+“Well?” she repeated. “What's well? What do you mean by that?”
+
+“Nothin's I know of. You said you came to see me about some business or
+other. What sort of business?”
+
+“I came to see you about gettin' some money. I need some money just now
+and--”
+
+Solomon interrupted her.
+
+“Humph!” he grunted. “I cal'lated as much.”
+
+“You cal'lated it! For the land sakes--why?”
+
+“Because you begun by sayin' you was a relation of mine. I've got a good
+many relations floatin' around loose and there ain't nary one of 'em
+ever come to see me unless 'twas to get money. If I give money to all my
+relations that asked for it I'd be a dum sight poorer'n I be now.”
+
+Thankful was by this time thoroughly angry.
+
+“Look here,” she snapped. “If I'd come to you expectin' you to GIVE me
+any money I'd be an idiot as well as a relation. Far's that last part
+goes I ain't any prouder of it than you are.”
+
+This pointed remark had no more effect than the statement of
+relationship. Mr. Cobb was quite unruffled.
+
+“You came to see me,” he said, “and you ain't come afore for twenty
+year--you said so. Now, when you do come, you want money, you said that,
+too.”
+
+“Well, what of it?”
+
+“Nothin' of it, 'special. Only when a party comes to me and commences
+by sayin' he or she's a relation I know what's comin' next. Relations!
+Humph! My relations never done much for me.”
+
+Thankful's fingers twitched. “'Cordin' to all accounts you never done
+much for them, either,” she declared. “You don't even ask 'em to sit
+down. Well, you needn't worry so far's I'm concerned. Good-by.”
+
+She was on her way out of the office, but he called her back.
+
+“Hi, hold on!” he called. “You ain't told me what that business was yet.
+Come back! You--you can set down, if you want to.”
+
+Thankful hesitated. She was strongly tempted to go and never return.
+And yet, if she did, she must go elsewhere to obtain the mortgage she
+wished. And to whom should she go? Reluctantly she retraced her steps.
+
+“Set down,” said Mr. Cobb, pulling forward a chair. “Now what is it you
+want?”
+
+Mrs. Barnes sat down. “I'll tell you what I don't want,” she said with
+emphasis. “I don't want you to give me any money or to lend me any,
+either--without it's bein' a plain business deal. I ain't askin' charity
+of you or anybody else, Solomon Cobb. And you'd better understand that
+if you and I are goin' to talk any more.”
+
+Mr. Cobb tugged at his whiskers.
+
+“You've got a temper, ain't you,” he declared. “Temper's a good thing
+to play with, maybe, if you can afford it. I ain't rich enough, myself.
+I've saved a good many dollars by keepin' mine. If you don't want me to
+give you nor lend you money, what do you want?”
+
+“I want you to take a mortgage on some property I own. You do take
+mortgages, don't you?”
+
+More whisker pulling. Solomon nodded.
+
+“I do sometimes,” he admitted; “when I cal'late they're safe to take.
+Where is this property of yours?”
+
+“Over in East Wellmouth. It's the old Abner Barnes place. Cap'n Abner
+willed it to me. He was my uncle.”
+
+And at last Mr. Cobb showed marked interest. Slowly he leaned back in
+his chair. His spectacles fell from his nose into his lap and lay there
+unheeded.
+
+“What? What's that you say?” he asked, sharply. “Abner Barnes was your
+uncle? I--I thought you said your name was Cahoon.”
+
+“I said it used to be afore I was married, when I knew you. Afterwards
+I married Eben Barnes, Cap'n Abner's nephew. That made the captain my
+uncle by marriage.”
+
+Solomon's fingers groped for his spectacles. He picked them up and took
+his handkerchief from his pocket. But it was his forehead he rubbed with
+his handkerchief, not the glasses.
+
+“You're--you're Abner Barnes' niece!” he said slowly.
+
+“Yes--niece by marriage.”
+
+“The one he used to talk so much about? What was her
+name--Patience--Temp'rance--”
+
+“Thankful--that's my name. I presume likely Uncle Abner did use to talk
+about me. He always declared he thought as much of me as if I was his
+own child.”
+
+There was an interval of silence. Mr. Cobb replaced his spectacles and
+stared through them at his visitor. His manner was peculiar--markedly
+so.
+
+“I went mate for Cap'n Abner a good many v'yages,” he said, after a
+moment.
+
+“Yes, I know you did.”
+
+“He--he told you so, I suppose.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What else did he tell you; about--about me, I mean?”
+
+“Why, nothin' 'special that I know of. Why? What was there to tell?”
+
+“Nothin'. Nothin' much, I guess. Abner and me was sort of--sort of
+chums and I didn't know but he might have said--might have told you
+considerable about me. He didn't, hey?”
+
+“No. He told me you was his mate, that's all.”
+
+It may have been Thankful's imagination, but it did seem as if her
+relative was a trifle relieved. But even yet he did not seem quite
+satisfied. He pulled at his whiskers and asked another question.
+
+“What made you come here to me?” he asked.
+
+“Mercy on us! I've told you that, haven't I? I came to see about gettin'
+a mortgage on his old place over to East Wellmouth. I knew you took
+mortgages--at least folks said you did--and bein' as you was a relation
+I thought--”
+
+A wave of the hand interrupted her.
+
+“Yes, yes,” broke in Solomon, hastily. “I know that. Was that the only
+reason?”
+
+“I presume likely 'twas. I did think it was a natural one and reason
+enough, but I guess THAT was a mistake. It looks as if 'twas.”
+
+She made a move to rise, but he leaned forward and detained her.
+
+“There! there!” he said. “Set still, set still. So you're Abner Barnes'
+niece?”
+
+“My soul! I've told you so three times.”
+
+“Abner's niece! I want to know!”
+
+“Well, I should think you might know by this time. Now about that
+mortgage.”
+
+“Hey? Oh, yes--yes! You want a mortgage on Abner's place over to East
+Wellmouth. Um! Well, I know the property and about what it's wuth--which
+ain't much. What are you cal'latin' to do--live there?”
+
+“Yes, if I can carry out the plan I've got in my head. I'm thinkin' of
+fixin' up that old place and livin' in it. I'm figgerin' to run it as
+a boardin'-house. It'll cost money to put it in shape and a mortgage is
+the simplest way of raisin' that money, I suppose. That's the long and
+short of it.”
+
+The dealer in mortgages appeared to hear and there was no reason why
+he should not have understood. But he seemed still unsatisfied, even
+suspicious. The whiskers received another series of pulls and he
+regarded Thankful with the same questioning stare.
+
+“And you say,” he drawled, “that you come to me just because--”
+
+“Mercy on us! If you don't know why I come by this time, then--”
+
+“All right, all right. I--I'm talkin' to myself, I guess. Course you
+told me why you come. So you're cal'latin' to start a boardin'-house,
+eh? Risky things, boardin'-houses are. There's a couple of hundred
+launched every year and not more'n ten ever make a payin' v'yage. Let's
+hear what your plan is, the whole of it.”
+
+Fighting down her impatience Thankful went into details concerning her
+plan. She explained why she had thought of it and her growing belief
+that it might be successful. Mr. Cobb listened.
+
+“Humph!” he grunted, when she had finished. “So Obed Bangs advised you
+to try it, hey? That don't make me think no better of it, as I know of.
+I know Bangs pretty well.”
+
+“Yes,” dryly; “I supposed likely you did. Anyhow, he said he knew you.”
+
+“He did, hey? Told you some things about me, hey?”
+
+“No, he didn't tell me anything except that you and he had had some
+dealin's. Now, Mr. Cobb, we've talked a whole lot and it don't seem
+to me we got anywheres. If you don't want to take a mortgage on that
+place--”
+
+“Sshh! Who said I didn't want to take it? How do I know what I want to
+do yet? Lord! How you women do go on! Suppose I should take a mortgage
+on that place--mind, I don't say I will, but suppose I should--how would
+I know that the mortgage would be paid, or the interest, or anything?”
+
+“If it ain't paid you can foreclose when the time comes, I presume
+likely. As for the interest--well, I'm fairly honest, or I try to be,
+and that'll be paid reg'lar if I live.”
+
+“Ya'as. Well, fur's honesty goes, I could run a seine through Ostable
+County any day in the week and load a schooner with honest folks; and
+there wouldn't nary one of 'em have cash enough to pay for the wear and
+tear on the net. Honesty's good policy, maybe, but it takes hard money
+to pay bills.”
+
+Thankful stood up.
+
+“All right,” she said, decidedly, “then I'll go where they play the
+honest game. And you needn't set there and weed your face any more on my
+account.”
+
+Mr. Cobb rose also. “There! there!” he protested. “Don't get het up. I
+don't say I won't take your mortgage, do I?”
+
+“You've said a good deal. If you say any more of the same kind you can
+say it to yourself. I tell you, honest, I don't like the way you say
+it.”
+
+The owner of the “hen-house” looked as if he wished very much to retort
+in kind. The glare he gave his visitor prophesied direful things. But
+he did not retort; nor, to her surprise, did he raise his voice or order
+her off the premises. Instead his tone, when he spoke again, was quiet,
+even conciliatory.
+
+“I--I'm sorry if I've said anything I shouldn't,” he stammered. “I'm
+gettin' old and--and sort of short in my talk, maybe. I--I--there's
+a good many folks round here that don't like me, 'count of my doin'
+business in a business way, 'stead of doin' it like the average poor
+fool. I suppose they've been talkin' to you and you've got sort of
+prejudiced. Well, I don't know's I blame you for that. I shan't hold
+no grudge. How much of a mortgage do you cal'late to want on Abner's
+place?”
+
+“Two thousand dollars.”
+
+“Two thousand! . . . There, there! Hold on, hold on! Two thousand
+dollars is a whole lot of money. It don't grow on every bush.”
+
+“I know that as well as you do. If I did I'd have picked it afore this.”
+
+“Um--hm. How long a time do you want?”
+
+“I don't know. Three years, perhaps.”
+
+Solomon shook his head.
+
+“Too long,” he said. “I couldn't give as long a mortgage as that to
+anybody. No, I couldn't do it. . . . Tell you what I will do,” he added.
+“I--I don't want to act mean to a relation. I think as much of relations
+as anybody does. I'd like to favor you and I will if I can. You give me
+a week to think this over in and then I'll let you know what I'll do.
+That's fair, ain't it?”
+
+Mrs. Barnes declined the offer.
+
+“It may be fair to you,” she said, “but I can't wait so long. I want
+to settle this afore I go back to South Middleboro. And I shall go back
+tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.”
+
+Another session of “weeding.” Then said Mr. Cobb: “Well, all right, all
+right. I'll think it over and then I'll drive across to East Wellmouth,
+have another look at the property, and let you know. I'll see you day
+after tomorrow forenoon. Where you stoppin' over there?”
+
+Thankful told him. He walked as far as the door with her.
+
+“Hope you ain't put out with me, ma'am,” he said. “I have to be kind of
+sharp and straight up and down in my dealin's; they'd get the weather
+gauge on me a dozen times a day if I wa'n't. But I'm real
+kind inside--to them I take a notion to. I'll--I'll treat you
+right--er--er--Cousin Thankful; you see if I don't. I'm real glad you
+come to me. Good day.”
+
+Thankful went down the path. As she reached the sidewalk she turned and
+looked back. The gentleman with the kind interior was standing peering
+at her through the cracked glass of the door. He was still tugging at
+his whiskers and if, as he had intimated, he had “taken a notion” to
+her, his expression concealed the fact wonderfully.
+
+Captain Obed, who had evidently been on the lookout for his passenger,
+appeared on the platform of the store on the other side of the road.
+After asking if she had any other “port of call” in that neighborhood,
+he assisted her into the carriage and they started on their homeward
+trip. The captain must have filled with curiosity concerning the widow's
+interview with Mr. Cobb, but beyond asking if she had seen the latter,
+he did not question. Thankful appreciated his reticence; the average
+dweller in Wellmouth--Winnie S., for instance--would have started in on
+a vigorous cross-examination. Her conviction that Captain Bangs was much
+above the average was strengthened.
+
+“Yes,” she said, “he was there. I saw him. He's a--a kind of queer
+person, I should say. Do you know him real well, Cap'n Bangs?”
+
+The captain nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I know him about as well as anybody
+outside of Trumet does. I ain't sure that anybody really knows him all
+the way through. Queer!” he chuckled. “Well, yes--you might say Sol
+Cobb was queer and you wouldn't be strainin' the truth enough to start a
+plank. He's all that and then consider'ble.”
+
+“What sort of a man is he?”
+
+“Sol? Hum! Well, he's smart; anybody that beats Sol Cobb in a trade has
+got to get up a long ways ahead of breakfast time. Might stay up all
+night and then not have more leeway than he'd be liable to need.”
+
+“Yes, Yes, I'm sure he's smart in business. But is he--is he a GOOD
+man?”
+
+The captain hesitated before replying.
+
+“Git dap!” he ordered, addressing the horse. “Good? Is Sol good? Well,
+I cal'late that depends some on what dictionary you hunt up the word
+in. He's pious, sartin. There ain't many that report on deck at the
+meetin'-house more reg'lar than he does. He don't cal'late to miss a
+prayer-meetin' and when there's a revival goin' on he's right up front
+with the mourners. Folks do say that his favorite hymn is 'I'm Glad
+Salvation's Free' and they heave out consider'ble many hints that if
+'twa'n't free he wouldn't have got it; but then, that's an old joke and
+I've heard 'em say the same thing about other people.”
+
+“But do you think he's honest?”
+
+“I never heard of his doin' anything against the law. He'll skin honesty
+as close as he can, there ain't much hide left when he gets through; but
+I cal'late he thinks he's honest. And maybe he is--maybe he is. It all
+depends on the definition, same as I said. Sol's pious all right. I
+cal'late he'd sue anybody that had a doubt as to how many days Josiah
+went cabin passenger aboard the whale. His notion of Heaven may be a
+little mite hazy, although he'd probably lay consider'ble stress on
+the golden streets, but he's sot and definite about t'other place.
+Yes, siree!” he added, reflectively, “Sol is sartin there's a mighty
+uncomf'table Tophet, and that folks who don't believe just as he does
+are bound there. And he don't mean to go himself, if 'tendin' up to
+meetin' 'll keep him clear.
+
+“It's kind of queer to me,” he went on, slowly, “to see the number
+of folks that make up their minds to be good--or what they call
+good--because they're scared to be bad. Doin' right because right IS
+right, and lettin' the Almighty credit 'em with that, because He's
+generally supposed to know it's right full well as they do--that ain't
+enough for their kind. They have to keep hollerin' out loud how good
+they are so He'll hear and won't make any mistake in bookin' their own
+particular passage. Sort of takin' out a religious insurance policy, you
+might say 'twas. . . . Humph!” he added, coming out of his reverie and
+looking doubtfully at his companion, “I--I hope I ain't shocked you,
+ma'am. I don't mean to be irreverent, you understand. I've thought
+consider'ble about such things and I have funny ideas maybe.”
+
+Thankful declared that she was not shocked. She had heard but little of
+her driver's long dissertation. She was thinking of her interview with
+Mr. Cobb and the probability of his accepting her proposal and taking a
+mortgage on her East Wellmouth property. If he refused, what should
+she do then? And if he accepted and she went on to carry her plan into
+execution, what would be the outcome? The responsibility was heavy. She
+would be risking all she had in the world. If she succeeded, well and
+good. If she failed she would be obliged to begin all over again, to try
+for another position as housekeeper, perhaps to “go out nursing” once
+more. She was growing older; soon she would be beyond middle life and
+entering upon the first stages of old age. And what a lonely old age
+hers was likely to be! Her husband was dead; her only near relative,
+brother Jedediah, was--well, he might be dead also, poor helpless,
+dreamy incompetent. He might have died in the Klondike, providing he
+ever reached that far-off country, which was unlikely. He would have
+been but an additional burden upon her had he lived and remained at
+home, but he would have been company for her at least. Emily was a
+comfort, but she had little hope of Emily's being able to leave her
+school or the family which her salary as teacher helped to support. No,
+she must carry her project through alone, all alone.
+
+She spoke but seldom and Captain Obed, noticing the change in her manner
+and possibly suspecting the cause, did his best to divert her thoughts
+and cheer her. He chatted continuously, like, as he declared afterwards,
+“a poll parrot with its bill greased.” He changed the topic from Mr.
+Cobb and his piety to the prospects of good fishing in the spring, from
+that to the failure of the previous fall's cranberry crop, and from
+that again to Kenelm Parker and his sister Hannah. And, after a time,
+Thankful realized that he was telling a story.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+“Takin' other folks' advice about your own affairs,” began Cap'n Obed,
+“is like a feller readin' patent medicine circulars to find somethin'
+to cure a cold. Afore he gets through his symptoms have developed into
+bronchitis and pneumony, with gallopin' consumption dead ahead. You
+never can tell what'll happen.
+
+“You noticed how Hannah Parker sort of riz up when Kenelm started
+smokin' yesterday? Yes, I know you did, 'cause you spoke of it. And you
+notice, too, how meek and lowly she laid down and give in when he
+kept right on doin' it. That ain't her usual way with Kenelm by a
+consider'ble sight. I told you there was quite a yarn hitched to that
+smokin' business. So there is.
+
+“Kenelm's an old bach, you know. One time he used to work, or pretend
+to, because he needed the money; but his Aunt Phoebe up to Brockton died
+and left him four or five thousand dollars and he ain't worked of any
+account since. He's a gentleman now, livin' on his income--and his
+sister.
+
+“Hannah ain't got but precious little money of her own, but she knows
+how to take care of it, which her brother don't. She was housekeepin'
+for some folks at Wapatomac, but when the inheritances landed she headed
+straight for East Wellmouth, rented that little house they're in now,
+and took charge of Kenelm. He wa'n't overanxious to have her do it, but
+that didn't make any difference. One of her pet bugaboos was that, now
+her brother was well-off--'cordin' to her idea of well-offness--some
+designin' woman or other would marry him for his money. Down she
+come, first train, and she's been all hands and the cook, yes, and
+paymaster--with Kenelm a sort of steerage passenger, ever since. She
+keeps watch over him same as the sewin' circle does over the minister's
+wife, and it's 'No Anchorage for Females' around that house, I can tell
+you.
+
+“Another of her special despisin's--next to old maids and young
+widows--used to be tobacco smoke. We had a revival preacher in East
+Wellmouth that first winter and he stirred up things like a stick in a
+mudhole. He was young and kind of good-lookin', with a voice like the
+Skakit foghorn, and he took the sins of the world in his mouth, one
+after the other, as you might say, and shook 'em same's a pup would a
+Sunday bunnit. He laid into rum and rum sellin', and folks fairly got in
+line to sign the pledge. 'Twas 'Come early and avoid the rush.' Got so
+that Chris Badger hardly dast to use alcohol in his cigar-lighter.
+
+“Then, havin' dried us up, that revival feller begun to smoke us out. He
+preached six sermons on the evils of tobacco, and every one was hotter'n
+the last. Accordin' to him, if you smoked now you'd burn later on. Lots
+of the men folks threw their pipes away, and took to chewin' slipp'ry
+ellum.
+
+“Now, Kenelm smoked like a peat fire. He lit up after breakfast and
+puffed steadily until bedtime, only puttin' his pipe down to eat, or to
+rummage in his pocket for more tobacco. Hannah got him to go to one of
+the anti-tobacco meetin's. He set through the whole of it, interested as
+could be. Then, when 'twas over, he stopped in the church entry to
+load up his pipe, and walked home with his sister, blowin' rings and
+scratchin' matches and talkin' loud about how fine the sermon was.
+He talked all next day about that sermon; said he'd go every night if
+they'd let you smoke in there.
+
+“So Hannah was set back a couple of rows, but she wa'n't
+discouraged--not by a forty fathom. She got after her brother mornin',
+noon and night about the smokin' habit. The most provokin' part of it,
+so she said, was that he always agreed with her.
+
+“'It's ruinin' your health,' she'd say.
+
+“'Yes,' says Kenelm, lookin' solemn, 'I cal'late that's so. I've been
+feelin' poorly for over a year now. Worries me consider'ble. Pass me
+that plug on the top of the clock, won't you, Hannah?'
+
+“Now what can you do with a feller like that?
+
+“She couldn't start him with fussin' about HIS health, so she swung over
+on a new tack and tried her own. She said so much smoke in the house
+was drivin' her into consumption, and she worked up a cough that was
+a reg'lar graveyard quickstep. I heard her practicin' it once, and, I
+swan, there was harps and halos all through it!
+
+“That cough made Kenelm set up and take notice; and no wonder. He
+listened to a hundred or so of Hannah's earthquakes, and then he got up
+and pranced out of the house. When he came back the doctor was with him.
+
+“Now, this wa'n't exactly what his sister was lookin' for. She didn't
+want to see the doctor. But Kenelm said she'd got to have her lungs
+sounded right off, and he guessed they'd have to use a deep-sea lead,
+'cause that cough seemed to come from the foundations. He waylaid the
+doctor after the examination was over and asked all kinds of questions.
+The doctor tried to keep a straight face, but I guess Kenelm smelt a
+rat.
+
+“Anyway, Hannah coughed for a day or two more, and then her brother come
+totin' in a big bottle of med'cine.
+
+“'There!' he says. 'That'll fix you!'
+
+“'Where'd you get it?' says she.
+
+“'Down to Henry Tubman's,' he says.
+
+“'Henry Tubman! What on earth! Why, Henry Tubman's a horse doctor!'
+
+“'I know he is,' says Kenelm, solemn as a roostin' pullet, 'but we've
+been fishin' with the wrong bait. 'Tain't consumption that's ailin' you,
+Hannah; you've got the heaves.'
+
+“So Hannah didn't cough much more, 'cause, when she did, Kenelm would
+trot out the bottle of horse med'cine, and chuck overboard a couple of
+barrels of sarcasm. She tried openin' all the windows, sayin' she needed
+fresh air, but he locked himself up in the kitchen and filled that so
+full of smoke that you had to navigate it by dead reckonin'--couldn't
+see to steer. So she was about ready to give up; somethin' that anybody
+but a stubborn critter like her would have done long afore.
+
+“But one afternoon she was down to the sewin' circle, and the women
+folks there, havin' finished pickin' to pieces the characters of the
+members not on hand, started in to go on about the revivals and how
+much good they was doin'. 'Most everybody had some relation, if
+'twa'n't nothin' more'n a husband, that had stopped smokin' and chewin'.
+Everybody had some brand from the burnin' to brag about--everybody but
+Hannah; she could only set there and say she'd done her best, but that
+Kenelm still herded with the goats.
+
+“They was all sorry for her, but the only one that had any advice to
+give was Abbie Larkin, she that was Abbie Dillin'ham 'fore she married
+old man Larkin. Larkin had one foot in the grave when she married him,
+and she managed to crowd the other one in inside of a couple of years
+afterward. Abbie is a widow, of course, and she is middlin' good-lookin'
+and dresses pretty gay. Larkin left her a little money, but I guess
+she's run through most of it by this time. The circle folks was dyin'
+to talk about her, but she was always on hand so early that they hardly
+ever got a chance.
+
+“Well, after supper was over, Abbie gets Hannah over in a corner, and
+says she:
+
+“'Miss Parker,' says she, 'here's an advertisement I cut out of the
+paper and saved a-purpose for you. I want you to look at it, but you
+mustn't tell anybody I gave it to you.'
+
+“So Hannah unfurls the piece of newspaper, and 'twas an advertisement of
+'Kill-Smudge,' the sure cure for the tobacco habit. You could give it to
+the suff'rer unbeknownst to him, in his tea or soup or somethin', and
+in a couple of shakes he'd no more smoke than he'd lend money to his
+brother-in-law, or do any other ridic'lous thing. There was testimonials
+from half a dozen women that had tried it, and everyone showed a clean
+bill.
+
+“Hannah read the advertisement through twice. 'Well, I never!' says she.
+
+“'Yes,' says Abbie, and smiles.
+
+“'Of course,' says Hannah, lookin' scornful, 'I wouldn't think of
+tryin' the stuff, but I'll just take this home and read it over. It's so
+curious,' she says.
+
+“'Ain't it?' says Abbie, and smiles some more.
+
+“So that night, when Kenelm sat by the stove, turnin' the air blue, his
+sister set at the other side of the table with that advertisement hid
+behind the Wellmouth Advocate readin' and thinkin'. She wrote a letter
+afore she went to bed and bought a dollar's worth of stamps at the
+postoffice next day. And for a week she watched the mails the way one of
+these city girls does when the summer's 'most over and eight or nine of
+her fellers have finished their vacations and gone back to work.
+
+“About ten days after that Kenelm begins to feel kind of off his feed,
+so's to speak. Somethin' seemed to ail him and he couldn't make out what
+'twas. They'd had a good many cranberries on their bog that year and
+Hannah'd been cookin' 'em up fast so's they wouldn't spile. But one
+night she brings on a cranberry pie, and Kenelm turned up his nose at
+it.
+
+“'More of that everlastin' sour stuff!' he snorts. 'I've et cranb'ries
+till my stomach's puckered up as if it worked with a gath'rin' string.
+Take it away! I don't want it!'
+
+“'But, Kenelm, you're always so fond of cranb'ry pie.'
+
+“'Me? It makes me shrivel just to look at it. Pass that sugar bowl, so's
+I can sweeten ship.'
+
+“Next day 'twas salt fish and potatoes that wa'n't good. He'd been
+teasin' for a salt-fish dinner for ever so long, so Hannah'd fixed up
+this one just to please him, but he swallered two or three knifefuls and
+then looked at her kind of sad and mournful.
+
+“'To think,' says he, 'that I've lived all these years to be p'isoned
+fin'lly! And by my own sister, too! Well, that's what comes of bein'
+wuth money. Give me my pipe and let me forget my troubles.'
+
+“'Course this kind of talk made Hannah mad, but she argued that 'twas
+the Kill-Smudge gettin' in its work, so she put a double dose into his
+teacup that night, and trusted in Providence.
+
+“And the next day she noticed that he swallered hard between every pull
+at his pipe, and when, at last, he jumped out of his chair, let out
+a swear word and hove his pipe at the cat, she felt consider'ble
+encouraged. She thought 'twas her duty, however, to warn him against
+profane language, but the answer she got was so much more prayerful than
+his first remarks, that she come about and headed for the sittin'-room
+quick.
+
+“Well, to make a long yarn short, the Kill-Smudge done the bus'ness.
+Kenelm stuck to smokin' till he couldn't read a cigar sign without his
+ballast shiftin', and then he give it up. And--as you might expect from
+that kind of a man--he was more down on tobacco than the Come-Outer
+parson himself. He even got up in revival meetin' and laid into it
+hammer and tongs. He was the best 'horrible example' they had, and
+Hannah was so proud of him that she couldn't sleep nights. She still
+stuck to the Kill-Smudge, though--layin' in a fresh stock every once in
+a while--and she dosed the tea about every other day, so's her brother
+wouldn't run no danger of relapse. I'm 'fraid Kenelm didn't get any too
+much joy out of his meals.
+
+“And so everything was all right--'cordin' to Hannah's reckonin'--and it
+might have stayed all right if she hadn't took that trip to Washington.
+Etta Ellis was goin' on a three weeks' cut-rate excursion, and she
+talked so much about it, that Hannah got reckless and fin'lly said she'd
+go, too.
+
+“The only thing that worried her was leavin' Kenelm. She hated to do it
+dreadful, but he seemed tame enough and promised to change his flannels
+if it got cold, and to feed the cat reg'lar, and to stay to home, and
+one thing and another, so she thought 'twas safe to chance it. She
+cooked up a lot of pie and frosted cake, and wrote out a kind of
+time-table for him to eat and sleep by, and then cried and kissed him
+good-by.
+
+“The first three days after she was gone Kenelm stayed 'round the house
+and turned in early. He was feelin' fine, but 'twas awful lonesome.
+The fourth day, after breakfast, he had a cravin' to smoke. Told me
+afterward it seemed to him as if he MUST smoke or die of the fidgets. At
+last he couldn't stand it no longer, but turned Hannah's time-table to
+the wall and went out for a walk. He walked and walked and walked. It
+got 'most dinner time and he had an appetite that he hadn't had afore
+for months.
+
+“Just as he was turnin' into the road by the schoolhouse who should come
+out on the piazza of the house on the corner but Abbie Larkin. She'd
+left the door open, and the smell of dinner that blew through it was
+tantalizin'. Abbie was dressed in her Sunday togs and her hair was
+frizzed till she couldn't wrinkle her forehead. If the truth was known,
+I cal'late she'd seen Kenelm go past her house on the way downtown and
+was layin' for him when he come back, but she acted dreadful surprised.
+
+“'Why, Mr. Parker!' says she, 'how DO you do? Seems's if I hadn't
+seen you for an age! Ain't it dreadful lonesome at your house now your
+sister's away?'
+
+“Kenelm colored up some--he always h'isted danger signals when women
+heave in sight--and agreed that 'twas kind of poky bein' all alone. Then
+they talked about the weather, and about the price of coal, and about
+the new plush coat Cap'n Jabez Bailey's wife had just got, and how folks
+didn't see how she could afford it with Jabez out of work, and so
+on. And all the time the smell of things cookin' drifted through the
+doorway. Fin'lly Abbie says, says she:
+
+“'Was you goin' home, Mr. Parker?'
+
+“'Yes, ma'am,' says Kenelm. 'I was cal'latin' to go home and cook
+somethin' for dinner.'
+
+“'Well, there, now!' says Abbie. 'I wonder why I didn't think of it
+afore! Why don't you come right in and have dinner with me? It's ALL
+ready and there's plenty for two. DO come, Mr. Parker, to please ME!'
+
+“'Course Kenelm said he couldn't, and, likewise, of course, he did.
+'Twas a smashin' dinner--chicken and mashed potatoes and mince pie, and
+the land knows what. He ate till he was full clear to the hatches,
+and it seemed to him that nothin' ever tasted quite so good. The widow
+smiled and purred and colored up and said it seemed SO good to have a
+man at the table; seemed like the old days when Dan'l--meanin' the late
+lamented--was on deck, and so forth.
+
+“Then, when the eatin' was over, she says, 'I was expectin' my cousin
+Benjamin down for a week or so, but he can't come. He's a great smoker,
+and I bought these cigars for him. You might as well use them afore they
+dry up.'
+
+“Afore Kenelm could stop her she rummaged a handful of cigars out of the
+table drawer in the settin'-room.
+
+“'There!' she says. 'Light right up and be comfortable. It'll seem just
+like old times. Dan'l was such a 'smoker! Oh, my!' and she gave a little
+squeal; 'I forgot you've stopped smokin'.'
+
+“Well, there was the cigars, lookin' as temptin' as a squid to a
+codfish; and there was Kenelm hankerin' for 'em so his fingers twitched;
+and there was Abbie lookin' dreadful disapp'inted, but tryin' to make
+believe she wasn't. You don't need a spyglass to see what happened.
+
+“'I'd like to,' says Kenelm, pickin' up one of the cigars. 'I'd like to
+mighty well, but'--here he bites off the end--''twouldn't hardly do, now
+would it? You see--'
+
+“'I see,' says Abbie, scratchin' a match; 'but WE'LL never tell. We'll
+have it for our secret; won't we, Mr. Parker?'
+
+“So that's how Kenelm took his first tumble from grace. He told me all
+about it one day a good while afterward. He smoked three of the cigars
+afore he went home, and promised to come to supper the next afternoon.
+
+“'You DO look so comfortable, Mr. Parker,' purrs Abbie, as sweet and
+syrupy as a molasses stopper. 'It must be SUCH a comfort to a man to
+smoke. I don't care WHAT the minister says, you can smoke here just as
+much as you want to! It must be pretty hard to live in a house where you
+can't enjoy yourself. I shouldn't think it would seem like home. A man
+like you NEEDS a good home. Why, how I do run on!'
+
+“Oh, there ain't really nothin' the matter with the Widow Larkin--so
+fur's smartness is concerned, there ain't.
+
+“And for five days more Kenelm ate his meals at Abbie's and smoked and
+was happy, happier'n he'd been for months.
+
+“Meantime, Hannah and Etta was visitin' the President--that is to say,
+they was lookin' over the White House fence and sayin' 'My stars!' and
+'Ain't it elegant!' Nights, when the sightseein' was over, what they did
+mostly was to gloat over how mean and jealous they'd make the untraveled
+common tribe at sewin' circle feel when they got back home. They could
+just see themselves workin' on the log-cabin quilt for the next sale,
+and slingin' out little reminders like, 'Land sakes! What we're
+talkin' about reminds me of what Etta and me saw when we was in the
+Congressional Libr'ry. YOU remember that, Etta?' And that would be
+Etta's hint to look cute and giggle and say, 'Well! I should say I DID!'
+And all the rest of the circlers would smile kind of unhealthy smiles
+and try to look as if trips to Washington wa'n't nothin'; THEY wouldn't
+go if you hired 'em to. You know the game if you've ever been to sewin'
+circle.
+
+“But all this plannin' was knocked in the head by a letter that Hannah
+got on an afternoon about a week after she left home. It was short but
+there was meat in it. It said: 'If you want to keep your brother from
+marryin' Abbie Larkin you had better come home quick!' 'Twas signed 'A
+Friend.'
+
+“Did Hannah come home? Well, didn't she! She landed at Orham the next
+night. And she done some thinkin' on the way, too. She kept out of the
+way of everybody and went straight up to the house. 'Twas dark and shut
+up, but the back door key was under the mat, as usual, so she got in all
+right. The plants hadn't been watered for two days, at least; the clock
+had stopped; the cat's saucer was licked dry as a contribution box, and
+the critter itself was underfoot every second, whoopin' for somethin'
+to eat. The whole thing pretty nigh broke Hannah's heart, but she wa'n't
+the kind to give up while there was a shot in the locker.
+
+“She went to the closet and found that Kenelm's Sunday hat and coat was
+gone. Then she locked the back door again and cut acrost the lots down
+to Abbie's. She crept round the back way and peeked under the curtain
+at the settin'-room window. There set Abbie, lookin' sweet and sugary.
+Likewise, there was Kenelm, lookin' mighty comfortable, with a big
+cigar in his mouth and more on the table side of him. Hannah gritted her
+teeth, but she kept quiet.
+
+“About ten minutes after that Chris Badger was consider'ble surprised to
+hear a knock at the back door of his store and to find that 'twas Hannah
+that had knocked.
+
+“'Mr. Badger,' says Hannah, polite and smilin', 'I want to buy a box of
+the best cigars you've got.'
+
+“'Ma'am!' says Chris, thinkin' 'twas about time to send for the
+constable or the doctor--one or t'other.
+
+“'Yes,' says Hannah; 'if you please. Oh! and, Mr. Badger, please don't
+tell anyone I bought 'em. PLEASE don't, to oblige me.'
+
+“So Chris trotted out the cigars--ten cents straight, they was--and said
+nothin' to nobody, which is a faculty he has when it pays to have it.
+
+“When Kenelm came home that night he was knocked pretty nigh off his
+pins to find his sister waitin' for him. He commenced a long rigmarole
+about where he'd been, but Hannah didn't ask no questions. She said that
+Washington was mighty fine, but home and Kenelm was good enough for her.
+Said the thoughts of him alone had been with her every minute, and she
+just HAD to cut the trip short. Kenelm wa'n't any too enthusiastic to
+hear it.
+
+“Breakfast next mornin' was a dream. Hannah had been up since five
+o'clock gettin' it ready. There was everything on that table that Kenelm
+liked 'special. And it all tasted fine, and he ate enough for four. When
+'twas over Hannah went to the closet and brought out a bundle.
+
+“'Kenelm,' she says, 'here's somethin' I brought you that'll
+surprise you. I've noticed since I've been away that about everybody
+smokes--senators and judges, and even Smithsonian Institute folks. And
+when I see how much comfort they get out of it, my conscience hurt me
+to think that I'd deprived my brother of what he got such a sight of
+pleasure from. Kenelm, you can begin smokin' again right off. Here's
+a box of cigars I bought on purpose for you; they're the kind the
+President smokes.'
+
+“Which wa'n't a bad yarn for a church member that hadn't had any more
+practice than Hannah had.
+
+“Well, Kenelm was paralyzed, but he lit up one of the cigars and found
+'twas better than Abbie's brand. He asked Hannah what she thought the
+church folks would say, but she said she didn't care what they said;
+her travels had broadened her mind and she couldn't cramp herself to the
+ideas of a little narrow place like East Wellmouth.
+
+“Dinner that day was a bigger meal than breakfast, and two of the cigars
+went fine after it. Kenelm hemmed and hawed and fin'lly said that he
+wouldn't be home to supper; said he'd got to go downtown and would get a
+bite at the Trav'lers' Rest or somewheres. It surprised him to find that
+Hannah didn't raise objections, but she didn't, not a one. Just smiled
+and said, 'All right,' and told him to have a good time. And Abbie's
+supper didn't seem so good to him that night, and her cigars--bein' five
+centers--wa'n't in it with that Washington box.
+
+“Hannah didn't have dinner the next day until two o'clock, but 'twas
+worth waitin' for. Turkey was twenty-three cents a pound, but she had
+one, and plum puddin', too. She kept pressin' Kenelm to have a little
+more, so 'twas after three when they got up from the table.
+
+“'Twas a rainy, drizzly afternoon and the stove felt mighty homey and
+cozy. So did the big rocker that Hannah transplanted from the parlor to
+the settin'-room. That chair had been a kind of sacred throne afore, and
+to set in it had been sort of sacrilegious, but there 'twas, and Kenelm
+didn't object. And those President cigars certainly filled the bill.
+
+“About half-past five Kenelm got up and looked out of the window. The
+rain come spattin' against the pane and the wind whined and sounded
+mean. Kenelm went back to the chair again. Then he got up and took
+another observation. At last he goes back to the chair, stretches
+himself out, puts his feet against the stove, pulls at the cigar, and
+says he:
+
+“'I was cal'latin' to go downtown on a bus'ness trip, same's I did last
+night. But I guess,' he says--'I guess I won't. It's too comfort'ble
+here,' says he.
+
+“And I cal'late,” said Captain Obed, in conclusion, “that afore Hannah
+turned in that night she gave herself three cheers. She'd gained a
+tack on Abbie Larkin that had put Abbie out of the race, for that time,
+anyhow.”
+
+“But who sent the 'friend' letter?” asked Thankful, whose thoughts had
+been diverted from her own troubles by hearing those of Miss Parker.
+
+The captain laughed.
+
+“That's a mystery, even yet,” he said. “I'm pretty sure Hannah thinks
+'twas Elvira Paine. Elvira lives acrost the road from Abbie Larkin and,
+bein' a single woman with mighty little hopes of recovery, naturally
+might be expected to enjoy upsettin' anybody else's chance. But, at
+any rate, Mrs. Barnes, the whole thing bears out what I said at the
+beginnin': takin' other folks' advice about your own affairs is mighty
+risky. I hope, if you do go ahead with your boardin'-house plan, it
+won't be because I called it a good one.”
+
+Thankful smiled and then sighed. “No,” she said, “if I go ahead with
+it it'll be because I've made up my mind to, not on account of anybody
+else's advice. I've steered my own course for quite a long spell and I
+sha'n't signal for a pilot now. Well, here we are home again--or at East
+Wellmouth anyhow.”
+
+“So we be. Better come right to Hannah's along with me, hadn't you? You
+must have had enough of the Holt Waldorf-Astory by this time.”
+
+But Thankful insisted upon going to the hotel and there her new
+friend--for she had begun to think of him as that--left her. She
+informed him of her intention to remain in East Wellmouth for another
+day and a half and he announced his intention of seeing her again before
+she left.
+
+“Just want to keep an eye on you,” he said. “With all of Mrs. Holt's
+temptin' meals set afore you you may get gout or somethin' from
+overeatin'. Either that or Winnie S.'ll talk you deef. I feel a kind
+of responsibility, bein' as I'm liable to be your next-door neighbor
+if that boardin'-house does start up, and I want you to set sail with a
+clean bill of health. If you sight a suspicious-lookin' craft, kind
+of antique in build, broad in the beam and makin' heavy weather up the
+hills--if you sight that kind of craft beatin' down in this direction
+tomorrow you'll know it's me. Good day.”
+
+Thankful lay awake for hours that night, thinking, planning and
+replanning. More than once she decided that she had been too hasty, that
+her scheme involved too great a risk and that, after all, she had better
+abandon it. But each time she changed her mind and at last fell asleep
+determining not to think any more about it, but to wait until Mr. Cobb
+came to accept or decline the mortgage. Then she would make a final
+decision.
+
+The next day passed somehow, though it seemed to her as if it never
+would, and early the following forenoon came Solomon himself. The man of
+business was driving an elderly horse which bore a faint resemblance
+to its owner, being small and thin and badly in need of a hairdresser's
+services. If the animal had possessed whiskers and could have tugged at
+them Thankful was sure it would have done it.
+
+Solomon tugged at his own whiskers almost constantly during that
+forenoon. He and Mrs. Barnes visited the “Captain Abner place” and
+Solomon inspected every inch of its exterior. For some reason or
+other he absolutely refused to go inside. His conversation during the
+inspection was, for the most part, sniffs and grunts, and it was not
+until it was ended and they stood together at the gate, that he spoke to
+the point, and then only because his companion insisted.
+
+“Well!” said Thankful.
+
+Mr. Cobb “weeded.”
+
+“Eh?” he said.
+
+“That's what I say--eh? What are you goin' to do about that mortgage,
+Mr. Cobb?”
+
+More weeding. Then: “Waal, I--I don't cal'late to want to be
+unreasonable nor nothin', but I ain't real keen about takin' no mortgage
+on that property; not myself, I ain't.”
+
+“Well, it is yourself I'm askin' to take it. So you won't, hey? All
+right; that's all I wanted to know.”
+
+“Now--now--now, hold on! Hold on! I ain't sayin' I WON'T take it. I--I'd
+like to be accommodatin', 'specially to a relation. But--”
+
+“Never mind the relation business. I found out what you think
+of relations afore you found out I was one. And I ain't askin'
+accommodation. This is just plain business, seems to me. Will you let me
+have two thousand dollars on a mortgage on this place?”
+
+Mr. Cobb fidgeted. “I couldn't let you have that much,” he said. “I
+couldn't. I--I--” he wrenched the next sentence loose after what seemed
+a violent effort, “I might let you have half of it--a thousand, say.”
+
+But Thankful refused to say a thousand. That was ridiculous, she
+declared. By degrees, and a hundred at a time, Solomon raised his offer
+to fifteen hundred. This being the sum Mrs. Barnes had considered in the
+first place--and having asked for the two thousand merely because of her
+judgment of human nature--she announced that she would think over the
+offer. Then came the question of time. Here Mr. Cobb was firm. Three
+years--two years--he would not consider. At last he announced that
+he would take a one-year mortgage on the Barnes property for fifteen
+hundred dollars; and that was all he would do.
+
+“And I wouldn't do that for nobody else,” he declared. “You bein' my
+relation I don't know's it ain't my duty as a perfessin' Christian
+to--to help you out. I hadn't ought to afford it, but I'm willin' to go
+so far.”
+
+Thankful shook her head. “I'm glad you said, 'PROFESSIN' Christian.'”
+ she observed. “Well,” drawing a long breath, “then I suppose I've got
+to say yes or no. . . . And I'll say yes,” she added firmly. “And we'll
+call it settled.”
+
+They parted before the hotel. She was to return to South Middleboro that
+afternoon. Mr. Cobb was to prepare the papers and forward them for her
+signature, after which, upon receipt of them duly signed, he would send
+her the fifteen hundred dollar check.
+
+Solomon climbed into the buggy. “Well, good-by,” he said. “I hope you'll
+do fust-rate. The interest'll be paid regular, of course. I'm real
+pleased to meet you--er--Cousin Thankful. Be sure you sign them papers
+in the right place. Good-by. Oh--er--er--sometimes I'll be droppin'
+in to see you after you get your boardin'-house goin'. I come to East
+Wellmouth once in a while. Yes--yes--I'll come and see you. You can tell
+me more about Captain Abner, you know. I'd--I'd like to hear what he
+said to you about me. Good-by.”
+
+That afternoon, once more in the depot-wagon, which had been refitted
+with its fourth wheel, Thankful, on her way to the Wellmouth railway
+station, passed her “property.” The old house, its weather-beaten
+shingles a cold gray in the half-light of the mist-shrouded, sinking
+sun, looked lonely and deserted. A chill wind came from the sea and the
+surf at the foot of the bluff moaned and splashed and sighed.
+
+Thankful sighed also.
+
+“What's the matter?” asked Winnie S.
+
+“Oh, nothin' much. I wish I was a prophet, that's all. I'd like to be
+able to look ahead a year.”
+
+Winnie S. whistled. “Judas priest!” he said. “So'd I. But if I'd see
+myself drivin' this everlastin' rig-out I'd wished I hadn't looked. I
+don't know's I'd want to see ahead as fur's that, after all.”
+
+Thankful sighed again. “I don't know as I do, either,” she admitted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+March, so to speak, blew itself out; April came and went; May was here.
+And on the seventeenth of May the repairs on the “Cap'n Abner place”
+ were completed. The last carpenter had gone, leaving his shavings and
+chips behind him. The last painter had spilled his last splash of paint
+on the sprouting grass beneath the spotless white window sills. The last
+paper-hanger had departed. Winnie S. was loading into what he called a
+“truck wagon” the excelsior and bagging in which the final consignment
+of new furniture had been wrapped during its journey from Boston. About
+the front yard Kenelm Parker was moving, rake in hand. In the kitchen
+Imogene, the girl from the Orphans' Home in Boston, who had been engaged
+to act as “hired help,” was arranging the new pots and pans on the
+closet shelf and singing “Showers of Blessings” cheerfully if not
+tunefully.
+
+Yes, the old “Cap'n Abner place” was rejuvenated and transformed and on
+the following Monday it would be the “Cap'n Abner place” no longer: it
+would then become the “High Cliff House” and open its doors to hoped-for
+boarders, either of the “summer” or “all-the-year” variety.
+
+The name had been Emily Howes' choice. She and Mrs. Barnes had carried
+on a lengthy and voluminous correspondence and the selection of a name
+had been left to Emily. To her also had been intrusted the selection of
+wallpapers, furniture and the few pictures which Thankful had felt able
+to afford. These were but few, for the cost of repairing and refitting
+had been much larger than the original estimate. The fifteen hundred
+dollars raised on the mortgage had gone and of the money obtained by the
+sale of the cranberry bog shares--Mrs. Pearson's legacy--nearly half had
+gone also. Estimates are one thing and actual expenditures are another,
+a fact known to everyone who has either built a house or rebuilt one,
+and more than once during the repairing and furnishing process Thankful
+had repented of her venture and wished she had not risked the plunge.
+But, having risked it, backing out was impossible. Neither was it
+possible to stop half-way. As she said to Captain Obed, “There's enough
+half-way decent boardin'-houses and hotels in this neighborhood now.
+There's about as much need of another of that kind as there is of an
+icehouse at the North Pole. Either this boardin'-house of mine must be
+the very best there can be, price considered, or it mustn't be at all.
+That's the way I look at it.”
+
+The captain had, of course, agreed with her. His advice had been
+invaluable. He had helped in choosing carpenters and painters and it was
+owing to his suggestion that Mrs. Barnes had refrained from engaging an
+East Wellmouth young woman to help in the kitchen.
+
+“You could find one, of course,” said the captain. “There's two or three
+I could think of right off now who would probably take the job, but two
+out of the three wouldn't be much account anyhow, and the only one that
+would is Sarah Mullet and she's engaged to a Trumet feller. Now let
+alone the prospect of Sarah's gettin' married and leavin' you 'most
+any time, there's another reason for not hirin' her. She's the
+everlastin'est gossip in Ostable County, and that's sayin' somethin'.
+What Sarah don't know about everybody's private affairs she guesses and
+she always guesses out loud. Inside of a fortnight she'd have all you
+ever done and a whole lot you never thought of doin' advertised from
+Race P'int to Sagamore. She's a reg'lar talkin' foghorn, if there was
+such a thing--only a foghorn shuts down in clear weather and SHE don't
+shut down, day or night. Talks in her sleep, I shouldn't wonder. If I
+was you, Mrs. Barnes, I wouldn't bother with any help from 'round here.
+I'd hire a girl from Boston, or somewheres; then you could be skipper of
+your own ship.”
+
+Thankful, after thinking the matter over, decided that the advice was
+good. The difficulty, of course, was in determining the “somewhere” from
+which the right sort of servant, one willing to work for a small wage,
+might be obtained. At length she wrote to a Miss Coffin, once a nurse in
+Middleboro but now matron of an orphans' home in Boston. Miss Coffin's
+reply was to the effect that she had, in her institution, a girl who
+might in time prove to be just the sort which her friend desired.
+
+
+Of course [she wrote], she isn't at all a competent servant now, but
+she is bright and anxious to learn. And she is a good girl, although
+something of a character. Her Christian name is Marguerite, at least
+she says it is. What her other name is goodness only knows. She has been
+with us now for nearly seven years. Before that she lived with and took
+care of a drunken old woman who said she was the girl's aunt, though I
+doubt if she was. Suppose I send her to you on trial; you can send her
+back to us if she doesn't suit. It would be a real act of charity to
+give her a chance, and I think you will like her in spite of her funny
+ways.
+
+
+This doubtful recommendation caused Thankful to shake her head. She had
+great confidence in Miss Coffin's judgment, but she was far from certain
+that “Marguerite” would suit. However, guarded inquiries in Wellmouth
+and Trumet strengthened her conviction that Captain Obed knew what he
+was talking about, and, the time approaching when she must have some
+sort of servant, she, at last, in desperation wrote her friend to send
+“the Marguerite one” along for a month's trial.
+
+The new girl arrived two days later. Winnie S. brought her down in the
+depot-wagon, in company with her baggage, a battered old valise and an
+ancient umbrella. She clung to each of these articles with a death grip,
+evidently fearful that someone might try to steal them. She appeared
+to be of an age ranging from late sixteen to early twenty, and had a
+turned-up nose and reddish hair drawn smoothly back from her forehead
+and fastened with a round comb. Her smile was of the “won't come off”
+ variety.
+
+Thankful met her at the back door and ushered her into the kitchen, the
+room most free from workmen at the moment.
+
+“How do you do?” said the lady. “I'm real glad to see you. Hope you had
+a nice trip down in the cars.”
+
+“Lordy, yes'm!” was the emphatic answer, accompanied by a brilliant
+smile. “I never had such a long ride in my life. 'Twas just like bein'
+rich. I made believe I WAS rich most all the way, except when a man set
+down in the seat alongside of me and wanted to talk. Then I didn't make
+believe none, I bet you!”
+
+“A man?” grinned Thankful. “What sort of a man?”
+
+“I don't know. One of the railroad men I guess 'twas; anyhow he was
+a fresh young guy, with some sort of uniform hat on. He asked me if I
+didn't want him to put my bag up in the rack. He said you couldn't be
+too careful of a bag like that. I told him never mind my bag; it was
+where it belonged and it stayed shut up, which was more'n you could say
+of some folks in this world. I guess he understood; anyhow he beat it.
+Lordy!” with another smile. “I knew how to treat HIS kind. Miss Coffin's
+told me enough times to look out for strange men. Is this where I'm
+goin' to live, ma'am?”
+
+“Why--why, yes; if you're a good girl and try hard to please and to
+learn. Now--er--Marguerite--that's your name, isn't it?”
+
+“No, ma'am, my name's Imogene.”
+
+“Imo--which? Why! I thought you was Marguerite. Miss Coffin hasn't sent
+another girl, has she?”
+
+“No, ma'am. I'm the one. My name used to be Marguerite, but it's goin'
+to be Imogene now. I've wanted to change for a long while, but up there
+to the Home they'd got kind of used to Marguerite, so 'twas easier to
+let it go at that. I like Imogene lots better; I got it out of a book.”
+
+“But--but you can't change your name like that. Isn't Marguerite your
+real name?”
+
+“No'm. Anyhow I guess 'tain't. I got that out of a book, too. Lordy,”
+ with a burst of enthusiasm, “I've had more names in my time! My Aunt
+Bridget she called me 'Mag' when she didn't make it somethin' worse. And
+when I first came to the Home the kids called me 'Fire Alarm,' 'cause my
+hair was red. And the cook they had then called me 'Lonesome,' 'cause I
+guess I looked that way. And the matron--not Miss Coffin, but the other
+one--called me 'Maggie.' I didn't like that, so when Miss Coffin showed
+up I told her I was Marguerite. But I'd rather be Imogene now, if you
+ain't particular, ma'am.”
+
+“Why--um--well, I don't know's I am; only seems to me I'd settle on one
+or t'other and stay put. What's your last name?”
+
+“I ain't decided. Montgomery's a kind of nice name and so's St. John,
+or Wolcott--there used to be a Governor Wolcott, you know. I s'pose, now
+I'm out workin' for myself, I ought to have a last name. Maybe you can
+pick one out for me, ma'am.”
+
+“Humph! Maybe I can. I've helped pick out first names for babies in my
+time, but pickin' out a last name for anybody would be somethin' new,
+I will give in. But I'll try, if you want me to. And you must try to do
+what I want and to please me. Will you promise me that?”
+
+“Lordy, yes'm!”
+
+“Um! Well, you might begin by tryin' not to say 'Lordy' quite so many
+times. That would please me, for a start.”
+
+“All right'm. I got in the habit of sayin' it, I guess. When I first
+come to the Home I used to say, 'God sakes,' but the matron didn't like
+that.”
+
+“Mercy on us! I don't wonder. Well--er--Imogene, now I'll show you the
+house and your room and all. I hope you like 'em.”
+
+There was no doubt of the liking. Imogene was delighted with everything.
+When she was shown the sunny attic bedroom which was to be hers she
+clapped her hands.
+
+“It's elegant, ma'am,” she cried. “Just grand! OH! it's too splendid to
+believe and yet there ain't any make-believe in it. Lordy! Excuse me,
+ma'am, I forgot. I won't say it again. I'll wait and see what you say
+and then I'll say that. And now,” briskly, “I guess you think it's time
+I was gettin' to work. All right, I can work if I ain't got no other
+accomplishments. I'm all ready to begin.”
+
+As a worker she was a distinct success. There was not a lazy bone in her
+energetic body. She was up and stirring each morning at five o'clock
+and she evinced an eager willingness to learn that pleased Mrs. Barnes
+greatly. Her knowledge of cookery was limited, and deadly, but as
+Thankful had planned to do most of the cooking herself, for the
+first season at least, this made little difference. Altogether the
+proprietress of the High Cliff House was growing more and more sure that
+her female “hired help” was destined to prove a treasure.
+
+“I am real glad you like it here so well, Imogene,” she said, at the end
+of a fortnight. “I was afraid you might be lonesome, down here so far
+from the city.”
+
+Imogene laughed. “Who? Me?” she exclaimed. “I guess not, ma'am. Don't
+catch me bein' lonesome while there's folks around I care about. I was
+lonesome enough when I first came to the Home and the kids used to
+make fun of me. But I ain't lonesome now, with you so kind and nice. No
+indeedy! I ain't lonesome and I ain't goin' to be. You watch!”
+
+Captain Obed heartily approved of Imogene. Of Kenelm Parker as
+man-of-all-work his approval was much less enthusiastic. He had been
+away attending to his fish weirs, when Kenelm was hired, and the bargain
+was made before he returned. It was Hannah Parker who had recommended
+her brother for the position. She had coaxed and pleaded and, at last,
+Thankful had consented to Kenelm's taking the place on trial.
+
+“You'll need a nice, trustworthy man to do chores,” said Hannah. “Now
+Kenelm's honest; there ain't a more honest, conscientious man in East
+Wellmouth than my brother, if I do say it. Take him in the matter of
+that umbrella he lost the night you first came, Mrs. Barnes. Take that,
+for instance. He'd left it or lost it somewheres, he knew that, and the
+ordinary person would have been satisfied; but not Kenelm. No sir-ee!
+He hunted and hunted till he found that umbrella and come fetchin' of it
+home. 'Twas a week afore he did that, but when he did I says, 'Well,' I
+says, 'you have got more stick-to-it than I thought you had. You--'”
+
+“Where did he find it?” interrupted Thankful.
+
+“Land knows! He didn't seem to know himself--just found it, he said.
+He acts so sort of upsot and shameful about that umbrella that he and
+I don't talk about it any more. But it did show that he had a sense of
+responsibleness, and a good one. Anybody that'll stick to and persecute
+a hunt for a lost thing the way he done will stick to a job the same
+way. Don't you think so yourself, Mrs. Barnes?”
+
+Thankful was not convinced, but she yielded. When she told Captain Bangs
+he laughed and observed: “Yup, well, maybe so. Judgin' by other jobs
+Kenelm's had he'll stick to this one same as he does to his bed of
+a Sunday mornin'--lay down on it and go to sleep. However, I presume
+likely he ought to have the chance. Of course Hannah's idea is plain
+enough. Long's he's at work over here, she can keep an eye on him. And
+it's a nice, satisfactory distance from the widow Larkin, too.”
+
+So Kenelm came daily to work and did work--some. When he did not he
+always had a plausible excuse. As a self-excuser he was a shining light.
+
+Thankful had, during the repairs on the house, waited more or less
+anxiously for developments concerning the mystery of the little back
+bedroom. Painters and paperhangers had worked in that room as in others,
+but no reports of strange sounds, or groans, or voices, had come from
+there. During the week preceding the day of formal opening Thankful
+herself had spent her nights in that room, but had not heard nor seen
+anything unusual. She was now pretty thoroughly convinced that the storm
+had been responsible for the groans and that the rest had been due to
+her imagination. However, she determined to let that room and the larger
+one adjoining last of all; she would take no chances with the lodgers,
+she couldn't afford it.
+
+Among the equipment of the High Cliff House or its outbuildings were a
+horse, a pig, and a dozen hens and two roosters. Captain Obed bought
+the horse at Mrs. Barnes' request, a docile animal of a sedate age. A
+second-hand buggy and a second-hand “open wagon” he also bought. The
+pig and hens Thankful bought herself in Trumet. She positively would
+not consent to the pig's occupying the sty beneath the woodshed and
+adjoining the potato cellar, so a new pen was built in the hollow at
+the rear of the house. Imogene was tremendously interested in the
+live-stock. She begged the privilege of naming each animal and fowl.
+Mrs. Barnes had been encouraging the girl to read literature more
+substantial than the “Fireside Companion” tales in which she had
+hitherto delighted, and had, as a beginning, lent her a volume of United
+States history, one of several discarded schoolbooks which Emily Howes
+sent at her cousin's request. Imogene was immensely interested in the
+history. She had just finished the Revolution and the effect of her
+reading was evident when she announced the names she had selected.
+
+The horse, being the most important of all the livestock, she christened
+George Washington. The pig was named Patrick Henry. The largest hen
+was Martha Washington. “As to them two roosters,” she explained, “I did
+think I'd name the big handsome one John Hancock and the littlest one
+George Three. They didn't like each other, ma'am, that was plain at the
+start, so I thought they'd ought to be on different sides. But the very
+first fight they had George pretty near licked the stuffin' out of John,
+so I've decided to change the names around. That ought to fix it; don't
+you think so, ma'am?”
+
+On the seventeenth the High Cliff House was formally opened. It was
+much too early to expect “summer” boarders, but there were three of the
+permanent variety who had already engaged rooms. Of these the first was
+Caleb Hammond, an elderly widower, and retired cranberry grower, whose
+wife had died fifteen years before and who had been “boarding around” in
+Wellmouth Centre and Trumet ever since. Caleb was fairly well-to-do and
+although he had the reputation of being somewhat “close” in many matters
+and “sot” in his ways, he was a respected member of society. He selected
+a room on the second floor--not a front room, but one on the side
+looking toward the Colfax estate. The room on the other side, across the
+hall, was taken by Miss Rebecca Timpson, who had taught the “upstairs”
+ classes in the Wellmouth school ever since she was nineteen, a
+considerable period of time.
+
+The large front rooms, those overlooking the bluff and the sea, Thankful
+had intended reserving for guests from the city, but when Mr. Heman
+Daniels expressed a wish to engage and occupy one of them, that on the
+left of the hall, she reconsidered and Mr. Daniels obtained his desire.
+It was hard to refuse a personage like Mr. Daniels anything. He was not
+an elderly man; neither was he, strictly speaking, a young one. His age
+was, perhaps, somewhere in the late thirties or early forties and he was
+East Wellmouth's leading lawyer, in fact its only one.
+
+Heman was a bachelor and rather good-looking. That his bachelorhood was
+a matter of choice and not necessity was a point upon which all of East
+Wellmouth agreed. He was a favorite with the ladies, most of them, and,
+according to common report, there was a rich widow in Bayport who
+would marry him at a minute's notice if he gave the notice. So far,
+apparently, he had not given it. He was a “smart” lawyer, everyone said
+that, and it is probable that he himself would have been the last to
+deny the accusation. He was dignified and suave and gracious, also
+persuasive when he chose to be.
+
+He had been boarding with the Holts, but, like the majority of the hotel
+lodgers and “mealers,” was very willing to change. The location of the
+High Cliff House was, so he informed Thankful, the sole drawback to its
+availability as a home for him.
+
+“If a bachelor may be said to have a home, Mrs. Barnes,” he added,
+graciously. “However, I am sure even an unfortunate single person like
+myself may find a real home under your roof. You see, your reputation
+had preceded you, ma'am. Ha, ha! yes. As I say, the location is the only
+point which has caused me to hesitate. My--er--offices are on the Main
+Road near the postoffice and that is nearly a mile from here. But, we'll
+waive that point, ma'am. Six dollars a week for the room and seven for
+meals, you say. Thirteen dollars--an unlucky number: Ha, ha! Suppose we
+call it twelve and dodge the bad luck, eh? That would seem reasonable,
+don't you think?”
+
+Thankful shook her head. “Altogether too reasonable, Mr. Daniels, I'm
+afraid,” she replied. “I've cut my rates so close now that I'm afraid
+they'll catch cold in bad weather. Thirteen dollars a week may be
+unlucky, but twelve would be a sight more unlucky--for me. I can let you
+have a side room, of course, and that would be cheaper.”
+
+But Mr. Daniels did not wish a side room; he desired a front room
+and, at last, consented to pay the regular rate for it. But when the
+arrangement was concluded Thankful could not help feeling that she had
+taken advantage of an unworldly innocence.
+
+Captain Obed Bangs, when she told him, reassured her.
+
+“Don't worry, ma'am,” he said. “I wouldn't lay awake nights fearin' I'd
+got ahead of Heman Daniels much. If you have got ahead of him you're the
+only person I ever see that did, and you ought to be proud instead of
+ashamed. And I'd get him to make his offer in writin' and you lock up
+the writin'.”
+
+“Why! Why, Captain Obed! How you do talk! You don't mean that Mr.
+Daniels is a cheat, do you? You don't mean such a thing as THAT?”
+
+The captain waved a protesting hand.
+
+“No, no,” he declared. “I wouldn't call any lawyer a cheat. That's too
+one-sided a deal to be good business. The expense of hirin' counsel is
+all on one side if it ever comes to a libel suit. And besides, I don't
+think Daniels is a cheat. I never heard of him doin' anything that
+wa'n't legally honest. He's sharp and he's smart, but he's straight
+enough. I was only jokin', Mrs. Barnes. Sometimes I think I ought to
+hang a lantern on my jokes; then folks would see 'em quicker.”
+
+So Mr. Daniels came, and Mr. Hammond came, and so also did Miss Timpson.
+The first dinner was served in the big dining-room and it was a success,
+everyone said so. Beside the boarders there were invited guests, Captain
+Bangs and Hannah Parker, and Kenelm also. It was a disappointment to
+Thankful, although she kept the disappointment to herself, the fact
+that the captain had not shifted what he called his “moorings” to her
+establishment. She had hoped he might; she liked him and she believed
+him to be just the sort of boarder she most desired. It may be that he,
+too, was disappointed. What he said was:
+
+“You see, ma'am, I've been anchorin' along with Hannah and Kenelm now
+for quite a spell. They took me in when 'twas a choice between
+messin' at the Holt place or eatin' grass in the back yard like King
+Nebuchadnezzar. Hannah don't keep a reg'lar boardin'-house but she does
+sort of count on me as one of the family, and I don't feel 'twould be
+right to shift--not yet, anyhow. But maybe I can pilot other craft into
+High Cliff Harbor, even if I don't call it my own home port.”
+
+That first dinner was a bountiful meal. Miss Parker expressed the
+general opinion, although it was expressed in her own way, when she
+said:
+
+“My sakes alive, Mrs. Barnes! If THIS is the way you're goin' to feed
+your boarders right along then I say it's remarkable. I've been up to
+Boston a good many times in my life, and I've been to Washington once,
+but in all MY experience at high-toned hotels I never set down to
+a better meal. It's a regular Beelzebub's feast, like the one in
+Scriptur'--leavin' out the writin' on the wall of course.”
+
+Kenelm ate enough for two and then, announcing that he couldn't heave
+away no more time, having work to do, retired to the rear of the barn
+where, the rake beside him, he slumbered peacefully for an hour.
+
+“There!” said Thankful to Imogene that night. “We've started anyhow. And
+'twas a good start if I do say it.”
+
+“Good!” exclaimed Imogene. “I should say 'twas good! But if them
+boarders eat as much every day as they have this one 'twon't be a
+start, 'twill be a finish. Lor--I mean mercy on us, ma'am--if this is a
+boardin'-house I'd like to know what a palace is. Why a king never had
+better grub served to him. Huh! I guess he didn't. Old George Three used
+to eat gruel, like a--like a sick orphan at the Home. Oh, he did, ma'am,
+honest! I read about it in one of them history books you lent me. He was
+a tight-wad old gink, he was. Are you goin' to give these guys as much
+every meal, ma'am?”
+
+“I mean to, of course,” declared Mrs. Barnes. “Nobody shall starve at my
+table. And please, Imogene, don't call people ginks and guys. That ain't
+nice talk for a young woman.”
+
+Imogene apologized and promised to be more careful. But she thought a
+great deal and, at the end of the first week, she imparted her thoughts
+to Captain Obed.
+
+“Say, Captain Bangs,” she said, “do you know what is the matter with
+the name of this place? I tell you what I think is the matter. It hadn't
+ought to be the HIGH Cliff House. The CHEAP Cliff House would be a sight
+better. Givin' guys--folks, I mean--fifteen-dollar-a-week board for
+seven dollars may be mighty nice for them, but it's plaguy poor business
+for Mrs. Thankful.”
+
+The captain shook his head; he had been thinking, too, and his
+conclusions were much the same.
+
+“You mustn't find fault with Mrs. Barnes, Imogene,” he said. “She's a
+mighty fine woman.”
+
+“Fine woman! You bet she is! She's too plaguy fine, that's the trouble
+with her. She's so afraid her boarders'll starve that she forgets all
+about makin' money. She's the best woman there is in the world, but she
+needs a mean partner. Then the two of them might average up all right, I
+guess.”
+
+Captain Obed rubbed his chin. “Think she needs a business manager, eh?”
+ he observed.
+
+Imogene nodded emphatically. “She needs two of them,” she declared. “One
+to manage the place and another to keep that Parker man workin'. He can
+eat more and talk more and work less than any guy ever I see. Why, he'd
+spend half his time in this kitchen gassin' with me, if I'd let him. But
+you bet I don't let him.”
+
+The captain thought more and more during the days that followed. At
+length he wrote a letter to Emily Howes at South Middleboro. In it he
+expressed his fear that Mrs. Barnes, although in all other respects
+perfect, was a too generous “provider” to be a success as a
+boarding-house keeper in East Wellmouth.
+
+
+She'll have boarders enough, you needn't worry about that, [he wrote]
+but she'll lose money on every one. I've tried to hint, but she don't
+take the hint, and it ain't any of my affair, rightly speaking, so I
+can't speak out plain. Can't you write her a sort of warning afore it's
+too late? Or better still, can't you come down here and talk to her? I
+wish you would. Excuse my nosing in and writing you this way, please.
+I'm doing it just because I want to see her win out in the race, that's
+all. I wish you'd answer this pretty prompt, if you don't mind.
+
+
+But the reply he hoped for did not come and he began to fear that he had
+made a bad matter worse by writing. Doubtless Miss Howes resented his
+“nosing in.”
+
+Thankful now began advertising in the Boston papers. And the answers to
+the ads began to arrive. Sometimes men and women from the city came down
+to inspect the High Cliff House, preparatory to opening negotiations for
+summer quarters. They inspected the house itself, interviewed Thankful,
+strolled along the bluff admiring the view, and sampled a meal. Then,
+almost without exception, they agreed upon terms and selected rooms.
+That the house would be full from top to bottom by the first of July
+was now certain. But, as Imogene said to Captain Bangs, “If we lose five
+dollars a week on everyone of 'em that ain't nothin' to hurrah about,
+seems to me.”
+
+The captain had not piloted any new boarders to the High Cliff. Perhaps
+he thought, under the circumstances, this would be a doubtful kindness.
+But the time came when he did bring one there. And the happenings
+leading to that result were these:
+
+It was a day in the first week in June and Captain Obed, having business
+in Wellmouth Centre, had hired George Washington, Mrs. Barnes' horse,
+and the buggy and driven there. The business done he left the placid
+George moored to a hitching-post by the postoffice and strolled over to
+the railway station to watch the noon train come in.
+
+The train was, of course, late, but not very late in this instance, and
+the few passengers alighted on the station platform. The captain, seated
+on the baggage-truck, noticed one of these passengers in particular. He
+was a young fellow, smooth-faced and tall, and as, suitcase in hand, he
+swung from the last car and strode up the platform it seemed to Captain
+Obed as if there was something oddly familiar in that stride and the
+set of his square shoulders. His face, too, seemed familiar. The captain
+felt as if he should recognize him--but he did not.
+
+He came swinging on until he was opposite the baggage-truck. Then he
+stopped and looked searchingly at the bulky form of the man seated upon
+it. He stepped closer and looked again. Then, with a twinkle in his
+quiet gray eye, he did a most amazing thing--he began to sing. To
+sing--not loudly, of course, but rather under his breath. And this is
+what he sang:
+
+     “Said all the little fishes that swim there below:
+     'It's the Liverpool packet!  Good Lord, let her go!'”
+
+To the average person this would have sounded like the wildest insanity.
+But not to Captain Obed Bangs of East Wellmouth. The captain sprang from
+the truck and held out his hand.
+
+“Johnnie Kendrick!” he shouted. “It's Johnnie Kendrick, I do believe!
+Well, I swan to man!”
+
+The young man laughed, and, seizing the captain's hand, shook it
+heartily.
+
+“I am glad you do,” he said. “If you hadn't swanned to man I should have
+been afraid there was more change in Captain Obed Bangs than I cared to
+see. Captain Obed, how are you?”
+
+Captain Obed shook his head. “I--I--” he stammered. “Well, I cal'late my
+timbers are fairly strong if they can stand a shock like this. Johnnie
+Kendrick, of all folks in the world!”
+
+“The very same, Captain.”
+
+“And you knew me right off! Well done for you, John! Why, it's all of
+twenty odd year since you used to set on a nail keg in my boathouse
+and tease me into singing the Dreadnought chanty. I remember that. Good
+land! I ought to remember the only critter on earth that ever ASKED me
+to sing. Ho! ho! but you was a little towheaded shaver then; and now
+look at you! What are you doin' away down here?”
+
+John Kendrick shook his head. “I don't know that I'm quite sure myself,
+Captain,” he said. “I have some suspicions, of course, but they may not
+be confirmed. First of all I'm going over to East Wellmouth; so just
+excuse me a minute while I speak to the driver of the bus.”
+
+He was hurrying away, but his companion caught his arm.
+
+“Heave to, John!” he ordered. “I've got a horse and a buggy here myself,
+such as they are, and unless you're dead sot on bookin' passage in
+Winnie S.'s--what did you call it?--bust--I'd be mighty glad to have you
+make the trip along with me. No, no. 'Twon't be any trouble. Come on!”
+
+Five minutes later they were seated in the buggy and George Washington
+was jogging with dignified deliberation along the road toward East
+Wellmouth.
+
+“And why,” demanded Captain Obed, “have you come to Wellmouth again,
+after all these years?”
+
+Mr. Kendrick smiled.
+
+“Well, Captain Bangs,” he said, “it is barely possible that I've come
+here to stay.”
+
+“To stay! You don't mean to stay for good?”
+
+“Well, that, too, is possible. Being more or less optimistic, we'll hope
+that if I do stay it will be for good. I'm thinking of living here.”
+
+His companion turned around on the seat to stare at him.
+
+“Livin' here!” he repeated. “You? What on earth--? What are you goin' to
+do?”
+
+The passenger's eyes twinkled, but his tone was solemn enough.
+
+“Nothing, very likely,” he replied. “That's what I've been doing for
+some time.”
+
+“But--but, the last I heard of you, you was practicin' law over to New
+York.”
+
+“So I was. That, for a young lawyer without funds or influence, is as
+near doing nothing as anything I can think of.”
+
+“But--but, John--”
+
+“Just a minute, Captain. The 'buts' are there, plenty of them. Before we
+reach them, however, perhaps I'd better tell you the story of my life.
+It isn't exciting enough to make you nervous, but it may explain a few
+things.”
+
+He told his story. It was not the story of his life, his whole life, by
+any means. The captain already knew the first part of that life. He had
+known the Kendricks ever since he had known anyone. Every person in
+East Wellmouth of middle age or older remembered when the two brothers,
+Samuel Kendrick and Bailey Kendrick--Bailey was John's father--lived in
+the village and were the “big” men of the community. Bailey was the more
+important and respected at that time, for Samuel speculated in stocks
+a good deal and there were seasons when he was so near bankruptcy that
+gossip declared he could not pass the poorhouse without shivering. If
+it had not been for his brother Bailey, so that same gossip affirmed,
+he would most assuredly have gone under, but Bailey lent him money and
+helped him in many ways. Both brothers were widowers and each had a son;
+but Samuel's boy Erastus was fifteen years older than John.
+
+The families moved from Wellmouth when John was six years old. They went
+West and there, so it was said, the positions of the brothers changed.
+Samuel's luck turned; he made some fortunate stock deals and became
+wealthy. Bailey, however, lost all he had in bad mining ventures and
+sank almost to poverty. Both had been dead for years now, but Samuel's
+son, Erastus--he much preferred to be called E. Holliday Kendrick--was
+a man of consequence in New York, a financier, with offices on Broad
+Street and a home on Fifth Avenue. John, the East Wellmouth people had
+last heard of as having worked his way through college and law school
+and as practicing his profession in the big city.
+
+So much Captain Bangs knew. And John Kendrick told him the rest. The
+road to success for a young attorney in New York he had found hard and
+discouraging. For two years he had trodden it and scarcely earned enough
+to keep himself alive. Now he had decided, or practically decided, to
+give up the attempt, select some small town or village and try his luck
+there. East Wellmouth was the one village he knew and remembered with
+liking. So to East Wellmouth he had come, to, as Captain Obed described
+it, “take soundin's and size up the fishin' grounds.”
+
+“So there you are, Captain,” he said, in conclusion. “That is why I am
+here.”
+
+The captain nodded reflectively.
+
+“Um--yes,” he said. “I see; I see. Well, well; and you're figgerin' on
+bein' a lawyer here--in East Wellmouth?”
+
+Mr. Kendrick nodded also. “It may, and probably will be, pretty close
+figuring at first,” he admitted, “but at least there will be no more
+ciphers in the sum than there were in my Manhattan calculations.
+Honestly now, Captain Bangs, tell me--what do you think of the idea?”
+
+The captain seemed rather dubious.
+
+“Humph!” he grunted. “Well, I don't know, John. East Wellmouth ain't a
+very big place.”
+
+“I know that. Of course I shouldn't hope to do much in East Wellmouth
+alone. But it seemed to me I might do as other country lawyers have
+done, have an office--or a desk--in several other towns and be in those
+towns on certain days in the week. I think I should like to live in East
+Wellmouth, though. It is--not to be sentimental but just truthful--the
+one place I remember where I was really happy. And, as I remember too,
+there used to be no lawyer there.”
+
+Captain Obed's forehead puckered.
+
+“That's just it, John,” he said. “There is a lawyer here now. Good deal
+of a lawyer, too--if you ask HIM. Name's Heman Daniels. You used to know
+him as a boy, didn't you?”
+
+Kendrick nodded assent.
+
+“I think I did,” he said. “Yes, I remember him. He was one of the big
+boys when I was a little one, and he used to bully us small chaps.”
+
+“That's the feller. He ain't changed his habits so much, neither. But
+he's our lawyer and I cal'late he's doin' well.”
+
+“Is he? Well, that's encouraging, at any rate. And he's the only lawyer
+you have? Only one lawyer in a whole town. Why in New York I couldn't
+throw a cigar stump from my office window without running the risk of
+hitting at least two and starting two damage suits.”
+
+The captain chuckled.
+
+“I presume likely you didn't throw many,” he observed. “That would be
+expensive fun.”
+
+“It would,” was the prompt reply. “Cigars cost money.”
+
+They jogged on for a few minutes in silence. Then said Captain Obed:
+
+“Well, John, what are you plannin' to do first? After we get into port,
+I mean.”
+
+“I scarcely know. Look about, perhaps. Possibly try out a boarding-house
+and hunt for a prospective office. By the way, Captain, you don't happen
+to know of a good, commodious two by four office that I could hire at a
+two by four figure, do you? One not so far from the main street that
+I should wear out an extravagant amount of shoe leather walking to and
+from it?”
+
+More reflection on the captain's part. Then he said:
+
+“Well, I don't know as I don't. John, I'll tell you: I've got a buildin'
+of my own. Right abreast the post-office; Henry Cahoon has been usin'
+it for a barber-shop. But Henry's quit, and it's empty. The location's
+pretty good and the rent--well, you and me wouldn't pull hair over the
+rent question, I guess.”
+
+“Probably not, but I should insist on paying as much as your barber
+friend did. This isn't a charity proposition I'm making you, Captain
+Bangs. Oh, let me ask this: Has this--er--office of yours got a good
+front window?”
+
+“Front window! What in time--? Yes, I guess likely the front window's
+all right. But what does a lawyer want of a front window?”
+
+“To look out of. About all a young lawyer does is look out of the
+window. Now about a boarding-place?”
+
+Captain Obed had been waiting for this question.
+
+“I've got a boardin'-place for you, John,” he declared. “The office I
+may not be so sartin about, but the boardin'-place I am. There ain't a
+better one this side of Boston and I know it. And the woman who keeps it
+is--well, you take my word for it she's all RIGHT.”
+
+His passenger regarded him curiously.
+
+“You seem very enthusiastic, Captain,” he observed, with a smile.
+
+Captain Bangs' next remark was addressed to the horse. He gruffly bade
+the animal “gid-dap” and appeared a trifle confused.
+
+“I am,” he admitted, after a moment. “You'll be, too, when you see her.”
+
+He described the High Cliff House and its owner. Mr. Kendrick asked the
+terms for board and an “average” room. When told he whistled.
+
+“That isn't high,” he said. “For such a place as you say this is it is
+very low. But I am afraid it is too high for me. Isn't there any other
+establishment where they care for men--and poor lawyers?”
+
+“Yes, there is, but you shan't go to it, not if I can stop you. You
+come right along with me now to the High Cliff and have dinner. Yes, you
+will. I ain't had a chance to treat you for twenty year and I'm goin'
+to buy you one square meal if I have to feed you by main strength. Don't
+you say another word. There! There's east Wellmouth dead ahead of us.
+And there's the High Cliff House, too. Git dap, Father of your Country!
+See! He's hungry, too, and he knows what he'll get, same as I do.”
+
+They drove into the yard of Mrs. Barnes' “property” and Thankful
+herself met them at the door. Captain Obed introduced his passenger and
+announced that the latter gentleman and he would dine there. The lady
+seemed glad to hear this, but she seemed troubled, too. When she and the
+captain were alone together she disclosed the cause of her trouble.
+
+“I'm afraid I'm goin' to lose my best boarder,” she said. “Mr. Daniels
+says he's afraid he must take his meals nearer his place of business.
+And, if he does that, he'll get a room somewheres uptown. I'm awful
+sorry. He's about the highest payin' roomer I have and I did think he
+was permanent. Oh, dear!” she added. “It does seem as if there was just
+one thing after the other to worry me. I--I don't seem to be makin' both
+ends meet the way I hoped. And--and lookin' out for everything myself,
+the way I have to do, keeps me stirred up all the time. I feel almost
+sort of discouraged. I know I shouldn't, so soon, of course. It's--it's
+because I'm tired today, I guess likely.”
+
+“Yes, I guess likely 'tis. Tired! I shouldn't wonder? It ain't any of my
+affairs at all, Mrs. Barnes, and I beg your pardon for sayin' it, but
+if you don't have some good capable person to take some of the care and
+managin' of this place off your shoulders you'll be down sick afore the
+summer's through.”
+
+Thankful sighed, and then smiled. “I know I need help, the right kind of
+help, just as well as you do, Cap'n Bangs,” she said. “But I know,
+too, that I can't afford to pay for it, so I must get along best I can
+without it. As for gettin' sick--well, I can't afford that, either.”
+
+At dinner John Kendrick met Mr. Heman Daniels and Miss Timpson and Caleb
+Hammond. All three were evidently very curious concerning the business
+which had brought the young man to East Wellmouth, but their curiosity
+was not satisfied. Kendrick himself refused to notice hints and
+insinuations and, though he talked freely on most subjects, would not
+talk of his own affairs. Captain Obed, of course, disclosed nothing of
+the knowledge he had gained. So the table talk dealt mainly with the
+changes in the village since John was a boy there, and of old times and
+old residents long gone.
+
+Mr. Daniels was very gracious and very affable. He spoke largely of
+cases intrusted to his care, of responsibilities and trusts, and if the
+guest gained the idea that Mr. Daniels was a very capable and prosperous
+lawyer indeed--if he gained such an idea and did not express it, how
+could Heman be expected to contradict?
+
+After dinner--Kendrick informed his friend it was one of the best he had
+ever eaten--he and the captain walked over to the village, where they
+spent the afternoon wandering about, inspecting the ex-barber-shop and
+discussing chances and possibilities. The young man was still doubtful
+of East Wellmouth's promise of professional opportunities. He should
+like to live there, he said, and he might decide to do so, but as yet
+he had not so decided. He seemed more pessimistic than during the drive
+down from the station. Captain Obed, however, and oddly enough, was much
+more optimistic than he had been at first.
+
+“I don't know, John,” he said, “but I ain't sure you couldn't make
+good, and pretty good, too, by settlin' here. This section needs a good
+lawyer.”
+
+“Another good lawyer you mean. Daniels is here, remember. Judging by his
+remarks this noon he is very much here.”
+
+“Um--yes, I know. If you take his remarks at the value he marks 'em with
+he's the whole bank and a safe-deposit vault hove in. But I wouldn't
+wonder if those remarks was subject to a discount. Anyhow I know mighty
+well there's a lot of folks in this town--good substantial folks,
+too--who don't like him. They hire him once in a while because there
+ain't another lawyer short of Trumet and that's quite a ways. But maybe
+they'd be mighty glad to shift if there was a chance right at hand.
+Don't you strike the colors yet awhile. Think it over first.”
+
+He insisted upon Kendrick's returning to the High Cliff House that
+night. “I want Mrs. Barnes to show you the room she's got vacant,” he
+said. “Ain't no harm lookin' at a brindle calf, as the feller said; you
+don't have to buy the critter unless you want to.”
+
+So Mr. Kendrick inspected the rooms and expressed himself as delighted
+with them.
+
+“They're all right in every respect, Captain,” he declared. “And the
+food is more than that. But the price--although it's surprisingly low
+considering the value offered--is too steep for me. I'm afraid, if
+I should locate here, for a trial trip, I couldn't afford to be
+comfortable and I shouldn't expect to.”
+
+Captain Bangs remained to take supper with his friend. The meal
+over, they and the rest of the boarders were seated in the big
+living-room--once Captain Abner's “best parlor”--when there came from
+outside the rattle of wheels and the voice of Winnie S. shouting “Whoa!”
+ to General Jackson.
+
+Thankful, who had been in the kitchen superintending Imogene, who was
+learning rapidly, came hurrying to the front door. The group in the
+parlor heard her utter an exclamation, an exclamation of surprise and
+delight. There were other exclamations, also in a feminine voice,
+and the sounds of affectionate greetings. Then Mrs. Barnes, her face
+beaming, ushered into the living-room a young woman. And this young
+woman was her cousin, Emily Howes.
+
+Captain Obed rose to greet her.
+
+“Well, I swan to man, Miss Howes!” he cried. “This IS a surprise! I
+didn't know you was due for a v'yage in this latitude.”
+
+Thankful laughed. “Neither did I,” she declared. “It's as big a surprise
+to me as it is to you, Cap'n. She didn't write me a word.”
+
+Emily laughed.
+
+“Of course I didn't, Auntie,” she said. “I wanted to surprise you. But
+you're glad to see me, aren't you?”
+
+“GLAD! I don't believe I was ever so glad to see anybody in MY life.”
+
+“We're all glad to see you, Miss Howes,” announced the captain. “Come
+down to make us a little visit, hey?”
+
+“Oh, more than a little one. You can't escape so easily. I am going to
+stay all summer at least, perhaps longer. There, Aunt Thankful, what do
+you think of that?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+What Thankful thought of it was evidenced by the manner in which she
+received the news. She did not say much, then, but the expression of
+relief and delight upon her face was indication sufficient. She did
+ask a number of questions: Why had Emily come then, so long before her
+school closed? How was it that she could leave her teaching? Why hadn't
+she written? And many others.
+
+Miss Howes answered the questions one after the other. She had come in
+May because she found that she could come.
+
+“I meant to come the very first moment it was possible for me to do so,”
+ she said. “I have been more interested in this new project of yours,
+Auntie, than anything else in the world. You knew that; I told you
+so before I left and I have written it many times since. I came now
+because--well, because--you mustn't be alarmed, Auntie; there is nothing
+to be frightened about--but the school committee seemed to feel that I
+needed a change and rest. They seemed to think that I was not as well as
+I should be, that I was tired, was wearing myself out; that is the way
+they expressed it. It was absurd, of course, I am perfectly well. But
+when they came to me and told me that they had decided to give me a
+vacation, with pay, until next fall, and even longer if I felt that I
+needed it, you may be sure I didn't refuse their kind offer. I thanked
+them and said yes before they could have changed their minds, even if
+they had wished to. They said I should go into the country. That was
+just where I wanted to go, and so here I am, IN the country. Aren't you
+glad?”
+
+“Glad! Don't talk! But, Emily, if you ain't well, don't you think--”
+
+“I am well. Don't say another word about that. And, Oh, the things I
+mean to do to help you, Aunt Thankful!”
+
+“Help me! Indeed you won't! You'll rest and get strong again, that's
+what you'll do. I don't need any help.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you do. I know it.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+For just an instant Emily glanced at Captain Bangs. The captain's face
+expressed alarm and embarrassment. He was standing where Mrs. Barnes
+could not see him and he shook his head warningly. Miss Howes' eyes
+twinkled, but she did not smile.
+
+“Oh, I knew!” she repeated.
+
+“But HOW did you know? I never wrote you such a thing, sartin.”
+
+“Of course you didn't. But I knew because--well, just because. Everyone
+who takes boarders needs help. It's a--it's a chronic condition. Now,
+Auntie, don't you think you could find some supper for me? Not much,
+but just a little. For an invalid ordered to the country I am awfully
+hungry.”
+
+That was enough for Thankful. She seized her cousin by the arm and
+hurried her into the dining-room. A few moments later she reappeared to
+order Miss Howes' trunk carried upstairs to the “blue room.”
+
+“You'll have to excuse me, folks,” she said, addressing her guests.
+“I know I didn't introduce you to Emily. I was so flustered and--and
+tickled to see her that I forgot everything, manners and all. Soon's
+she's had a bite to eat I'll try to make up. You'll forgive me, won't
+you?”
+
+When she had gone Captain Obed was bombarded with questions. Who was the
+young lady? Where did she come from? If she was only a cousin, why did
+she call Mrs. Barnes “Auntie”? And many others.
+
+Captain Obed answered as best he could.
+
+“She's real pretty, isn't she,” affirmed Miss Timpson. “I don't know
+when I've seen a prettier woman. Such eyes! And such hair! Ah hum!
+When I was her age folks used to tell me I had real wonderful hair. You
+remember that, don't you, Mr. Hammond?”
+
+Mr. Hammond chuckled. “I remember lots of things,” he observed
+diplomatically.
+
+“You think she's pretty, don't you, Mr. Daniels?” persisted Miss
+Timpson.
+
+East Wellmouth's legal light bowed assent. “A--ahem--a very striking
+young lady,” he said with dignity. He had scarcely taken his eyes from
+the newcomer while she was in the room. John Kendrick said nothing.
+
+When Emily and Thankful returned to the living-room there were
+introductions and handshakings. And, following these, a general
+conversation lasting until ten o'clock. Then Miss Howes excused herself,
+saying that she was a bit tired, bade them all good night and went to
+her room.
+
+Captain Obed left soon afterward.
+
+“Well, John,” he said to his friend, as they stood together on the front
+step, “what do you think of this for a boardin'-house? All I prophesied,
+ain't it?”
+
+Kendrick nodded. “All that, and more,” he answered, emphatically.
+
+“Like Mrs. Barnes, don't you?”
+
+“Very much. No one could help liking her.”
+
+“Um-hm. Well, I told you that, too. And her niece--cousin, I mean--is
+just as nice as she is. You'll like her, too, when you know her. . . .
+Eh?”
+
+“I didn't speak, Captain.”
+
+“Oh, didn't you? Well, it's high time for me to be headin' for home.
+Hannah'll be soundin' the foghorn for me pretty soon. She'll think I'VE
+been tagged by Abbie Larkin if I don't hurry up and report. See you in
+the mornin', John. Good night.”
+
+The next forenoon he was on hand, bright and early, and he and Kendrick
+went over to the village on another tour of inspection. Captain Obed was
+extremely curious to know whether or not his friend had made up his
+mind to remain in East Wellmouth, but, as the young man himself did not
+volunteer the information, the captain asked no questions. They walked
+up and down the main road until dinner time. John said very little, and
+was evidently thinking hard. Just before twelve Captain Bangs did ask a
+question, his first one.
+
+“Well, John,” he said, looking up at the clock in the steeple of the
+Methodist Church, “it's about time for us to be thinkin' about takin' in
+cargo. Where shall we eat this noon? At the High Cliff again, or do you
+want to tackle Darius Holt's? Course you understand I'm game for 'most
+anything if you say so, and 'most anything's what we're liable to get
+at that Holt shebang. I don't want you to think I've got any personal
+grudge. When it comes to that I'm--ho! ho!--well, I'm a good deal in the
+frame of mind Kenelm Parker was at the revival meetin' some year ago.
+Kenelm just happened in and took one of the back seats. The minister--he
+was a stranger in town--was walkin' up and down the aisles tryin' to
+influence the mourners to come forward. He crept up on Kenelm from
+behind, when he wa'n't expected, and says he, 'Brother,' he says, 'do
+you love the Lord?' Kenelm was some took by surprise and his wits was
+in the next county, I cal'late. 'Why--why--' he stammers. 'I ain't got
+nothin' AG'IN' Him.' Ho! ho! That's the way I feel about Darius Holt.
+I don't love his hotel, but I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him. What do you
+say?”
+
+Kendrick hesitated.
+
+“The Holt board is cheaper, isn't it?” he asked.
+
+“Yup. It costs less and it's wuth it.”
+
+“Humph! Well--well, I guess we may as well go back to the High Cliff
+House.”
+
+Captain Obed was much surprised, but he said nothing.
+
+At dinner there was a sprightly air of cheerfulness and desire to please
+among the boarders. Everyone talked a good deal and most of the remarks
+were addressed to Miss Howes, who sat at the foot of the table, opposite
+her cousin. Thankful noticed the change and marveled at it. Dinners had
+hitherto been rather hurried and silent affairs. Miss Timpson usually
+rushed through the meal in order to get back to her school. Mr. Daniels'
+habit was to fidget when Imogene delayed serving a course, to look at
+his watch and hint concerning important legal business which needed
+prompt attention. Caleb Hammond's conversation too often was confined
+to a range bordered by rheumatism on the one hand and bronchitis on the
+other.
+
+Now all this was changed. No one seemed in a hurry, no one appeared
+to care what the time might be, and no one grumbled. Mr. Daniels was
+particularly affable and gracious; he even condescended to joke. He was
+wearing his best and newest suit and his tie was carefully arranged.
+Emily was in high spirits, laughed at the jokes, whether they were new
+or old, and seemed to be very happy. She had been for a walk along the
+bluff, and the sea breeze had crimsoned her cheeks and blown her hair
+about. She apologized for the disarrangement of the hair, but even
+Miss Timpson--her own tresses as smooth as the back of a haircloth
+sofa--declared the effect to be “real becomin'.” Heman Daniels, who,
+being a bachelor, was reported to be very particular in such matters,
+heartily concurred in this statement. Mr. Hammond said it reminded him
+some of Laviny Marthy's hair. “Laviny Marthy was my wife that was,” he
+added, by way of explanation. John Kendrick said very little; in fact,
+he was noticeably silent during dinner. Miss Timpson said afterward:
+“That Mr. Kendrick isn't much of a talker, is he? I guess he's what they
+call a good listener, for he seemed to be real interested, especially
+when Miss Howes was talkin'. He'd look at her and look at her, and time
+and time again I thought he was goin' to say somethin', but he didn't.”
+
+He was not talkative when alone with Captain Obed that afternoon. They
+paid one more visit to the building “opposite the postoffice” and while
+there he asked a few questions concerning the rent. The figure named by
+the captain was a low one and John seemed to think it too low. “I'm not
+asking charity,” he declared. “At least you might charge me enough to
+pay for the paint I may rub off when I open the door.”
+
+But Captain Obed obstinately refused to raise his figure. “I've charged
+enough to risk what paint there is,” he announced. “If I charged more
+I'd feel as if I had to paint fresh, and I don't want to do that. What's
+the matter with you, John? Want to heave your money away, do you? Better
+keep the odd change to buy cigars. You can heave them away, if you want
+to--and you won't be liable to hit many lawyers neither.”
+
+At supper time as they stood by the gate of the High Cliff House the
+captain, who was to eat at his regular boarding-place, the Parkers',
+that evening, ventured to ask the question he had been so anxious to
+ask.
+
+“Well, John?” he began.
+
+“Well, Captain?”
+
+“Have you--have you made up your mind yet?”
+
+Kendrick turned over, with his foot, a stone in the path.
+
+“I--” he paused and turned the stone back again. Then he drew a long
+breath. “I must make it up,” he said, “and I can do it as well now as a
+week later, I suppose. Wherever I go there will be a risk, a big risk.
+Captain Bangs, I'll take that risk here. If you are willing to let
+me have that office of yours for six months at the figure you have
+named--and I think you are crazy to do it--I will send for my trunk and
+my furniture and begin to--look out of the window.”
+
+Captain Obed was delighted. “Shake, John,” he exclaimed. “I'm tickled
+to death. And I'll tell you this: If you can't get a client no other way
+I'll--I'll break into the meetin'-house and steal a pew or somethin'.
+Then you can defend me. Eh . . . And now what about a place for you to
+eat and sleep?” he added, after a moment.
+
+The young man seemed to find the question as hard to answer as the
+other.
+
+“I like it here,” he admitted. “I like it very much indeed. But I must
+economize and the few hundred dollars I have scraped together won't--”
+
+He was interrupted. Emily Howes appeared at the corner of the house
+behind them.
+
+“Supper is ready,” she called cheerfully.
+
+Both men turned to look at her. She was bareheaded and the western sun
+made her profile a dainty silhouette, a silhouette framed in the spun
+gold of her hair.
+
+“John's comin', Miss Emily,” answered the captain. “He'll be right
+there.”
+
+Emily waved her hand and hurried back to the dining-room door. Mr.
+Kendrick kicked the stone into the grass.
+
+“I think I may as well remain here, for the present at least,” he said.
+“After all, there is such a thing as being too economical. A chap can't
+always make a martyr of himself, even if he knows he should.”
+
+The next morning Mrs. Barnes, over at the village on a marketing
+expedition, met Captain Bangs on his way to the postoffice.
+
+“Oh, Cap'n,” she said, “I've got somethin' to tell you. 'Tain't bad news
+this time; it's good. Mr. Heman Daniels has changed his mind. He's goin'
+to keep his room and board with me just as he's been doin'. Isn't that
+splendid!”
+
+The sewing circles and the club and the noon and evening groups at the
+postoffice had two new subjects for verbal dissection during the next
+fortnight. This was, in its way, a sort of special Providence, for
+this was the dull season, when there were no more wrecks alongshore or
+schooners aground on the bars, and the boarders and cottagers from the
+cities had not yet come to East Wellmouth. Also the opening of the High
+Cliff House was getting to be a worn-out topic. So Emily Howes, her
+appearance and behavior, and John Kendrick, HIS behavior and his
+astonishing recklessness in attempting to wrest a portion of the county
+law practice from Heman Daniels, were welcomed as dispensations and
+discussed with gusto.
+
+Emily came through the gossip mill ground fine, but with surprisingly
+little chaff. She was “pretty as a picture,” all the males agreed
+upon that point. And even the females admitted that she was “kind of
+good-lookin',” although Hannah Parker's diagnosis that she was “declined
+to be consumptic” and Mrs. Larkin's that she was older than she “made
+out to be,” had some adherents. All agreed, however, that she knew how
+to run a boarding-house and that she was destined to be the “salvation”
+ of Thankful Barnes' venture at the Cap'n Abner place.
+
+Certainly she did prove herself to possess marked ability as a business
+manager. Quietly, and without undue assertion, she reorganized the
+affairs of the High Cliff House. No one detected any difference in
+the quality of the meals served there, in their variety or ample
+sufficiency. But, little by little, she took upon herself the buying of
+supplies, the regulation of accounts, the prompt payment of bills and
+the equally prompt collection of board and room rent. Thankful found the
+cares upon her shoulders less and less heavy, and she was more free to
+do what she was so capable of doing, that is, superintend the cooking
+and the housekeeping.
+
+But Thankful herself was puzzled.
+
+“I don't understand it,” she said. “I've always had to look out for
+myself, and others, too. There ain't been a minute since I can remember
+that I ain't had somebody dependent upon me. I cal'lated I could run a
+boardin'-house if I couldn't do anything else. But I'm just as sure as I
+am that I'm alive that if you hadn't come when you did I'd have run this
+one into the ground and myself into the poorhouse. I don't understand
+it.”
+
+Emily smiled and put her arm about her cousin's waist. “Oh, no, you
+wouldn't, Auntie,” she said. “It wasn't as bad as that. You needed help,
+that was all. And you are too generous and kind-hearted. You were always
+fearful that your boarders might not be satisfied. I have been teaching
+bookkeeping and accounting, you see, and, besides, I have lived in a
+family where the principal struggle was to satisfy the butcher and the
+baker and the candlestick maker. This is real fun compared to that.”
+
+Thankful shook her head.
+
+“I know,” she said; “you always talk that way, Emily. But I'm afraid
+you'll make yourself sick. You come down here purpose for your health,
+you know.”
+
+Emily laughed and patted Mrs. Barnes' plump shoulder.
+
+“Health!” she repeated. “Why, I have never been as well since I can
+remember. I couldn't be sick here, in this wonderful place, if I tried.
+Do you think I look ill? . . . Oh, Mr. Daniels!” addressing the lawyer,
+who had just entered the dining-room, “I want your opinion, as a--a
+specialist. Auntie is afraid I am ill. Don't you think I look about as
+well as anyone could look?”
+
+Heman bowed. “If my poor opinion is worth anything,” he observed, “I
+should say that to find fault with your appearance, Miss Howes, would
+be like venturing to--er---paint the lily, as the saying is. I might say
+more, but--ahem--perhaps I had better not.”
+
+Judging by the young lady's expression he had said quite enough already.
+
+“Idiot!” she exclaimed, after he had left the room. “I ask him a
+sensible question and he thinks it necessary to answer with a silly
+compliment. Thought I was fishing for one, probably. Why will men be
+such fools--some men?”
+
+Mr. Daniels' opinion concerning his professional rival was asked a good
+many times during that first fortnight. He treated the subject as he
+did the rival, with condescending toleration. It was quite plain that
+he considered his own position too secure to be shaken. In fact, his
+feeling toward John Kendrick seemed to be a sort of kindly pity.
+
+“He appears to be a very well-meaning young man,” he said, in reply to
+one of the questions. “Rash, of course; very young men are likely to be
+rash--and perhaps more hopeful than some of us older and--ahem--wiser
+persons might be under the same circumstances. But he is well-meaning
+and persevering. I have no doubt he will manage to pick up a few crumbs,
+here and there. I may be able to throw a few in his way. There are
+always cases--ah--which I can't--or don't wish to--accept.”
+
+When this remark was repeated to Captain Obed the latter sniffed.
+
+“Humph!” he observed, “I don't know what they are. I never see a case
+Heman wouldn't accept, if there was as much as seventy-five cents in
+it. If bananas was a nickel a bunch the only part he'd throw in anybody
+else's way would be the skins.”
+
+John, himself, did not seem to mind or care what Mr. Daniels or anyone
+else said. He wrote a letter to New York and, in the course of time,
+a second-hand desk, a few chairs, and half a dozen cases of law books
+arrived by freight and were installed in the ex-barber-shop. The local
+sign-painter perpetrated a sign with “John Kendrick, Attorney-at-law”
+ upon it in gilt letters, and the “looking out of the window” really
+began.
+
+And that was about all that did begin for days and days. Each morning or
+afternoon, Sundays excepted, Captain Bangs would drop in at the office
+and find no one there, no one but the tenant, that is. The latter,
+seated behind the desk, with a big sheepskin-bound volume spread open
+upon it, was always glad to see his visitor. Their conversations were
+characteristic.
+
+“Hello, John!” the captain would begin. “How are the clients comin'?”
+
+“Don't know, Captain. None of them has as yet got near enough so that I
+could see how he comes.”
+
+“Humph! I want to know. Mr. John D. Jacob Vanderbilt ain't cruised
+in from Newport to put his affairs in your hands? Sho'! He's pretty
+short-sighted, ain't he?”
+
+“Very. He's losing valuable time.”
+
+“Well, I expected better things of him, I must say. Ain't gettin'
+discouraged, are you, John?”
+
+“No, indeed. If there was much discouragement in my make-up I should
+have stopped before I began. How is the fish business, Captain?”
+
+“Well, 'tain't what it ought to be this season of the year. Say, John,
+couldn't you subpoena a school of mackerel for me? Serve an order of
+the court on them to come into my weirs and answer for their sins, or
+somethin' like that? I'd be willin' to pay you a fairly good fee.”
+
+On one occasion the visitor asked his friend what he found to do all the
+long days. “Don't study law ALL the time, do you, John?” he queried.
+
+Kendrick shook his head. “No,” he answered, gravely. “Between studies I
+enjoy the view. Magnificent view from this window, don't you think?”
+
+Captain Obed inspected the “view.” The principal feature in the
+landscape was Dr. Jameson's cow, pastured in the vacant lot between the
+doctor's home and the postoffice.
+
+“Very fine cow, that,” commented the lawyer. “An inspiring creature.
+I spend hours looking at that cow. She is a comfort to my philosophic
+soul.”
+
+The captain observed that he wanted to know.
+
+“Yes,” continued Kendrick. “She is happy; you can see that she is happy.
+Now why?”
+
+“'Cause she's eatin' grass,” declared Captain Obed, promptly.
+
+“That's it. Good for you! You have a philosophic soul yourself, Captain.
+She is happy because she has nothing to do but eat, and there is plenty
+to eat. That's my case exactly. I have nothing to do except eat, and
+at Mrs. Barnes' boarding-house there is always enough, and more than
+enough, to eat. The cow is happy and I ought to be, I suppose. If MY
+food was furnished free of cost I should be, I presume.”
+
+Kenelm Parker heard a conversation like the foregoing on one occasion
+and left the office rubbing his forehead.
+
+“There's two lunatics in that place,” he told the postmaster. “And if
+I'd stayed there much longer and listened to their ravin's there'd have
+been another one.”
+
+Kenelm seemed unusually contented and happy in his capacity as
+man-of-all-work at the High Cliff House. Possibly the fact that there
+was so very little real work to do may have helped to keep him in this
+frame of mind. He had always the appearance of being very busy; a rake
+or a hoe or the kindling hatchet were seldom out of reach of his hand.
+He talked a great deal about being “beat out,” and of the care and
+responsibility which were his. Most of these remarks were addressed to
+Imogene, to whom he had apparently taken a great fancy.
+
+Imogene was divided in her feelings toward Mr. Parker.
+
+“He's an awful interestin' talker,” she confided to Emily. “Every time
+he comes into this kitchen I have to watch out or he'll stay and talk
+till noontime. And yet if I want to get him to do somethin' or other
+he is always chock full of business that can't wait a minute. I like to
+hear him talk--he's got ideas on 'most every kind of thing--but I have
+to work, myself.”
+
+“Do you mean that he doesn't work?” asked Emily.
+
+“I don't know whether he does or not. I can't make out. If he don't
+he's an awful good make-believe, that's all I've got to say. One time
+I caught him back of the woodpile sound asleep, but he was hanging onto
+the axe just the same. Said he set up half the night before worryin'
+for fear he mightn't be able to get through his next day's work, and the
+want of rest had been too much for him. Then he started in to tell me
+about his home life and I listened for ten minutes before I come to
+enough to get back to the house.”
+
+“Do you think he is lazy, Imogene?”
+
+“I don't know. He says he never had no chance and it might be that's so.
+He says the ambition's been pretty well drove out of him, and I guess it
+has. I should think 'twould be. The way that sister of his nags at him
+all the time is enough to drive out the--the measles.”
+
+Imogene and Hannah Parker, as Captain Obed said, “rubbed each other the
+wrong way.” Hannah was continually calling to see her brother,
+probably to make sure that he was there and not in the dangerous Larkin
+neighborhood. Imogene resented these visits--“usin' up Mrs. Thankful's
+time,” she said they were--and she and Hannah had some amusing clashes.
+Miss Parker was inclined to patronize the girl from the Orphan's Home,
+and Imogene objected.
+
+“Well,” observed Hannah, on one occasion, “I presume likely you find it
+nice to be down here, where folks are folks and not just 'inmates.' It
+must be dreadful to be an 'inmate.'”
+
+Imogene sniffed. “There's all kinds of inmates,” she said, “same as
+there's all kinds of folks. Far's that goes, there's some folks couldn't
+be an inmate, if they wanted to. They wouldn't be let in.”
+
+“Oh, is that so? Judgin' by what I've seen I shouldn't have thought them
+that run such places was very particular. Where's Kenelm?”
+
+“I don't know. He's to work, I suppose. That's what he's hired for, they
+tell me.”
+
+“Oh, indeed! Well,” with emphasis, “he doesn't have to work, unless
+he wants to. My brother has money of his own, enough to subside
+on comf'tably, if he wanted to do it. His comin' here is just to
+accommodate Mrs. Barnes, that's all. Where is he?”
+
+“Last I saw of him he was accommodatin' the horse stall. He may be
+uptown by this time, for all I know.”
+
+“Uptown?” in alarm. “What would he be uptown for? He ain't got any
+business there, has he?”
+
+“Search ME. Good many guys--folks, I mean--seem to be always hangin'
+'round where they haven't business. Well, I've got some of my own and I
+guess I'd better attend to it. Good mornin', ma'am.”
+
+Miss Howes cautioned Imogene against arousing the Parkers' enmity.
+
+“Lordy! I mean mercy sakes, ma'am,” exclaimed Imogene, “you needn't be
+afraid so far as Kenelm's concerned. I do boss him around some, when I
+think it's needful, but it ain't my bossin' that worries him, it's that
+Hannah woman's. He says she's at him all the time. Don't give him the
+peace of his life, he says. He's a misunderstood man, he tells me. Maybe
+he is; there are such, you know. I've read about 'em in stories.”
+
+Emily smiled. “Well,” she said, “I wouldn't drive him too hard, if I
+were you, Imogene. He isn't the hardest worker in the world, but he does
+do some work, and men who can be hired to work about a place in summer
+are scarce here in East Wellmouth. You must be patient with him.”
+
+“Lor--land sakes! I am. But he does make me cross. He'd be settin' in my
+kitchen every evenin' if I'd let him. Don't seem to want to go home. I
+don't know's I blame him for that. You think I ought to let him set, I
+suppose, Miss Howes?”
+
+“Why, yes, if he doesn't annoy you too much. We must keep him contented.
+You must sacrifice your own feelings to help Aunt Thankful. You would be
+willing to make some sacrifice for her, wouldn't you?”
+
+“You bet your life I would! She's the best woman on earth, Mrs. Barnes
+is. I'd do anything for her, sacrifice my head, if that was worth five
+cents to anybody. All right, he can set if he wants to. I--I suppose
+I might improve his mind, hey, ma'am? By readin' to him, I mean. Mrs.
+Thankful, she's been givin' me books to improve my mind; perhaps they'd
+improve his if I read 'em out loud to him. His sister prob'ly won't like
+it, but I don't care. You couldn't improve HER mind; she ain't got any.
+It all run off the end of her tongue long ago.”
+
+By the Fourth of July the High Cliff House was filled with boarders.
+Every room was taken, even the little back bedroom and the big room
+adjoining it. These were taken by a young couple from Worcester and, if
+they heard any unusual noises in their apartment, they did not mention
+them. Thankful's dread of that little room had entirely disappeared.
+She was now thoroughly convinced that her imagination and the storm were
+responsible for the “spooks.”
+
+John Kendrick continued to sleep and eat at the new boarding-house. He
+was a general favorite there, although rather silent and disinclined to
+take an active part in the conversation at table. He talked more with
+Emily Howes than with anyone and she and he were becoming very friendly.
+Emily, Thankful and Captain Obed Bangs were the only real friends the
+young man had; he might have had more, but he did not seem to care for
+them. With these three, however, and particularly with Emily, he was
+even confidential, speaking of his professional affairs and prospects,
+subjects which he never mentioned to others.
+
+These--the prospects--were brighter than at first. He had accepted
+one case and refused another. The refusal came as a surprise to East
+Wellmouth and caused much comment. Mr. Chris Badger was a passenger on
+the train from Boston and that train ran off the track at Buzzard's
+Bay. No one was seriously hurt except Mr. Badger. The latter gentleman
+purchased a pair of crutches and limped about on them, proclaiming
+himself a cripple for life. He and Heman Daniels had had a disagreement
+over a business matter so Chris took his damage suit against the
+railroad to John Kendrick. And John refused it.
+
+Captain Obed, much disturbed, questioned his friend.
+
+“Land of love, John!” he said. “Here you've been roostin' here, lookin'
+out of this window and prayin' for a job to come along. Now one does
+come along and you turn it down. Why?”
+
+Kendrick laughed. “I'm cursed with a strong sense of contrast, Captain,”
+ he replied. “Those crutches are too straight for me.”
+
+The captain stared. “Straight!” he repeated. “All crutches are straight,
+ain't they?”
+
+“Possibly; but some cripples are crooked.”
+
+So it was to Mr. Daniels, after all, that the damage suit came, and
+Heman brought about a three-hundred-dollar settlement. Most of East
+Wellmouth pronounced Kendrick “too pesky particular,” but in some
+quarters, and these not by any means the least influential, his attitude
+gained approval and respect. This feeling was strengthened by his taking
+Edgar Wingate's suit against that same railroad. Edgar's woodlot was
+set on fire by sparks from the locomotive and John forced payment, and
+liberal payment, for the damage. Other cases, small ones, began to
+come his way. Lawyer Daniels had enemies in the community who had been
+waiting to take their legal affairs elsewhere.
+
+Heman still professed entire indifference, but he no longer patronized
+his rival. John had a quiet way of squelching such patronage and of
+turning the laugh, which was annoying to a person lacking a sense of
+humor. And then, too, it was quite evident that Emily Howes' liking for
+the younger man displeased Daniels greatly. Heman liked Emily, seemed to
+like her very much indeed. On one or two occasions he had taken her to
+ride behind his fast horse, and he often brought bouquets and fruit,
+“given me by my clients and friends,” he explained. “One can't refuse
+little gifts like that, but it is a comfort, to a bachelor like me, to
+be able to hand them on--hand them on--yes.”
+
+The first of August brought a new sensation and a new resident to East
+Wellmouth. The big Colfax estate was sold and the buyer was no less a
+personage than E. Holliday Kendrick, John Kendrick's aristocratic Fifth
+Avenue cousin. His coming was as great a surprise to John as to the rest
+of the community, but he seemed much less excited over it. The purchase
+was quietly completed and, one pleasant morning, the great E. Holliday
+himself appeared in East Wellmouth accompanied by a wife and child, two
+motor cars and six servants.
+
+Captain Obed Bangs, who had been spending a week in Orham on business
+connected with his fish weirs, returned to find the village chanting
+the praises of the new arrival. Somehow or other E. Holliday had managed
+already to convey the impression that he was the most important person
+in creation. The captain happening in at the High Cliff House after
+supper, found the group in the living-room discussing the all-important
+topic. Most of the city boarders were out enjoying a “marshmallow toast”
+ about a bonfire on the beach, but the “regulars” were present.
+
+“Where's Mrs. Thankful?” was Captain Obed's first question.
+
+“She's in the kitchen, I think,” replied John. “Shall I call her?”
+
+“Oh, no, no! It ain't particular. I just--just wondered where she was,
+that's all. I wouldn't trouble her on no account.”
+
+John smiled. He seemed quietly amused about something. He regarded his
+friend, who, after a glance in his direction, was staring at the lamp on
+the table, and said:
+
+“I'm sure it would be no trouble, Captain. Better let me tell her you
+are here.”
+
+Captain Obed was saved the embarrassment of further protestations by the
+entrance of Thankful herself; Emily accompanied her. The captain shook
+hands with Mrs. Barnes and her cousin and hastened to announce that he
+heard “big news” down street and had run over to find out how much truth
+there was in it.
+
+“Couldn't scurcely believe it, myself,” he declared. “John here, never
+said a word about his high-toned relation comin' to East Wellmouth. Had
+you any idea he was comin', John?”
+
+John shook his head.
+
+“No,” he said. “The last time I saw him in New York, which was two
+years or more ago, he did say something about being on the lookout for
+a summer residence. But he did not mention East Wellmouth; nor did I.
+I remember hearing that he and the late Mr. Colfax were quite friendly,
+associated in business affairs, I believe. Probably that accounts for
+his being here.”
+
+“Set down, everybody,” urged Thankful. “I'm willin' to set down, myself,
+I can tell you. Been on my feet 'most of the day. What sort of a person
+is this relation of yours, Mr. Kendrick? He ought to be all right, if
+there's anything in family connections.”
+
+Heman Daniels answered the question. He spoke with authority.
+
+“Mr. Holliday is a fine gentleman,” he announced, emphatically. “I've
+seen him two or three times since he came. He's a millionaire, but it
+doesn't make him pompous or stand-offish. He and I spoke--er--conversed
+together as friendly and easy as if we had known each other all our
+lives. He is very much interested in East Wellmouth. He tells me that,
+if the place keeps on suiting him as it has so far, he intends making
+it his permanent home. Of course he won't stay here ALL the year--the
+family have a house in Florida and one in New York, I believe--but he
+will call East Wellmouth his real home and his interests will center
+here.”
+
+There was a general expression of satisfaction. Miss Timpson declared
+that it was “real lovely” of Mr. Holliday Kendrick. Caleb Hammond
+announced that he always cal'lated there was a boom coming for the town.
+Had said so more times than he could count. “Folks'll tell you I said
+it, too,” he proclaimed stoutly. “They'll bear me out in it, if you ask
+'em.”
+
+“I'm glad we're goin' to have such nice neighbors,” said Thankful. “It's
+always worried me a little wonderin' who that Colfax place might be sold
+to. I didn't know but somebody might get it with the notion of startin'
+another hotel.”
+
+“Hannah Parker ain't opened her mouth to talk of anything else since
+I got back,” said Captain Bangs. “And it's been open most of the time,
+too. She says John's rich relation's locatin' here is a dissipation of
+Providence, if you know what that is.”
+
+John smiled but he said nothing. Emily was silent, also; she was
+regarding the young man intently.
+
+“Yes, sir,” continued Mr. Daniels, evidently pleased at the approval
+with which his statement had been met. “Yes, sir, Mr. E. Holliday
+Kendrick is destined to be a great acquisition to this town; mark my
+words. He tells me he shall hire no one to do his work except East
+Wellmouth people. And there will be a lot of work to be done, if he
+carries out his plans. He intends building an addition to his house, and
+enlarging his estate--”
+
+Thankful interrupted.
+
+“Enlargin' it!” she repeated. “Mercy sakes! What for? I should think
+'twas large enough now!”
+
+Heman smiled tolerantly. “To us--the ordinary--er--citizens, it might
+appear so,” he observed. “But the--er--New York ideas is broader
+than the average Cape Codder's, if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Barnes. Mr.
+Kendrick has begun to spend money here already, and he will doubtless
+spend more. He contemplates public improvements as well as private. He
+asked me what sort of spirit there was in our community. Ahem!”
+
+He paused, apparently to let the importance of the announcement sink in.
+It sank, or seemed to. Mr. Hammond, however, was somewhat puzzled.
+
+“Now what do you cal'late he meant by that?” he queried.
+
+John Kendrick answered. He and Emily had exchanged smiles. Neither of
+them seemed as deeply impressed with the Daniels proclamation as the
+others of the group.
+
+“Perhaps he wanted to buy a drink,” suggested John, gravely.
+
+Miss Timpson was shocked; her expression showed it. Caleb Hammond did
+not seem to know whether to be shocked or not; the Hammond appreciation
+of a joke generally arrived on a later train. Mrs. Barnes and Captain
+Obed laughed, but not too heartily.
+
+Mr. Daniels did not laugh. The frivolous interruption evidently jarred
+him.
+
+“I scarcely imagine that to be the reason,” he said, drily. “If Mr. E.
+Holliday Kendrick does indulge I guess likely--that is, I presume he
+would not find it necessary to buy his--er--beverages here. He meant
+public spirit, of course. He asked me who our leading men were.”
+
+“Who were they--the others, I mean?” asked John.
+
+Emily rubbed away a smile with her handkerchief. Heman noticed her
+action, and his color brightened.
+
+“They WERE public,” he said, rather sharply. “They were men of
+standing--long standing in the community. Prominent and prosperous
+citizens, who have lived here long enough for East Wellmouth to know
+them--and respect them.”
+
+This was a shot in the bull's eye. Miss Timpson evidently thought so,
+for she nodded approval. Daniels continued.
+
+“They were men of known worth,” he went on. “Practical citizens whose
+past as well as present is known. Your cousin--I believe he is your
+cousin, Kendrick, although he did not mention the relationship--was
+grateful to me for giving him their names. He is a practical man,
+himself.”
+
+John nodded. “He must be,” he admitted. “No one but a practical man
+could get all that advice, free, from a lawyer.”
+
+Captain Obed laughed aloud.
+
+“That's a good one,” he declared. “Lawyers ain't in the habit of GIVIN'
+much, 'cordin' to all accounts. How about it, Heman?”
+
+Mr. Daniels ignored the question and the questioner. He rose to his
+feet.
+
+“There are SOME lawyers,” he observed, crisply, “whose advice is not
+asked--to any great extent. I--I think I will join the group on the
+beach. It's a beautiful evening. Won't you accompany me, Miss Howes?”
+
+Emily declined the invitation. “No, thank you, Mr. Daniels,” she said.
+“I am rather tired and I think I won't go out tonight. By the way, Mr.
+Kendrick,” she added, “was the great man asking your advice also? I
+happened to see him go into your office yesterday.”
+
+Everyone was surprised--everyone except the speaker and the person
+addressed, that is--but Heman's surprise was most manifest. His hand was
+on the knob of the door, but now he turned.
+
+“In HIS office?” he repeated. “Kendrick, was he in to see YOU?”
+
+John bowed assent. “Yes,” he said. “He seems to be contemplating
+retaining a sort of--of resident attorney to look after his local
+affairs. I mentioned your name, Daniels.”
+
+Mr. Daniels went out. The door banged behind him.
+
+A half hour later, after Mr. Hammond also had gone to join the
+marshmallow toasters and Miss Timpson had retired to her room, John told
+the others the story. Mr. E. Holliday Kendrick HAD called upon him at
+his office and he did contemplate engaging a resident lawyer. There were
+likely to be many of what he termed “minor details” connected with the
+transfer of the Colfax estate to him and the purchases which he meant
+to make later on, and an attorney at his beck and call would be a great
+convenience. Not this only; he had actually offered his young cousin
+the position, had offered to engage him and to pay him several hundred
+dollars as a retaining fee.
+
+He told his hearers so much, and then he stopped. Emily, who had seemed
+much interested, waited a moment and then begged him to continue.
+
+“Well?” she said. “Why don't you tell us the rest? We are all waiting to
+congratulate you. You accepted, of course.”
+
+John shook his head. “Why, no,” he replied, “I didn't accept, exactly.
+I did say I would think it over; but I--well, I'm not sure that I shall
+accept.”
+
+Here was the unexpected. His hearers looked at each other in amazement.
+
+“You won't accept!” cried Thankful. “Why, Mr. Kendrick.”
+
+“Won't accept!” shouted Captain Obed. “What on earth! Why, John
+Kendrick, what's the matter with you? Ain't you been settin' in that
+office of yours waitin' and waitin' for somethin' worth while to come
+along? And now a really big chance does come, and you say you don't know
+as you'll take it! What kind of talk's that, I'd like to know!”
+
+John smiled. Miss Howes, who seemed as much surprised as the others, did
+not smile.
+
+“Why won't you take it?” demanded the captain.
+
+“Oh, I don't know. The proposition doesn't appeal to me as strongly as
+it should, perhaps. Cousin Holliday and I ARE cousins, but we--well, we
+differ in other ways besides the size of our incomes. When I was in New
+York I went to him at one time. I was--I needed--well, I went to him. He
+consented to see me and he listened to what I had to say, but he was
+not too cordial. He didn't ask me to call again. Now he seems changed,
+I admit. Remembers perfectly well that I am his father's brother's
+only child and all that, and out of the kindness of his heart offers me
+employment. But--but I don't know.”
+
+No one spoke for a moment. Then Emily broke the silence.
+
+“You don't know?” she repeated, rather sharply. “Why not, may I ask?”
+
+“Oh, I don't, that's all. For one thing, there is just a little too much
+condescension in my dear cousin's manner. I may be a yellow dog, but
+I don't like to sit up and beg when my master threatens to throw me a
+bone. Perhaps I'm particular as to who that master may be.”
+
+Again it was Emily who spoke.
+
+“Perhaps you are--TOO particular,” she said. “Can you afford to be so
+particular?”
+
+“Probably not. But, you see, there is another thing. There is a question
+of professional ethics involved. If I take that retainer I am bound in
+honor to undertake any case Cousin Holliday may give me. And--and, I'm
+not sure I should care to do that. You know how I feel about a
+lawyer's duty to his client and his duty to himself. There are certain
+questions--”
+
+She interrupted.
+
+“I think there are, too many questions,” she said. “I lose patience with
+you sometimes. Often and often I have known of your refusing cases which
+other lawyers have taken and won.”
+
+“Meaning Brother Daniels?” He asked it with a smile, but with some
+sarcasm in his tone. Both he and Miss Rowes seemed to have forgotten
+that the captain and Thankful were present.
+
+“Why, yes. Mr. Daniels has accepted cases which you have refused. No one
+thinks the less of him for it. He will accept your cousin's retainer if
+you don't.”
+
+“I presume he will. That would be the practical thing to do, and he
+prides himself on his practicality.”
+
+“Practicality is not altogether bad. It is often necessary in this
+practical world. What case is Mr. Kendrick likely to put in your hands
+which you would hesitate to undertake?”
+
+“None that I know of. But if he did, I--”
+
+“You could refuse to take it.”
+
+“Why, not easily. I should have accepted his retainer and that,
+according to legal etiquette, would make me honor bound to--”
+
+She interrupted again. Her patience was almost gone, that was plain. For
+the matter of that, so was Captain Obed's.
+
+“Don't you think that you are a trifle too sensitive concerning honor?”
+ she asked. “And too suspicious besides? I do. Oh, I am tired of your
+scruples. I don't like to see you letting success and--and all the rest
+of it pass you by, when other men, not so overscrupulous, do succeed.
+Don't you care for success? Or for money?”
+
+John interrupted her. He leaned forward and spoke, deliberately but
+firmly. And he looked her straight in the face.
+
+“I do,” he said. “I care for both--now--more than I ever thought I could
+care.”
+
+And, all at once, the young lady seemed to remember that her cousin and
+the captain were in the room. She colored, and when she spoke it was in
+a different tone.
+
+“Then,” she said, “it seems to me, if I were you, I should accept the
+opportunities that came in my way. Of course, it's not my affair. I
+shouldn't have presumed to advise.” She rose and moved toward the
+door. “Good night, Mr. Kendrick,” she said. “Good night, Captain Bangs.
+Auntie, you will excuse me, won't you? I am rather tired tonight, and--”
+
+But once more Kendrick interrupted.
+
+“One moment, please, Miss Howes,” he said, earnestly. “Do I
+understand--do you mean that you wish me to accept Cousin Holliday's
+retainer?”
+
+Emily paused.
+
+“Why,” she answered, after an instant's hesitation, “I--I really don't
+see why my wish one way or the other should be very strong. But--but as
+a friend of yours--of course we are all your friends, Mr. Kendrick--as
+one of your friends I--we, naturally, like to see you rise in your
+profession.”
+
+“Then you advise me to accept?”
+
+“If my advice is worth anything--yes. Good night.”
+
+Next day, when Captain Obed made his customary call at the
+ex-barber-shop, he ventured to ask the question uppermost in his mind.
+
+“Have you decided yet, John?” he asked.
+
+His friend looked at him.
+
+“Meaning--what?” he queried.
+
+“Meanin'--you know what I mean well enough. Have you decided to take
+your cousin's offer?”
+
+“I've done more than that, Captain. I have accepted the offer and the
+retaining fee, too.”
+
+Captain Obed sprang forward and held out his hand.
+
+“Bully for you, John!” he shouted. “That's the best thing you ever done
+in your life. NOW you've really started.”
+
+Kendrick smiled. “Yes,” he admitted, “I have started. Where I may finish
+is another matter.”
+
+“Oh, you'll finish all right. Don't be a Jeremiah, John. Well, well!
+This is fine. Won't all hands be pleased!”
+
+“Yes, won't they! Especially Brother Daniels. Daniels will be overcome
+with joy. Captain, have a cigar. Have two cigars. I have begun to spend
+my retainer already, you see.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The August days were busy ones at the High Cliff House. Every room was
+filled and the tables in the dining-room well crowded. Thankful told
+Captain Bangs that she could not spare time even to look out of the
+window. “And yet Emily and I are about the only ones who don't look
+out,” she added. “There's enough goin' on to look at, that's sartin.”
+
+There was indeed. Mr. E. Holliday Kendrick having taken possession of
+his new estate, immediately set about the improving and enlarging which
+Mr. Daniels had quoted him as contemplating. Carpenters, painters and
+gardeners were at work daily. The Kendrick motor cars and the Kendrick
+servants were much in evidence along East Wellmouth's main road. What
+had been done by the great man and his employees and what would be done
+in the near future kept the gossips busy. He was planning a new rose
+garden--“the finest from Buzzard's Bay down”; he had torn out the “whole
+broadside” of the music-room and was “cal'latin'” to make it twice as
+large as formerly; he was to build a large conservatory on the knoll by
+the stables. Hannah Parker declared she could not see the need of this.
+“There's a tower onto the main buildin' already,” she said, “pretty nigh
+as high as a lighthouse. I should think a body could see fur enough
+from that tower, without riggin' up a conservatory. Well, Mrs. Kendrick
+needn't ask ME to go up in it. I went to the top of the conservatory on
+Scargo Hill one time and I was so dizzy in the head I thought sure I'd
+fall right over the railin'.”
+
+The High Cliff boarders--Miss Timpson and Caleb Hammond
+especially--spent a great deal of time peering from the living-room
+windows and watching what they called the “goin's on” at the Kendrick
+estate. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of E. Holliday himself. The
+great man was inclined to greatness even in the physical meaning of
+the word, for he was tall and stout, and dignified, not to say pompous.
+Arrayed in white flannels he issued orders to his hirelings and the
+hirelings obeyed him. When one is monarch of the larger portion of all
+he surveys it must be gratifying to feel that one looks the part. E.
+Holliday looked it and apparently felt it.
+
+Thankful, during this, her most prosperous season, was active from
+morning until night. When that night came she was ready for sleep, ready
+for more than she could afford to take. Emily was invaluable as manager
+and assistant, and Captain Obed Bangs assisted and advised in every way
+that he could. The captain had come to be what Mrs. Barnes called the
+“sheet anchor” of the High Cliff House. Whenever the advice of a man,
+or a man's help was needed, it was to Captain Bangs that she turned. And
+Captain Obed was always only too glad to help. Hannah Parker declared he
+spent more time at the boarding house than he did at her home.
+
+If Emily Howes noticed how frequently the captain called--and it is
+probable that she did--she said nothing about it. John Kendrick must
+have noticed it, for occasionally, when he and Captain Obed were alone,
+he made an irrelevant remark like the following:
+
+“Captain,” he said, on one occasion, “I think you're growing younger
+every day.”
+
+“Who? Me? Go on, John! How you talk! I'm so old my timbers creak every
+time I go up a flight of stairs. They'll be sendin' me to the junk pile
+pretty soon.”
+
+“I guess not. You're as young as I am, every bit. Not in years, perhaps,
+but in spirit and energy. And you surprise me, too. I didn't know you
+were such a lady's man.”
+
+“Me? A lady's man? Tut, tut! Don't talk foolish. If I've cruised alone
+all these years I cal'late that's proof enough of how much a lady's man
+I am.”
+
+“That's no proof. You haven't happened upon the right sort of consort,
+that's all. Look at Brother Daniels; he is a bachelor, too, but everyone
+knows what a lady's man he is.”
+
+“Humph! You ain't comparin' me to Heman Daniels, are you?”
+
+“No. No, of course not. I shouldn't dare. Comparing any mortal with
+Daniels would be heresy, wouldn't it? But you certainly are popular with
+the fair sex. Why, even Imogene has fallen under the influence. She says
+Mrs. Barnes thinks you are the finest man in the world.”
+
+“She does, hey? Well,” tartly, “she better mind her own affairs. I
+thought she rated Kenelm Parker about as high as anybody these days. He
+spends more time in that kitchen of hers--”
+
+“There, there, Captain! Don't sidestep. The fair Imogene may be
+susceptible to Mr. Parker's charms, but that is probably because you
+haven't smiled upon her. If you--”
+
+“Say, look here, John Kendrick! If you keep on talkin' loony in this way
+I'll begin to heave out a few hints myself. I may be as popular as you
+say, with Imogene and--and the help, but I know somebody else that is
+catchin' the same disease.”
+
+“Meaning Mr. Daniels, I suppose? He is popular, I admit.”
+
+“Is he? Well, you ought to know best. Seems to me I can call to mind
+somebody else that is fairly popular--in some latitudes. By the way,
+John, you don't seem to be as popular with Heman as you was at first.”
+
+“I'm sorry. My accepting my cousin's retainer may--”
+
+“Oh, I didn't mean that. What was you and Emily doin' at Chris Badger's
+store yesterday afternoon?”
+
+“Doing? Yesterday? Oh, yes! I did meet Miss Howes while I was on my way
+to the office and I waited while she did a little marketing. What in the
+world--”
+
+“Nothin'. Fur's that goes I don't think either of you knew you was IN
+the world. I passed right by and you didn't see me. Heman saw you, too.
+What was your marketin'--vegetables?”
+
+“I believe so. Captain, you're sidestepping again. It was of you, not
+me, I was speaking when--”
+
+“Yes, I know. Well, I'm speakin' about you now. Heman saw you buyin'
+them vegetables. Tomatters, wa'n't they?”
+
+“Perhaps so. Have you been drinking? What difference does it make
+whether we bought tomatoes or potatoes?”
+
+“Didn't make none--to me. But I bet Heman didn't like to see you two
+buyin' tomatters.”
+
+“For heaven's sake, why not?”
+
+“Oh, 'cause he probably remembered, same as I did, what folks used to
+call 'em in the old days.”
+
+“You HAVE been drinking! What did they use to call them?”
+
+“Love apples,” replied Captain Obed, and strode away chuckling. John
+watched him go. He, too, laughed at first, but his laugh broke off in
+the middle and when he went into the house his expression was troubled
+and serious.
+
+One remark of the captain's was true enough; John Kendrick's popularity
+with his professional rival was growing daily less. The pair were
+scrupulously polite to each other, but they seldom spoke except when
+others were present, and Mr. Daniels made it a point apparently to be
+present whenever Miss Howes was in the room. He continued to bring his
+little offerings of fruit and flowers and his invitations for drives
+and picnics and entertainments at the town hall were more frequent.
+Sometimes Emily accepted these invitations; more often she refused them.
+John also occasionally invited her to drive with him or to play tennis
+on his cousin's courts, and these invitations she treated as she did
+Heman's, refusing some and accepting others. She treated the pair
+with impartiality and yet Thankful was growing to believe there was a
+difference. Imogene, outspoken, expressed her own feelings in the matter
+when she said,
+
+“Miss Emily likes Mr. Kendrick pretty well, don't she, ma'am?”
+
+Thankful regarded her maidservant with disapproval.
+
+“What makes you say that, Imogene?” she demanded. “Of course she likes
+him. Why shouldn't she?”
+
+“She should, ma'am. And she does, too. And he likes her; that's plain
+enough.”
+
+“Imogene, what are you hintin' at? Do you mean that my cousin is in--in
+love with Mr. John Kendrick?”
+
+“No'm. I don't say that, not yet. But there's signs that--”
+
+“Signs! If you don't get those ridiculous story-book notions out of
+your head I don't know what I'll do to you. What do you know about folks
+bein' in love? You ain't in love, I hope; are you?”
+
+Imogene hesitated. “No, ma'am,” she replied. “I ain't. But--but maybe I
+might be, if I wanted to.”
+
+“For mercy sakes! The girl's crazy. You MIGHT be--if you wanted to! Who
+with? If you're thinkin' of marryin' anybody seems to me I ought to know
+it. Why, you ain't met more'n a dozen young fellers in this town,
+and I've taken good care to know who they were. If you're thinkin' of
+fallin' in love--or marryin'--”
+
+Imogene interrupted. “I ain't,” she declared. “And, anyhow, ma'am,
+gettin' married don't necessarily mean you're in love.”
+
+“It don't! Well, this beats all I ever--”
+
+“No, ma'am, it don't. Sometimes it's a person's duty to get married.”
+
+Thankful gasped. “Duty!” she repeated. “You HAVE been readin' more of
+those books, in spite of your promisin' me you wouldn't.”
+
+“No, ma'am, I ain't. Honest, I ain't.”
+
+“Then what do you mean? Imogene, what man do you care enough for to make
+you feel it's your--your duty to marry him?”
+
+“No man at all,” declared Imogene, promptly and decisively. And that is
+all she would say on the subject.
+
+Thankful repeated this astonishing conversation, or part of it, to
+Emily. The latter considered it a good joke. “That girl is a strange
+creature,” she said, “and great fun. You never can tell what she will
+say or think. She is very romantic and that nonsense about duty and
+the rest of it undoubtedly is taken from some story she has read. You
+needn't worry, Auntie. Imogene worships you, and she will never leave
+you--to be married, or for any other reason.”
+
+So Thankful did not worry about Imogene. She had other worries, those
+connected with a houseful of boarders, and these were quite sufficient.
+And now came another. Kenelm Parker was threatening to leave her employ.
+
+The statement is not strictly true. Kenelm, himself, never threatened
+to do anything. But another person did the threatening for him and that
+person was his sister. Hannah Parker, for some unaccountable reason,
+seemed to be developing a marked prejudice against the High Cliff House.
+Her visits to the premises were not less frequent than formerly, but
+they were confined to the yard and stable; she no longer called at the
+house. Her manner toward Emily and Thankful was cordial enough perhaps,
+but there was constraint in it and she asked a good many questions
+concerning her brother's hours of labor, what he did during the day, and
+the like.
+
+“She acts awful queer, seems to me,” said Thankful. “Not the way she did
+at first at all. In the beginnin' I had to plan pretty well to keep her
+from runnin' in and sp'ilin' my whole mornin' with her talk. Now she
+seems to be keepin' out of my way. What we've done to make her act so I
+can't see, and neither can Emily.”
+
+Captain Bangs, to whom this remark was addressed, laughed.
+
+“You ain't done anything, I guess,” he said. “It ain't you she's down
+on; it's your hired girl, the Imogene one. She seems to be more down on
+that Imogene than a bow anchor on a mud flat. They don't hitch horses,
+those two. You see she tries to boss and condescend and Imogene gives
+her as good as she sends. It's got so that Hannah is actually scared of
+that girl; don't pretend to be, of course; calls her 'the inmate' and
+all sorts of names. But she is scared of her and don't like her.”
+
+Thankful was troubled. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Imogene is independent,
+but she's an awful kind-hearted girl. I do hate trouble amongst
+neighbors.”
+
+“Oh, there won't be any trouble. Hannah's jealous, that's all the
+trouble--jealous about Kenelm. You see, she wanted him to come here to
+work so's she could have him under her thumb and run over and give him
+orders every few minutes. Imogene gives him orders, too, and he minds;
+she makes him. Hannah don't like that; 'cordin' to her notion Kenelm
+hadn't ought to have any skipper but her. It's all right, though, Mrs.
+Barnes. It's good for Kenelm and it's good for Hannah. Do 'em both good,
+I cal'late.”
+
+But when Kenelm announced that he wasn't sure but that he should “heave
+up his job” in a fortnight or so, the situation became more serious.
+
+“He mustn't leave,” declared Thankful. “August and early September
+are the times when I've got to have a man on the place, and you say
+yourself, Captain Bangs, that there isn't another man to be had just
+now. If he goes--”
+
+“Oh, he won't go. This is more of Hannah's talk; she's put him up to
+this leavin' business. Offer him another dollar a week, if you have to,
+and I'll do some preachin' to Hannah, myself.”
+
+When Thankful mentioned the matter to Imogene the latter's comment was
+puzzling but emphatic.
+
+“Don't you fret, ma'am,” she said. “He ain't left yet.”
+
+“I know; but he says--”
+
+“HE don't say it. It's that sister of his does all the sayin'. And SHE
+ain't workin' for you that I know of.”
+
+“Now, Imogene, we mustn't, any of us, interfere between Kenelm and his
+sister. She IS his sister, you know.”
+
+“Yes'm. But she isn't his mother and his grandmother and his aunt and
+all his relations. And, if she was, 'twouldn't make no difference. He's
+the one to say whether he's goin' to leave or not.”
+
+“But he does say it. That is, he--”
+
+“He just says he 'cal'lates.' He never said he was GOIN' to do anything;
+not for years, anyhow. It's all right, Mrs. Thankful. You just wait and
+see. If worst comes to worst I've got a--”
+
+She stopped short. “What have you got, Imogene?” asked Mrs. Barnes.
+
+“Oh, nothin', ma'am. Only you just wait.”
+
+So Thankful waited and Kenelm, perfectly aware of the situation, and
+backed by the counsel of his sister, became daily more independent.
+He did only such work as he cared to do and his hours for arriving and
+departing were irregular, to say the least.
+
+On the last Thursday, Friday and Saturday of August the Ostable County
+Cattle Show and Fair was to be held at the county seat. The annual
+Cattle Show is a big event on the Cape and practically all of East
+Wellmouth was planning to attend. Most of the High Cliff boarders were
+going to the Fair and, Friday being the big day, they were going
+on Friday. Imogene asked for a holiday on that day. The request was
+granted. Then Kenelm announced that he and Hannah were cal'latin' to
+go. Thankful was somewhat reluctant; she felt that to be deprived of
+the services of both her hired man and maid on the same day might be
+troublesome. But as the Parker announcement was more in the nature of an
+ultimatum than a request, she said yes under protest. But when Captain
+Obed appeared and invited her and John Kendrick and Emily Howes to go to
+the Fair with him in a hired motor car she was more troubled than ever.
+
+“I'd like to go, Cap'n,” she said. “Oh, I WOULD like to go! I haven't
+had a day off since this place opened and I never rode in an automobile
+more'n three times in my life. But I can't do it. You and Emily and John
+can, of course, and you must; but I've got to stay here. Some of the
+boarders will be here for their meals and I can't leave the house
+alone.”
+
+Captain Obed uttered a dismayed protest.
+
+“Sho!” he exclaimed. “Sho! That's too bad. Why, I counted more on your
+goin' than--Humph! You've just got to go, that's all. Can't Imogene look
+after the house?”
+
+“She could if she was goin' to be here, but she's goin' to the Fair
+herself. I promised her she could and I must keep my promise.”
+
+“Yes, yes; I presume likely you must. But now, Mrs. Thankful--”
+
+“I'm afraid there can't be any 'but,' Cap'n. You and Mr. Kendrick and
+Emily go and I'll get my fun thinkin' what a good time you'll have.”
+
+She was firm and at last the captain yielded. But his keen
+disappointment was plainly evident. He said but little during his stay
+at the boarding-house and went home early, glum and disconsolate. At the
+Parker domicile he found Kenelm and his sister in a heated argument.
+
+“I don't care, Hannah,” vowed Kenelm. “I'm a-goin' to that Fair, no
+matter if I do have to go alone. Didn't you tell me I was goin'? Didn't
+you put me up to askin' for the day off? Didn't you--”
+
+“Never mind what I did. I give in I had planned for you to go, but that
+was when I figgered on you and me goin' together. Now that Mr. Hammond
+has invited me to go along with him--”
+
+Captain Obed interrupted. “Hello! Hello!” he exclaimed. “What's this?
+Has Caleb Hammond offered to go gallivantin' off to the Ostable Cattle
+Show along with you, Hannah? Well, well! Wonders'll never cease. Caleb's
+gettin' gay in his old age, ain't he? Humph! there'll be somethin' else
+for the postoffice gang to talk about, first thing you know. Hannah, I'm
+surprised!”
+
+Miss Parker colored and seemed embarrassed. Her brother, however, voiced
+his disgust.
+
+“Surprised!” he repeated. “Huh! That's nuthin' to what I am. I'm more'n
+surprised--I'm paralyzed. To think of that tightfisted old fool lettin'
+go of money enough to hire a horse and team and--”
+
+“Kenelm!” Hannah's voice quivered with indignation. “Kenelm Parker! The
+idea!”
+
+“Yes, that's what I say, the idea! Here's an old critter--yes, he is
+old, too. He's so nigh seventy he don't dast look at the almanac for
+fear he'll find it's past his birthday. And he's always been so tight
+with money that he'd buy second-hand postage stamps if the Gov'ment
+wouldn't catch him. And his wife's been dead a couple of hundred year,
+more or less, and yet, by thunder-mighty, all to once he starts in--”
+
+“Kenelm Parker, you stop this minute! I'm ashamed of you. Mr. Hammond's
+a real, nice, respectable man. As to his money--well, that's his
+business anyhow, and, besides, he ain't hirin' the horse and buggy; he's
+goin' to borrow it off his nephew over to the Centre. His askin' me to
+go is a real neighborly act.”
+
+“Huh! If he's so plaguy neighborly why don't he ask me to go, too? I'm
+as nigh a neighbor as you be, ain't I?”
+
+“He don't ask you because the buggy won't hold but two, and you know
+it. I should think you'd be glad to have me save the expense of my fare.
+Winnie S. would charge me fifty cents to take me to the depot, and the
+fare on the excursion train is--”
+
+“Now what kind of talk's that! I ain't complainin' 'cause you save the
+expense. And I don't care if you go along with all the old men from here
+to Joppa. What I'm sayin' is that I'm goin' to that Fair tomorrow. I can
+go alone in the cars, I guess. There won't nobody kidnap me, as I know
+of.”
+
+“But, Kenelm, I don't like to have you over there all by yourself. It'll
+be so lonesome for you. If you'll only wait maybe I'll go again, myself.
+Maybe we could both go together on Saturday.”
+
+“I don't want to go Saturday; I want to go tomorrow. Tomorrow's the
+big day, when they have the best horse-racin'. Why, Darius Holt is
+cal'latin' to make money tomorrow. He's got ten dollars bet on Exie B.
+in the second race and--”
+
+“Kenelm Parker! Is THAT what you want to go to that Cattle Show for? To
+bet on horse trots! To gamble!”
+
+“Aw, dry up. How'd I gamble? You don't let me have money enough to put
+in the collection box Sundays, let alone gamblin'. I have to shove my
+fist clear way down to the bottom of the plate whenever they pass it
+for fear Heman Daniels'll see that I'm only lettin' go of a nickel. Aw,
+Hannah, have some sense, won't you! I'd just as soon go to that Fair
+alone as not. I won't be lonesome. Lots of folks I know are goin'; men
+and women, too.”
+
+“Women? What women?”
+
+“Oh, I don't know. How should I know?”
+
+“Well--well, I suppose likely they are. Imogene said she was goin'
+and--”
+
+“Imogene! You mean that hired inmate over to Thankful Barnes'? Humph!
+So she told you she was goin', hey? Well, most likely she told a fib. I
+wouldn't trust her not to; sassy, impudent thing! I don't believe she's
+goin' at all. Is she, Cap'n Bangs?”
+
+The captain, who had remained silent during this family jar, could not
+resist the temptation.
+
+“Oh yes, Imogene's goin',” he answered, cheerfully. “She's countin' on
+havin' the time of her life over there. But she isn't the only one.
+Why, about all the females in East Wellmouth'll be there. I heard Abbie
+Larkin arrangin' for her passage with Winnie S. yesterday afternoon. Win
+said, 'Judas priest!' He didn't know where he was goin' to put her, but
+he cal'lated he'd have to find stowage room somewhere. Oh, Kenelm won't
+be lonesome, Hannah. I shouldn't worry about that.”
+
+Kenelm looked as if he wished the speaker might choke. Hannah
+straightened in her chair.
+
+“Hum!” she mused. “Hum!” and was silent for a moment. Then she asked:
+
+“Is Mrs. Thankful goin', too? I suppose likely she is.”
+
+The captain's cheerfulness vanished.
+
+“No,” he said, shortly, “she isn't. She wanted to, but she doesn't feel
+she can leave the boardin'-house with nobody to look after it.”
+
+Miss Parker seemed pleased, for some reason or other.
+
+“I don't wonder,” she said, heartily. “She shouldn't be left all alone
+herself, either. If that ungrateful, selfish Orphan's Home minx is
+selfish enough to go and leave her, all the more reason my brother
+shouldn't. Whatever else us Parkers may be, we ain't selfish. We think
+about others. Kenelm, dear, you must stay at work and help Mrs. Barnes
+around the house tomorrow. You and I'll go to the Fair on Saturday. I
+don't mind; I'd just as soon go twice as not.”
+
+Kenelm sprang to his feet. He was so angry that he stuttered.
+
+“You--you--YOU don't care!” he shouted. “'Cause you're goin' TWICE!
+That's a divil of a don't care, that is!”
+
+“Kenelm! My own brother! Cursin' and swearin'!”
+
+“I ain't, and--and I don't care if I be! What's the matter with you,
+Hannah Parker? One minute you're sailin' into me tellin' me to heave up
+my job and not demean myself doin' odd jobs in a boardin'-house barn.
+And the next minute you're tellin' me I ought to stay to home and--and
+help out that very boardin'-house. I won't! By--by thunder-mighty, I
+won't! I'm goin' to that Cattle Show tomorrow if it takes my last cent.”
+
+Hannah smiled. “How many last cents have you got, Kenelm?” she asked.
+“You was doin' your best to borrer a quarter of me this mornin'.”
+
+“I've got more'n you have. I--I--everything there is here--yes, and
+every cent there is here--belongs to me by rights. You ain't got nothin'
+of your own.”
+
+Miss Parker turned upon him. “To think,” she wailed, brokenly, “to think
+that my own brother--all the brother I've got--can stand afore me and
+heave my--my poverty in my face. I may be dependent on him. I am, I
+suppose. But Oh, the disgrace of it! the--Oh! Oh! Oh!”
+
+Captain Obed hurried upstairs to his room. Long after he had shut the
+door he heard the sounds of Hannah's sobs and Kenelm's pleadings that
+he “never meant nothin'.” Then came silence and, at last, the sounds of
+footsteps on the stairs. They halted in the upper hall.
+
+“I don't know, Kenelm,” said Hannah, sadly. “I'll try to forgive you.
+I presume likely I must. But when I think of how I've been a mother to
+you--”
+
+“Now, Hannah, there you go again. How could you be my mother when you
+ain't but four year older'n I be? You just give me a few dollars and let
+me go to that Cattle Show and--”
+
+“No, Kenelm, that I can't do. You are goin' to leave Mrs. Barnes' place;
+I want you to do that, for the sake of your self-respect. But you must
+stay there and help her tomorrow. It's your duty.”
+
+“Darn my duty! I'll LEAVE tomorrow, that's what I'll do.”
+
+“Oh dear! There you go again. Profane language and bettin' on horses!
+WHAT'LL come next? My own brother a gambler and a prodigate! Has it come
+to this?”
+
+The footsteps and voices died away. Captain Obed blew out the light and
+got into bed. The last words he heard that night were uttered by the
+“prodigate” himself on his way to his sleeping quarters. And they were
+spoken as a soliloquy.
+
+“By time!” muttered Kenelm, as he shuffled slowly past the Captain's
+door. “By time! I--I'll do somethin' desperate!”
+
+Next morning, when Captain Obed's hired motor car, with its owner, a
+Wellmouth Centre man, acting as chauffeur, rolled into the yard of the
+High Cliff House, a party of three came out to meet it. John Kendrick
+and Emily Howes were of the party and they were wrapped and ready for
+the trip. The captain had expected them; but the third, also dressed for
+the journey, was Mrs. Thankful Barnes. Thankful's plump countenance was
+radiant.
+
+“I'm goin' after all,” she announced. “I'm goin' to the Fair with you,
+Cap'n Bangs. Now what do you think of that? . . . That is,” she added,
+looking at the automobile, “if you can find a place to put me.”
+
+The captain's joy was as great as his surprise. “Place to put you!” he
+repeated. “If I couldn't do anything else I'd hang on behind, like a
+youngster to a truck wagon, afore you stayed at home. Good for you, Mrs.
+Thankful! But how'd you come to change your mind? Thought you couldn't
+leave.”
+
+Thankful smiled happily. “I didn't change my mind, Cap'n,” she said.
+“Imogene changed hers. She's a real, good sacrificin' body, the girl
+is. When she found I'd been asked and wouldn't go, she put her foot down
+flat. Nothin' would do but she should stay at home today and I should
+go. I knew what a disappointment 'twas to her, but she just made me do
+it. She'll go tomorrow instead; that's the way we fixed it finally. I'm
+awful glad for myself, but I do feel mean about Imogene, just the same.”
+
+A few minutes later, the auto, with John, Emily and Thankful on the rear
+seat and Captain Obed in front with the driver, rolled out of the yard
+and along the sandy road toward Wellmouth Centre. About a mile from the
+latter village it passed a buggy with two people in it. The pair in the
+buggy were Caleb Hammond and Hannah Parker.
+
+Captain Obed chuckled. “There go the sweethearts,” he observed.
+“Handsome young couple, ain't they?”
+
+The other occupants of the car joined in the laugh. Emily, in
+particular, was greatly amused.
+
+“Why do you call them sweethearts, Captain?” she asked. “You don't
+really suppose--”
+
+The captain burst into a laugh.
+
+“What? Those two?” he said. “No, no, I was only jokin'. I don't know
+about Hannah--single women her age are kind of chancey--but I do know
+Caleb. He ain't takin' a wife to support, not unless she can support
+him. He had a chance to use a horse and buggy free for nothin', that's
+all; and it would be against his principles to let a chance like that go
+by. Cal'late he took Hannah 'cause he knew ice cream and peanuts don't
+agree with her dyspepsy and so he wouldn't have to buy any. Ho, ho! I
+wonder how Kenelm made out? Wonder if he went on his own hook, after
+all?”
+
+In the kitchen of the High Cliff House Imogene was washing the breakfast
+dishes and trying to forget her disappointment. A step sounded in the
+woodshed and, turning, she beheld Mr. Parker. He saw her at the same
+time and the surprise was mutual.
+
+“Why, hello!” exclaimed Imogene. “I thought you'd gone to the Fair.”
+
+“Hello!” cried Kenelm. “Thought you'd gone to the Cattle Show.”
+
+Explanations followed. “What ARE you cal'latin' to do, then?” demanded
+Kenelm, moodily.
+
+“Me? Stay here on my job, of course. That's what you're goin' to do,
+too, ain't it?”
+
+Mr. Parker thrust his hands into his pockets.
+
+“No, by time, I ain't!” he declared, fiercely. “I ain't got any job no
+more. I've quit, I have.”
+
+“Quit! You mean you ain't goin' to work for Mrs. Thankful?”
+
+“I ain't gain' to work for nobody. Why should I? I've got money enough
+to live on, ain't I? I've got an income of my own. I ain't told Mrs.
+Thankful yet, but I have quit, just the same.”
+
+Imogene put down the dishcloth.
+
+“This is your sister's doin's, I guess likely,” she observed.
+
+“No, it ain't! If--if it was, by time, I wouldn't do it! Hannah treats
+me like a dog--yes, sir, like a dog. I'm goin' to show her. A man's got
+some feelin's, if he is a dog.”
+
+“How are you goin' to show her?”
+
+“I don't know, but I be. I'll run away, if I can't do nothin' else. I'll
+show her I'm sick of her bossin'.”
+
+Imogene seemed to be thinking. She regarded Mr. Parker with a steady and
+reflective stare.
+
+“What are you lookin' at me like that for?” demanded Kenelm, after the
+stare had become unbearable.
+
+“I was thinkin'. Humph! What would you do to fix it so's your sister
+would stop her bossin' and you could have your own way once in a while?”
+
+“Do? By time, I'd do anything! Anything, by thunder-mighty!”
+
+“You would? You mean it?”
+
+“You bet I mean it!”
+
+“Would you promise to stay right here and work for Mrs. Thankful as long
+as she wanted you to?”
+
+“Course I would. I ain't anxious to leave. It's Hannah that's got that
+notion. Fust she was dead sot on my workin' here and now she's just as
+sot on my leavin'.”
+
+“Do you know why she's so--what do you call it?--sot?”
+
+Kenelm fidgeted and looked foolish. “Well,” he admitted, “I--I wouldn't
+wonder if 'twas account of you, Imogene. Hannah knows I--I like you
+fust rate, that we're good friends, I mean. She's--well, consarn it
+all!--she's jealous, that's what's the matter. She's awful silly that
+way. I can't so much as look at a woman, but she acts like a plumb
+idiot. Take that Abbie Larkin, for instance. One time she--ho, ho! I did
+kind of get ahead of her then, though.”
+
+Imogene nodded. “Yes,” she said; “I heard about that. Well, maybe you
+can get ahead of her again. You wait a minute.”
+
+She went into the living-room. When she came back she had an ink-bottle,
+a pen and a sheet of note-paper in her hands.
+
+“What's them things for?” demanded Mr. Kenelm.
+
+“I'll tell you pretty soon. Kenelm, you--you asked me somethin' a while
+ago, didn't you?”
+
+Kenelm started. “Why--why, Imogene,” he stammered, “I--I don't know's I
+know what you mean.”
+
+“I guess you know, all right. You did ask me--or, anyhow, you would if I
+hadn't said no before you had the chance. You like me pretty well, don't
+you, Kenelm?”
+
+This pointed question seemed to embarrass Mr. Parker greatly. He turned
+red and glanced at the door.
+
+“Why--why, yes, I like you fust rate, Imogene,” he admitted. “I--I don't
+know's I ever see anybody I liked better. But when it comes to--You see,
+that time when I said--er--er what I said I was kind of--of desperate
+along of Hannah and--”
+
+“Well, you're desperate now, ain't you? Here,” sharply, “you sit still
+and let me finish. I've got a plan and you'd better listen to it.
+Kenelm, won't you sit still, for--for my sake?”
+
+
+The “big day” of the Ostable County Cattle Show and Fair came to an end
+as all days, big or little, have to come. Captain Obed Bangs and his
+guests enjoyed every minute of it. They inspected the various exhibits,
+witnessed the horse races and the baseball game, saw the balloon
+ascension, and thrilled with the rest of the great crowd at the
+“parachute drop.” It was six o'clock when they left the Fair grounds and
+Thankful began to worry about the condition of affairs at the High Cliff
+House.
+
+“It'll be way past dinner time when you and I get there, Emily,” she
+said, “and goodness knows what my boarders have had to eat. Imogene's
+smart and capable enough, but whether she can handle everything alone
+I don't know. We ought to have started sooner, but it's nobody's fault
+more'n mine that we didn't.”
+
+However, when the High Cliff House was reached its proprietor found that
+her fears were groundless. But a few of the boarders had planned to eat
+their evening meal there; most of the city contingent were stopping at
+various teahouses and restaurants in Ostable or along the road and would
+not be home until late.
+
+“Everything's fine, ma'am,” declared Imogene. “There was only three or
+four here for supper and I fixed them all right. Mr. Hammond came in
+late, but I fed him up and he's gone to bed. Tired out, I guess. I asked
+him if he had a good time and he said he had, but it cost him a sight of
+money.”
+
+Captain Obed laughed. “Caleb will have to do without his mornin'
+newspapers for quite a spell to make up for today's extravagance,”
+ he declared. “That's what 'tis to take the girls around. Better take
+warnin', John.”
+
+John Kendrick smiled. “Considering,” he said, “that you and I have
+almost come to blows before I was permitted to even buy a package of
+popcorn with my own money, I think you need the warning more than I,
+Cap'n Bangs.”
+
+“Imogene,” said Thankful, “you've been a real, nice girl today; you've
+helped me out a lot and I shan't forget it. Now you go to bed and rest,
+so's to feel like gettin' an early start for the Fair tomorrow.”
+
+Imogene shook her head. “I can't go right now, thank you, ma'am,” she
+said. “I've got company.”
+
+Emily and Thankful looked at each other.
+
+“Company!” repeated the former. “What company?”
+
+Before Imogene could answer the dining-room door was flung open and
+Hannah Parker rushed in. She was still arrayed in her Sunday gown,
+which she had donned in honor of Fair Day, but her Sunday bonnet was,
+as Captain Obed said afterward, “canted down to leeward” and her general
+appearance indicated alarm and apprehension.
+
+“Why, Hannah!” exclaimed Thankful. “Why, Miss Parker, what's the
+matter?”
+
+Hannah's glance swept the group before her; then it fastened upon
+Imogene.
+
+“Where's my brother?” she demanded. “Have you seen my brother?”
+
+Captain Bangs broke in.
+
+“Your brother? Kenelm?” he asked. “Why, what about Kenelm? Ain't he to
+home?”
+
+“No. No, he ain't. And he ain't been home, either. I left a cold supper
+for him on the table, and I put the teapot on the rack of the stove
+ready for him to bile. But he ain't been there. It ain't been touched.
+I--I can't think what--”
+
+Imogene interrupted. “Your brother's all right, Miss Parker,” she said,
+calmly. “He's been havin' supper with me out in the kitchen. He's there
+now. He's the company I said I had, Mrs. Thankful.”
+
+Hannah stared at her. Imogene returned the gaze coolly, blandly and with
+a serene air of confident triumph.
+
+“Perhaps you'd better come out and see him, ma'am,” she went on.
+“He--we, that is--have got somethin' to tell you. The rest can come,
+too, if they want to,” she added. “It's nothin' we want to keep from
+you.”
+
+Hannah Parker pushed by her and rushed for the kitchen. Imogene followed
+her and the others followed Imogene. As Thankful said, describing her
+own feelings, “I couldn't have stayed behind if I wanted to. My feet had
+curiosity enough to go by themselves.”
+
+Kenelm, who had been sitting by the kitchen table before a well-filled
+plate, had heard his sister's approach and had risen. When Mrs. Barnes
+and the others reached the kitchen he had backed into a corner.
+
+“Kenelm Parker,” demanded Hannah, “what are you doin' here, this time of
+night?”
+
+“I--I been eatin' supper,” stammered Kenelm, “but I--I'm through now.”
+
+“Through! Didn't you know your supper was waitin' for you at home?
+Didn't I tell you to come home early and have MY supper ready? Didn't--”
+
+Imogene interrupted. “I guess you did, ma'am,” she said, “but you see I
+asked him to stay here, so he stayed.”
+
+“YOU asked him! And he stayed! Well, I must say! Kenelm, have you been
+eatin' supper alone with that--with that--”
+
+She was too greatly agitated to finish, but as Kenelm did not answer,
+Imogene did, without waiting.
+
+“Yes'm,” she said, soothingly. “It's all right. Kenelm and me can eat
+together, if we want to, I guess. We're engaged.”
+
+“ENGAGED!” Almost everyone said it--everyone except Hannah; she could
+not say anything.
+
+“Yes,” replied Imogene. “We're engaged to be married. We are, aren't we,
+Kenelm?”
+
+Kenelm tried to back away still further, but the wall was behind him
+and he could only back against it. He was pale and he swallowed several
+times.
+
+“Kenelm, dear,” said Imogene, “didn't you hear me? Tell your sister
+about our bein' engaged.”
+
+Kenelm's mouth opened and shut. “Eh--eh--” he stammered. “I--I--”
+
+“Don't be bashful,” urged Imogene. “We're engaged to be married, ain't
+we?”
+
+Mr. Parker gulped, choked and then nodded. “Yes,” he admitted, faintly.
+“I--I cal'late we be.”
+
+His sister took a step forward, her arm raised. Captain Obed stepped in
+front of her.
+
+“Just a minute, Hannah! Heave to! Come up into the wind a jiffy. Let's
+get this thing straight. Kenelm, do you mean--”
+
+The gentleman addressed seemed to mean very little, just then. But
+Imogene's coolness was quite unruffled and again she answered for him.
+
+“He means just what he said,” she declared, “and what he said was plain
+enough, I should think. I don't know why there should be so much row
+about it. Mr. Parker and I have been good friends ever since I come here
+to work. He's asked me to marry him some time or other and I said maybe
+I would. That makes us engaged, same's I've been tryin' to tell you. And
+what all this row is about I can't see. It's our business, ain't it? I
+can't see as it's anybody else's.”
+
+But Hannah was by this time beyond holding back. She pushed aside the
+captain's arm and faced the engaged couple. Her eyes flashed and her
+fingers twitched.
+
+“You--you designin' critter you!” she shouted, addressing Imogene. “You
+plannin', schemin', underhanded--”
+
+“Shh! shh!” put in Captain Obed. “Easy, Hannah! easy, there!”
+
+“I shan't be easy! You mind your own affairs, Obed Bangs! Kenelm Parker,
+how dare you say--how dare you tell me you're goin' to marry this--this
+INMATE? What do you mean by it?”
+
+Poor Kenelm only gurgled. His lady love once more came to his rescue.
+
+“He's told you times enough what he means,” she asserted, firmly. “And
+I'll thank you not to call me names, either. In the first place I
+won't stand it; and, in the second, if you and me are goin' to be
+sisters-in-law, we'd better learn how to get along peaceable together.
+I--”
+
+“Don't you talk to me! Don't you DARE talk to me! I might have expected
+it! I did expect it. So this is why you two didn't go to the Fair? You
+had this all planned between you. I was to be got out of the way, and--”
+
+“That's enough of that, too. There wasn't any plannin' about it--not
+until today, anyhow. I didn't know he wasn't goin' to the Fair and he
+didn't know I wasn't. He would have gone only--only you deserted him to
+go off with your own--your own gentleman friend. Humph! I should think
+you would look ashamed!”
+
+Miss Parker's “shame”--or her feelings, whatever they might be--seemed
+to render her speechless. Her brother saw his chance.
+
+“You know that's just what you done, Hannah,” he put in, pleadingly.
+“You know you did. I was so lonesome--”
+
+“Hush! Hush, Kenelm!” ordered Imogene. “You left him alone to go with
+another man, Miss Parker. For all he knew you might be--be runnin' off
+to be married, or somethin'. So he come to where he had a friend, that's
+all. And what if he did? He can get married, if he wants to, can't he?
+I'd like to know who'd stop him. He's over twenty-one, I guess.”
+
+This speech was too much for Emily; she laughed aloud. That laugh was
+the final straw. Hannah made a dive for her brother.
+
+“You come home with me,” she commanded. “You come right straight home
+with me this minute. As for you,” she added, turning to Imogene,
+“I shan't waste any more words on a--on a thing like you. After my
+brother's money, be you? Thought you'd get him and it, too, did you?
+Well, you shan't! He'll come right along home with me and there he'll
+stay. He's worked in this place as long as he's goin' to, Miss Inmate.
+I'll take him out of YOUR clutches.”
+
+“Oh no, you won't! Him and me are goin' to the Fair tomorrow and on
+Monday he's comin' back to work here same as ever. You are, ain't you,
+Kenelm?”
+
+Kenelm gulped and fidgeted. “I--I--I--” he stuttered.
+
+“You see, Hannah,” continued Imogene--“I suppose I might as well begin
+to call you 'Hannah,' seein' as we're goin' to be relations pretty
+soon--you see, he's engaged to me now and he'll do what I ask him to, of
+course.”
+
+“Engaged! He ain't engaged! I'll fix the 'engagement.' That'll be broke
+off this very minute.”
+
+And now Imogene played her best trump. She took from her waist a slip of
+paper and handed it to Captain Obed.
+
+“Just read that out loud, won't you, please, Cap'n Bangs?” she asked.
+
+The captain stared at the slip of paper. Then, in a choked voice, he
+read aloud the following:
+
+
+I, Kenelm Issachar Parker, being in sound mind and knowing what I am
+doing, ask Imogene to be my wife and I agree to marry her any time she
+wants me to.
+
+(Signed) KENELM ISSACHAR PARKER.
+
+
+“There!” exclaimed Imogene. “I guess that settles it, don't it? I've got
+witnesses, anyhow, and right here, to our engagement. You all heard us
+both say we was engaged. But that paper settles it. Kenelm and I knew
+mighty well that you'd try to break off the engagement and say there
+wasn't any; but you can't break THAT.”
+
+“I can't? I like to know why I can't! What do you suppose I care for
+such a--a--”
+
+“Well, if you don't, then the law does. If you make your brother break
+his engagement to me, Hannah Parker, I'll take that piece of paper right
+to a lawyer and make him sue Kenelm for--for breach of promises. You
+know what that means, I guess, if you've read the papers same as I have.
+I rather guess that paper would give me a good many dollars damage. If
+you don't believe it you try and see. And there's two lawyers livin'
+right in this house,” she added triumphantly.
+
+If she expected a sensation her expectations were realized. Hannah was
+again stricken dumb. Captain Bangs and Emily and John Kendrick looked at
+each other, then the captain doubled up with laughter. Mrs. Barnes
+and Kenelm, however, did not laugh. The latter seemed tremendously
+surprised.
+
+“Why--why, Imogene,” he protested, “how you talk! I never thought--”
+
+“Kenelm, be still.”
+
+“But, Imogene,” begged Thankful, “you mustn't say such things. I
+never--”
+
+“Now, ma'am, please don't you butt in. I know what I'm doin'. Please
+don't talk to me now. There, Kenelm,” turning to the trembling nominee
+for matrimonial offices, “that'll do for tonight. You go along with your
+sister and be on hand ready to take me to the Cattle Show tomorrow. Good
+night--er--dear.”
+
+Whether it was the “dear” that goaded Miss Parker into one more assault,
+or whether she was not yet ready to surrender, is uncertain. But, at all
+events, she fired a last broadside.
+
+“He SHAN'T go with you tomorrow,” she shrieked. “He shan't; I won't let
+him.”
+
+Imogene nodded. “All right,” she said, firmly. “Then if he don't I'll
+come around tomorrow and tell him I'm ready to be married right away.
+And if he says no to THAT--then--well then, I'll go straight to the
+lawyer with that paper.”
+
+Ten minutes later, when the Parkers had gone and the sound of Hannah's
+tirade and Kenelm's protestations had died away on the path toward their
+home, Thankful, John and Captain Obed sat gazing at each other in
+the living room. Imogene and Emily were together in the kitchen. The
+“engaged” young lady had expressed a desire to speak with Miss Howes
+alone.
+
+John and the captain were still chuckling, but Thankful refused to see
+the joke; she was almost in tears.
+
+“It's dreadful!” she declared. “Perfectly awful! And Imogene! To act and
+speak so to our next-door neighbor! What WILL come of it? And how COULD
+she? How could she get engaged to THAT man, of all men? He's old enough
+to be her father and--and she CAN'T care for him.”
+
+Emily entered the room. She was apparently much agitated and her eyes
+were moist. She collapsed in a rocking-chair and put her handkerchief to
+her face.
+
+“Land sakes!” cried Captain Obed. “Is it as bad as that? Does it make
+you cry?”
+
+Emily removed the handkerchief. “I'm not crying,” she gasped. “I--I--Oh
+dear! This is the funniest thing that girl has done yet.”
+
+“But what is it?” asked John. “What's the answer? We're dying to know.”
+
+Emily shook her head. “I can't tell you,” she said. “I promised I
+wouldn't. It--it all came of a talk Imogene and I had a while ago. We
+were speaking of self-sacrifice and she--she adores you, Auntie, and--”
+
+Thankful interrupted. “Mercy on us!” she cried. “Adores me!
+Self-sacrifice! She ain't doin' this crazy, loony thing for ME, I hope.
+She ain't marryin' that Parker man because--”
+
+“She hasn't married anyone yet. Oh, it is all right, Auntie; she knows
+what she is doing, or she thinks she does. And, at any rate, I think
+there is no danger of Mr. Parker's giving up his situation here until
+you are ready to have him do it. There! I mustn't say another word. I
+have said too much already.”
+
+Captain Obed rose to his feet.
+
+“Well,” he said, “it's too thick off the bows for me to see more'n a
+foot; I give in to that. But I will say this: If that Imogene girl don't
+know what she's up to it's the fust time since I've been acquainted with
+her. And she sartin has spiked Hannah's guns. Either Hannah's got to say
+'dum' when Imogene says 'dee' or she stands a chance to lose her brother
+or his money, one or t'other, and she'd rather lose the fust than the
+last, I'll bet you. Ho, ho! Yes, it does look as if Imogene had Hannah
+in a clove hitch. . . . Well, I'm goin' over to see what the next doin's
+in the circus is liable to be. I wouldn't miss any of THIS show for no
+money. Good night.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+The next morning Kenelm, arrayed in his best, was early on hand to
+escort the lady of his choice to the Fair. The lady, herself, was ready
+and the pair drove away in Winnie S.'s depot-wagon bound for Wellmouth
+Centre and the train. Before she left the house Imogene made an earnest
+request.
+
+“If you don't mind, ma'am,” she said, addressing Mrs. Barnes, “I
+wish you wouldn't say nothin' to nobody about Mr. Kenelm and me bein'
+engaged. And just ask the rest of 'em that heard the--the rough-house
+last night not to say anything, either, please.”
+
+“Why, Imogene,” said Thankful, “I didn't know you wanted it to be a
+secret. Seems to me you said yourself that it wasn't any secret.”
+
+“Yes'm, I know I did. Well, I suppose 'tain't, in one way. But there
+ain't any use in advertisin' it, neither. Kenelm, he's promised to keep
+still.”
+
+“But, Imogene, why? Seems to me if I was willin' to be engaged to
+that--to Kenelm, I wouldn't be ashamed to have folks know it.”
+
+“Oh, I ain't ashamed exactly. I ain't ashamed of what I done, not a bit.
+Only what's the use of tellin'?”
+
+“But you'll have to tell some time; when you're married, sartin.”
+
+“Yes'm. Well, we ain't married--yet.”
+
+“But you're goin' to be, I should presume likely.”
+
+“Maybe so; but not for a good while, anyhow. If I am it won't make
+any difference far's you and me are concerned, ma'am. Nor Mr. Parker,
+either; he'll stay here and work long's you want him, married or not.
+And so'll I.”
+
+“Well, I suppose that's one comfort, anyhow. I won't say anything about
+your engagement and I'll ask the others not to. But folks are bound to
+talk, Imogene. Miss Parker now--how are you goin' to stop her tellin'?”
+
+Imogene nodded knowingly. “I shan't have to, I'll bet you, ma'am,”
+ she said. “She ain't so anxious to have it talked about--not s'long as
+there's a chance to break it off, she ain't. She'll keep still.”
+
+“Maybe so, but folks'll suspect, I guess. They'll think somethin's queer
+when you and Kenelm go to the Cattle Show together today.”
+
+“No, they won't. Why should they? Didn't Hannah Parker herself go
+yesterday with Mr. Hammond? And didn't Mr. Kendrick go with Miss Emily?
+Yes, and you with Cap'n Bangs? Lordy, ma'am, I--”
+
+“Don't say 'Lordy,' Imogene,” cautioned Thankful, and hastened away.
+Imogene looked after her and laughed to herself.
+
+When Captain Obed made his morning call Mrs. Barnes told him of this
+conversation.
+
+“And how is Hannah this mornin'?” asked Thankful. “I was surprised
+enough to see Kenelm in that depot-wagon. I never thought for a minute
+she'd let him go.”
+
+The captain chuckled. “Let him!” he repeated. “Why, Hannah helped him
+get ready; picked out his necktie for him and loaded him up with clean
+handkerchiefs and land knows what. She all but give him her blessin'
+afore he started; she did say she hoped he'd have a good time.”
+
+“She did! Mercy on us! Is the world comin' to an end? Last night she
+was--”
+
+“Yes, I know. Well, we've got to give Hannah credit; she's got a head
+on her shoulders, even if the head does run pretty strong to mouth.
+Imogene's took her measure, judgin' by what you said the girl said to
+you. Hannah's thought it over, I cal'late, and she figgers that while
+there's life there's hope, as you might say. Her brother may be engaged,
+but he ain't married, and, s'long's he ain't, she's got a chance. You
+just see, Mrs. Thankful--you see if Hannah ain't sweeter to Kenelm from
+this on than a molasses jug stopper to a young one. She'll lay herself
+out to make his home the softest spot in creation, so he'll think twice
+before leavin' it. That's her game, as I see it, and she'll play it.
+Give Hannah credit; she won't abandon the ship while there's a plank
+above water. Just watch and see.”
+
+Thankful looked doubtful. “Well, maybe so,” she said. “Maybe she will be
+nice to her brother, but how about the rest of us? She wouldn't speak to
+me last night, nor to Emily--and as for Imogene!”
+
+“Yes, I know. But wait until she sees you, or Imogene either, next time.
+She'll be smooth as a smelt. I'll bet you anything she'll say that,
+after all, she guesses the engagement's a good thing and that Imogene's
+a nice girl. There's a whole lot in keepin' the feller you're fightin'
+off his guard until you've got him in a corner with his hands down. Last
+night Hannah give me my orders to mind my own business. This mornin' she
+cooked me the best breakfast I've had since I shipped aboard her vessel.
+And kept askin' me to have more. No, Imogene's right; Hannah'll play
+the game, and she'll play it quiet. As for tellin' anybody her brother's
+engaged, you needn't worry about that. She'll be the last one to tell.”
+
+This prophecy seemed likely to prove true. The next time Thankful met
+Hannah the latter greeted her like a long-lost friend. During a long
+conversation she mentioned the subject of her brother's engagement but
+once and then at the very end of the interview.
+
+“Oh, by the way, Mrs. Thankful,” she said, “I do beg your pardon for
+carryin' on the way I did at your house t'other night. The news was
+pitched out at me so sudden that I was blowed right off my feet, as you
+might say. I acted real unlikely, I know; but, you see, Kenelm does mean
+so much to me that I couldn't bear to think of givin' him up to anybody
+else. When I come to think it over I realized 'twa'n't no more'n I had
+ought to have expected. I mustn't be selfish and I ain't goin' to be.
+S'long's 'tain't that--that Jezebel of an Abbie Larkin I don't mind so
+much. I couldn't stand havin' her in the family--THAT I couldn't stand.
+Oh, and if you don't mind, Mrs. Thankful, just don't say nothin' about
+the engagin' yet awhile. I shouldn't mind, of course, but Kenelm, he's
+set on keepin' it secret for a spell. There! I must run on. I've got to
+go up to the store and get a can of that consecrated soup for supper.
+Have you tried them soups? They're awful cheap and handy. You just pour
+in hot water and there's more'n enough for a meal. Good-by.”
+
+Imogene, when she returned from the Fair, announced that she had had a
+perfectly lovely time.
+
+“He ain't such bad company--Kenelm, I mean,” she observed. “He talks
+a lot, but you don't have to listen unless you want to; and he enjoys
+himself real well, considerin' how little practice he's had.”
+
+“Did you meet anyone you knew?” asked Emily.
+
+“No'm. We saw quite a lot of folks from East Wellmouth, but we saw 'em
+first, so we didn't meet 'em. One kind of funny thing happened: a man
+who was outside a snake tent, hollerin' for everybody to come in, saw us
+and he says to me: 'Girlie,' he says--he was a fresh guy like all them
+kind--'Girlie,' he says, 'ask your pa to take you in and see the Serpent
+King eat 'em alive. Only ten cents, Pop,' he says to Kenelm. 'Don't miss
+the chance to give your little girl a treat.' Kenelm was all frothed
+up at bein' took for my father, but I told him he needn't get mad--if I
+could stand it he could, I guessed.”
+
+Kenelm reported for work as usual on Monday morning and he
+worked--actually worked all day. For an accepted lover he appeared
+rather subdued and silent. Captain Obed, who noticed his behavior,
+commented upon it.
+
+“Cal'late Kenelm's beginnin' to realize gettin' engaged don't mean all
+joy,” he said, with a chuckle. “He's just got two bosses instead of one,
+that's all. He's scart to death of Hannah at home and when he's
+here Imogene orders him 'round the way a bucko mate used to order a
+roustabout. I said Hannah was in a clove hitch, didn't I? Well, she is,
+but Kenelm--well, Kenelm's like a young one runnin' 'tiddly' on thin
+ice--worse'n that, 'cause he can't stop on either side, got to keep
+runnin' between 'em and look out and not fall in.”
+
+Labor Day, the day upon which the Cape summer season really ends, did
+not, to the High Cliff House, mean the general exodus which it means to
+most of the Cape hotels. Some of Thankful's lodgers left, of course, but
+many stayed, and were planning to stay through September if the weather
+continued pleasant. But on the Saturday following Labor Day it rained.
+And the next day it rained harder, and on Monday began a series of cold,
+windy, gloomy days which threatened to last indefinitely. One after
+the other the sojourners from the cities passed from grumbling at the
+weather to trunk-packing and leaving. A few stayed on into the next week
+but when, at the end of that week, a storm set in which was more severe
+than those preceding it, even these optimists surrendered. Before that
+third week was over the High Cliff House was practically deserted.
+Except for Heman Daniels and John Kendrick and Miss Timpson and Caleb
+Hammond, Thankful and Emily and Imogene were alone in the big house.
+
+This upsetting of her plans and hopes worried Thankful not a little.
+Emily, too, was troubled concerning her cousin's business outlook. The
+High Cliff House had been a success during its first season, but it
+needed the expected September and early October income to make it a
+success financially. The expense had been great, much greater than
+Thankful had expected or planned. It is true that the boarders, almost
+without exception, had re-engaged rooms and board for the following
+summer, but summer was a long way off. There was the winter to be lived
+through and if, as they had hoped, additions and enlargements to the
+establishment were to be made in the spring, more, a good deal more
+money, would be needed.
+
+“As I see it, Auntie,” said Emily, when they discussed the situation,
+“you have splendid prospects here. Your first season has been all or
+more than you dared hope for, and if we had had good weather--the sort
+of weather everyone says the Cape usually has in the fall months--you
+would have come out even or better. But, even then, to make this scheme
+a real money-maker, you would be obliged to have more sleeping-rooms
+made over, and a larger dining-room. Now why don't you go and see
+this--what is he?--cousin of yours, Mr. Cobb, and tell him just how you
+stand? Tell him of your prospects and your plans, and get him to advance
+you another thousand dollars--more, if you can get it. Why don't you do
+that?”
+
+Thankful did not answer. She had few secrets from Emily, whom she loved
+as dearly as a daughter, but one secret she had kept. Just why she had
+kept this one she might not have been able to explain satisfactorily,
+even to herself. She had written Emily of her visit to Solomon Cobb's
+“henhouse” and of the loan on mortgage which had resulted therefrom. But
+she had neither written nor told all of the circumstances of that visit,
+especially of Mr. Cobb's attitude toward her and his reluctance to lend
+the money. She said merely that he had lent it and Emily had evidently
+taken it for granted that the loan was made because of the relationship
+and kindly feeling between the two. Thankful, even now, did not
+undeceive her. She felt a certain shame in doing so; a shame in
+admitting that a relative of hers could be so mean and disobliging.
+
+“Why don't you go to Mr. Cobb again, Auntie?” repeated Emily. “He will
+lend you more, I'm sure, if you explain all the circumstances. It would
+be a perfectly safe investment for him, and you would pay interest, of
+course.”
+
+Mrs. Barnes shook her head. “I don't think I'd better, Emily,” she said.
+“He's got one mortgage on this place already.”
+
+“What of it? That was only for fifteen hundred and you have improved the
+house and grounds ever so much since then. I think he'll be glad to
+let you have another thousand. The mortgage he has is to run for three
+years, you said, didn't you?”
+
+Again Thankful did not answer. She had not said the mortgage was for
+a term of three years; Emily had presumed that it was and she had not
+undeceived her. She hesitated, and Emily noticed her hesitation.
+
+“It is for three years, isn't it, Auntie?” she repeated.
+
+Mrs. Barnes tried to evade the question.
+
+“Why, not exactly, Emily,” she replied. “It ain't. You see, he thought
+three years was a little mite too long, and so--and so we fixed up for a
+shorter time. It's all right, though.”
+
+“Is it? You are sure? Aunt Thankful, tell me truly: how long a term is
+that mortgage?”
+
+“Well, it's--it's only for a year, but--”
+
+“A year? Why, then it will fall due next spring. You can't pay that
+mortgage next spring, can you?”
+
+“I don't know's I can, but--but it'll be all right, anyhow. He'll renew
+it, if I ask him to, I presume likely.”
+
+“Of course he will. He will have to. Auntie, you must go and see him at
+once. If you don't I shall.”
+
+If there was one point on which Thankful was determined, it was that
+Emily should not meet Solomon Cobb. The money-lender had visited the
+High Cliff premises but once during the summer and then Miss Howes was
+providentially absent.
+
+“No, no!” declared Mrs. Barnes, hastily. “You shan't do any such thing.
+The idea! I guess I can 'tend to borrowin' money from my own relation
+without draggin' other folks into it. I'll drive over and see him pretty
+soon.”
+
+“You must go at once. I shan't permit you to wait another week. It is
+almost time for me to go back to my schoolwork, and I shan't go until
+I am certain that mortgage is to be renewed and that your financial
+affairs are all right. Do go, Auntie, please. Arrange to have the
+mortgage renewed and try to get another loan. Promise me you will go
+tomorrow.”
+
+So Thankful was obliged to promise, and the following morning she drove
+George Washington over the long road, now wet and soggy from the rain,
+to Trumet.
+
+Mr. Solomon Cobb's “henhouse” looked quite as dingy and dirty as when
+she visited it before. Solomon himself was just as shabby and he pulled
+at his whiskers with his accustomed energy.
+
+“Hello!” he said, peering over his spectacles. “What do you want? . . .
+Oh, it's you, is it? What's the matter?”
+
+Thankful came forward. “Matter?” she repeated. “What in the world--what
+made you think anything was the matter?”
+
+Solomon stared at her fixedly.
+
+“What did you come here for?” he asked.
+
+“To see you. That's worth comin' for, isn't it?”
+
+The joke was wasted, as all jokes seemed to be upon Mr. Cobb. He did not
+smile.
+
+“What made you come to see me?” he asked, still staring.
+
+“What made me?”
+
+“Yes. What made you? Have you found--has anybody told
+you--er--anything?”
+
+“Anybody told me! My soul and body! That's what you said when I was here
+before. Do you say it to everybody? What on earth do you mean by it? Who
+would tell me anything? And what would they tell?”
+
+Solomon pulled his whiskers. “Nothin', I guess,” he said, after a
+moment. “Only there's so much fool talk runnin' loose I didn't know but
+you might have heard I was--was dead, or somethin'. I ain't.”
+
+“I can see that, I hope. And if you was I shouldn't be traipsin' ten
+miles just to look at your remains. Time enough for that at the funeral.
+Dead! The idea!”
+
+“Um--well, all right; I ain't dead, yet. Set down, won't ye?”
+
+Thankful sat down. Mr. Cobb swung about in his own chair, so that his
+face was in the shadow.
+
+“Hear you've been doin' pretty well with that boardin'-house of yours,”
+ he observed. “Hear it's been full up all summer.”
+
+“Who told you so?”
+
+“Oh, I heard. I hear about all that's goin' on, one way or another. I
+was over there a fortni't ago.”
+
+“You were? Why didn't you stop in and see me? You haven't been there but
+once since the place started.”
+
+“Yes, I have. I've been by a good many times. Didn't stop, though. Too
+many of them city dudes around to suit me. Did you fetch your October
+interest money.”
+
+“No, I didn't. It ain't due till week after next. When it is I'll send
+it, same as I have the rest.”
+
+“All right, all right, I ain't askin' you for it. What did you come
+for?”
+
+And then Thankful told him. He listened without comment until she
+had finished, peering over his spectacles and keeping up the eternal
+“weeding.”
+
+“There,” concluded Mrs. Barnes, “that's what I came for. Will you do
+it?”
+
+The answer was prompt enough this time.
+
+“No, I won't,” said Solomon, with decision.
+
+Thankful was staggered.
+
+“You won't?” she repeated. “You won't--”
+
+“I won't lend you no more money. Why should I?”
+
+“You shouldn't, I suppose, if you don't want to. But, the way I look at
+it, it would be a perfectly safe loan for you. My prospects are fine;
+everybody says so.”
+
+“Everybody says a whole lot of things. If I'd put up money on what
+everybody said I'd be puttin' up at the poorhouse, myself. But I ain't
+puttin' up there and I ain't puttin' up the money neither.”
+
+“All right; keep it then--keep it and sleep on it, if you want to. I
+can get along without it, I guess; or, if I can't, I can borrow it of
+somebody else.”
+
+“Humph! You're pretty sassy, seems to me, for anybody that's askin'
+favors.”
+
+“I'm not askin' favors. I told you that when I first come to you. What I
+asked was just business and nothin' else.”
+
+“Is that so? As I understand it you're askin' to have a mortgage
+renewed. That may be business, or it may be a favor, 'cordin' to how you
+look at it.”
+
+Thankful fought down her temper. The renewal of the mortgage was a vital
+matter to her. If it was not renewed what should she do? What could she
+do? All she had in the world and all her hopes for the future centered
+about her property in East Wellmouth. If that were taken from her--
+
+“Well,” she admitted, “perhaps it is a favor, then.”
+
+“Perhaps 'tis. Why should I renew that mortgage? I don't cal'late to
+renew mortgages, as a general thing. Did I say anything about renewin'
+it when I took it? I don't remember that I did.”
+
+“No, no--I guess you didn't. But I hope you will. If you
+don't--I--I--Solomon Cobb, that boardin'-house means everything to me.
+I've put all I've got in it. It has got the best kind of a start and in
+another year--I--I--Please, Oh PLEASE don't close me out.”
+
+“Humph!”
+
+“Please don't. You told me when I was here before what a lot you thought
+of my Uncle Abner. You knew how much he thought of me. When you think of
+him and what he said--”
+
+Mr. Cobb interrupted. “Said?” he repeated, sharply. “What do you mean he
+said? Eh? What do YOU know he said?”
+
+“Why--why, he told you about me. You said yourself he did. How much he
+thought of me, and all.”
+
+“Is that all you meant?”
+
+“Yes, of course. What else is there to mean? Solomon, you profess to be
+a Christian. You knew my uncle. He did lots of favors for you; I know he
+did. Now--”
+
+“Sshh! shh!” Mr. Cobb seemed strangely perturbed. He waved his hand.
+“Hush!” he repeated. “What are you draggin' Cap'n Abner and Christianity
+and all that in for? They ain't got nothin' to do with that mortgage.
+Who said they had?”
+
+“Why, no one said it. No one said anything; no one but me. I don't know
+what you mean--”
+
+“Mean! I don't mean nothin'. There! There! Clear out and don't bother
+me no more today. I'm--I ain't feelin' well. Got a cold comin' on, I
+cal'late. Clear off home and let me alone.”
+
+“But I can't go until you tell me about that mortgage.”
+
+“Yes, you can, too. I can't tell you about nothin' just now. I got to
+think, ain't I? Maybe I'll renew that mortgage and maybe I won't. I'll
+tell you when I make up my mind. Time enough between now and spring.
+I--Ah, Ezry, how be you? Come on in. Glad to see you.”
+
+The last portion of the foregoing was addressed to a man who had entered
+the office. Mr. Cobb did look as if he was really glad to see him.
+
+Thankful rose. “I'll go,” she said, drearily. “I suppose I might as
+well. But I shan't sleep much until you make up that mind of yours. And
+do make it up the right way, for my sake--and Uncle Abner's.”
+
+Her relative waved both hands this time.
+
+“Shh!” he ordered, desperately. “Don't say no more now; I don't want the
+whole creation to know my business and yours. Go on home. I--I'll come
+over and see you by and by.”
+
+So, because she saw there was no use remaining, Mrs. Barnes went. The
+drive home, through the dismal grayness of the cloudy afternoon, seemed
+longer and more trying than the trip over. The dream of raising money
+for the spring additions and alterations was over; the High Cliff House
+must do its best as it was for another year at least. As to the renewal
+of the mortgage, there was a faint hope. Mr. Cobb's final remarks had
+inspired that hope. He had been on the point of refusing to renew,
+Thankful was sure of that. Then something was said which caused him
+to hesitate. Mrs. Barnes looked out between the ears of jogging George
+Washington and spoke her thought aloud.
+
+“It's somethin' to do with Uncle Abner,” she soliloquized. “He don't
+like to have Uncle Abner mentioned. Hum! I wonder what the reason is. I
+only wish I knew.”
+
+To Emily, who was eagerly waiting to hear the result of her cousin's
+visit to Solomon Cobb, Thankful told but a portion of the truth. She
+did say, however, that the additional loan appeared to be out of the
+question and she guessed they would have to get on without the needed
+alterations for another year. Emily thought they should not.
+
+“If this place is to become really profitable, Auntie,” she insisted,
+“those changes should be made. I don't see why this Mr. Cobb won't lend
+you the money; but, if he won't, then I'm sure someone else will, if you
+ask. Don't you know anyone here in East Wellmouth whom you might ask for
+a loan--on your prospects?”
+
+“No. No, I don't.”
+
+“Why, yes, you do. There is Captain Bangs, for instance. He is well to
+do, and I'm sure he is a good friend. Why don't you ask him?”
+
+Thankful's answer was prompt and sharp.
+
+“Indeed I shan't,” she declared.
+
+“Then I will. I'll be glad to.”
+
+“Emily Howes, if you say one word to Cap'n Obed about borrowin' money
+from him I'll--I'll never speak to you afterwards. Go to Captain Obed.
+The idea!”
+
+“But why not, Auntie? He IS a friend, and--”
+
+“Of course he is; that's the very reason. He is a friend and he'd
+probably lend it because he is, whether he knew he'd ever get it back
+or not. No, when I borrow money it'll be of somebody that lends it as a
+business deal, not from friendship.”
+
+“But, Auntie, you went to Mr. Cobb because he was your relative. You
+said that was the very reason why you went to him.”
+
+“Um, yes. Well, I may have GONE to him for that reason, but there ain't
+any relationship in that mortgage of his; don't you get the notion that
+there is.”
+
+Emily's next question, naturally, concerned the renewal of that
+mortgage. Mrs. Barnes said shortly that she guessed the renewal would be
+all right.
+
+“He's comin' over to settle it with me pretty soon,” she added. “Now
+don't worry your head off any more about mortgages and loans, Emily.
+You're goin' to leave me pretty soon; let's not spend our last days
+together frettin' about money. That mortgage is all right. Maybe the
+extra loan will be, too. Maybe--why, maybe Mr. Kendrick would lend it,
+if I asked him.”
+
+“Mr. Kendrick? Why, Auntie, Mr. Kendrick has no money, or only a very
+little. He is doing well--very well, considering how short a time he
+has practised his profession here, but I'm sure he has no money to lend.
+Why, he tells me--”
+
+The expression of Mrs. Barnes' face must have conveyed a meaning; at any
+rate Emily's sentence broke off in the middle. She colored and seemed
+embarrassed.
+
+Thankful smiled. “Yes,” she observed, drily, “I notice he tells you a
+lot of things--a whole lot more than he does anybody else. Generally
+speakin', he is about the closest-mouthed young man about his personal
+affairs that I ever run across. However, I ain't jealous, not a mite.
+And 'twa'n't of him I was speakin'; 'twas his cousin, Mr. E. Holliday
+Kendrick. He's got money enough, I guess. Maybe he might make a loan on
+decent security. He's a possibility. I'll think him over.”
+
+Mr. E. Holliday and his doings were still East Wellmouth's favorite
+conversational topics. The great man was preparing to close his summer
+house and return to New York. His family had already gone--to Lenox,
+where they were to remain for a few weeks and then journey to Florida.
+E. Holliday remained, several of the servants remaining with him, but
+he, too, was to go very soon. There were rumors that he remained because
+of other schemes concerning his new estate. Just what those schemes were
+no one seemed to know. If John Kendrick knew he told no one, not even
+Emily Howes.
+
+But E. Holliday himself disclosed his plan and it was to Thankful Barnes
+that he did so. He called at the High Cliff House one afternoon and
+asked to see its proprietor. Thankful was a trifle flustered. It was the
+first call which her wealthy neighbor had made upon her, and she could
+not understand why he came at this late date.
+
+“For mercy sakes, come into the livin'-room with me, Emily,” she begged.
+“I shan't know how to act in the face of all that money.”
+
+Emily was much amused. “I never knew you to be frightened of money
+before, Auntie,” she said. “I thought you were considering borrowing
+some of this very--ahem--personage.”
+
+“Maybe I was, though I cal'late I should have took it out in
+consideration; I never would have gone to him and asked. But now
+the--what do you call it?--personage--come to me for somethin', the land
+knows what.”
+
+“Perhaps HE wants to borrow.”
+
+“Humph! Perhaps he does. Well, then, he's fishin' in the wrong
+puddle. Emily Howes, stop laughin' and makin' jokes and come into that
+livin'-room same as I ask you to.”
+
+But this Emily firmly declined to do. “He's not my caller, Auntie,” she
+said. “He didn't even ask if I were in.”
+
+So Thankful went into the living-room alone to meet the personage. And
+she closed all doors behind her. “If you won't help you shan't listen,”
+ she declared. “And I don't know's I'll tell you a word after he's gone.”
+
+The call was a long one. It ended in an odd way. Emily, sitting by the
+dining-room window, heard the front door slam and, looking out, saw
+Mr. Kendrick stalking down the path, a frown on his face and outraged
+dignity in his bearing. A moment later Thankful burst into the
+dining-room. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked excited and angry.
+
+“What do you think that--that walkin' money-bag came here for?” she
+demanded. “He came here to tell me I'd got to sell this place to him.
+Yes, sell it to him, 'cause he wanted it. It didn't seem to make any
+difference what I wanted. Well, it will make a difference, I tell you
+that!”
+
+When she had calmed sufficiently she told of the interview with her
+neighbor. E. Holliday had lost no time in stating his position. The High
+Cliff House, it appeared, was a source of annoyance to him and his. A
+boarding-house, no matter how genteel or well-conducted a boarding-house
+it may be, could not longer be tolerated in that situation. The boarders
+irritated him by trespassing upon his premises, by knocking their tennis
+balls into his garden beds, by bathing and skylarking on the beach in
+plain sight from his verandas. And the house and barn interfered with
+his view. He wished to be perfectly reasonable in the matter; Mrs.
+Barnes, of course, understood that. He was willing to pay for the
+privilege of having his own way. But, boiled down and shorn of
+politeness and subterfuge, his proposition was that Thankful should sell
+her property to him, after which he would either tear down the buildings
+on that property, or move them to a less objectionable site.
+
+“But, Auntie,” cried Emily, “of course you told him you didn't want to
+sell.”
+
+“Sartin I did. I told him all I had was invested here, that my first
+season had been a good one considerin' 'twas the first, and that my
+prospects were all I had a right to hope for. I told him I was sorry
+if my boarders had plagued him and I'd try to see they didn't do so any
+more. But I couldn't think of sellin' out.”
+
+“And what did he say to that?”
+
+“What didn't he say? What I said didn't make a bit of difference.
+He made proclamation that any reasonable price I might name he would
+consider. He wouldn't submit to what he called 'extortion' of course,
+but he would be perfectly fair, and all that. I kept sayin' no and he
+kept sayin' yes. Our talk got more and more sultry long towards the last
+of it. He told me that he made it a p'int to get what he wanted and he
+was goin' to get it now. One thing he told me I didn't know afore,
+and it's kind of odd, too. He said the land this house sits on used to
+belong to him once. His father left it to him. He sold it a long while
+ago, afore my Uncle Abner bought, I guess. Now he's sorry he sold.”
+
+“That was queer, what else did he say?”
+
+“Oh, he said a whole lot about his desire to make East Wellmouth his
+permanent residence, about the taxes he paid, and what he meant to
+do for the town. I told him that was all right and fine and the town
+appreciated it, but that I'd got to think of myself; this boardin'-house
+idea was a life-long ambition of mine and I couldn't give it up.”
+
+“And how did it end?”
+
+“Just where it begun. His last words to me was that if I wouldn't listen
+to reason then he'd have to try other ways. And he warned me that he
+should try 'em. I said go ahead and try, or words not quite so sassy
+but meanin' the same. And out he marched. Oh, Emily, WHAT do you suppose
+he'll try? He can't MAKE me sell out, can he? Oh, dear! Oh, dear! here's
+more trouble. And I thought there was enough already!”
+
+Emily did her best to reassure her relative, telling the latter that of
+course she could not be forced into parting with what was her own and
+that Mr. Kendrick was talking merely for effect; but it was plain that
+Miss Howes herself was troubled.
+
+“I think you should consult a lawyer, Auntie,” she said. “I am sure I
+am right, and that that man can't make you do what you don't want to do.
+But I don't know, of course, and a lawyer would know because that is
+his business. Why don't you ask John--Mr. John Kendrick, I mean? He will
+advise you.”
+
+Thankful nodded. “I will,” she said.
+
+But John did not come home for dinner that night. He had business which
+called him to Wellmouth Centre that afternoon and it was late in the
+evening when he returned. Heman Daniels was late for dinner also,
+and when he entered the dining-room there was an air of mystery and
+importance about him which everyone noticed. Miss Timpson, who seldom
+permitted reticence to interfere with curiosity, asked him what was the
+matter.
+
+“I do declare, Mr. Daniels,” she said, “you look as if you had the cares
+of the nation on your shoulders tonight. Has anything gone wrong with
+one of those important cases of yours?”
+
+Mr. Daniels shook his head. “No,” he answered, gravely. “My cases are
+progressing satisfactorily. My worries just now are not professional.
+I heard some news this afternoon which--er--upset me somewhat, that is
+all.”
+
+“News? Upsettin' news? Land sakes, do tell us! What is it?”
+
+But Mr. Daniels refused to tell. The news concerned other people, he
+said, and he was not at liberty to tell. He trusted Miss Timpson would
+excuse him under the circumstances.
+
+Miss Timpson was therefore obliged to excuse him, though it was plain
+that she did so under protest. She made several more or less direct
+attempts to learn the secret and, failing, went out to attend
+prayer-meeting. Caleb Hammond went out also, though the club, not
+prayer-meeting, was his announced destination. Heman finished his dinner
+alone. When he had finished he sent word by Imogene that when Miss Howes
+was at liberty he should like to speak with her.
+
+Emily, who was in the kitchen with Thankful and Captain Obed, the latter
+having, as usual, dropped in on his way to the postoffice, seemed in no
+hurry to speak with Mr. Daniels. It was not until half an hour later,
+when the message was repeated, that she bade the captain good night and
+started for the living-room. Captain Obed and Thankful smiled at each
+other.
+
+“Heman's a heap more anxious to see her than she is to see him,”
+ observed the former. “He's pretty fur gone in that direction, judgin' by
+the weather signs.”
+
+Thankful nodded.
+
+“I cal'late that's so,” she agreed. “Still, he's been just as fur gone
+with others, if all they say's true. Mr. Daniels is a fascinator, so
+everybody says.”
+
+“Yup. Prides himself on it, always seemed to me. But there generally
+comes a time when that kind of a lady-killer gets hit himself. Lots of
+females have been willin' to marry Heman, but he's never given 'em the
+chance. About so fur he'll go and then shy off.”
+
+“How about that widow woman over to Bayport?”
+
+“Well, I did think he was goin' to cast anchor there, but he ain't, up
+to now. That widow's wuth a lot of money--her husband owned any quantity
+of cranberry bog property--and all hands cal'lated Heman had his eye
+on it. Maybe he and the widow would have signed articles only for Miss
+Howes heavin' in sight.”
+
+“Well, I suppose he's a good man; I never heard a word against him that
+way. And he's a risin' lawyer--”
+
+“Yes--or riz.”
+
+“Yes. But--but I somehow wouldn't want Emily to marry him.”
+
+Captain Obed agreed heartily. “Neither would I,” he declared. Then,
+after a moment, he added: “Hasn't it seemed to you that John Kendrick
+was kind of--well, kind of headin' up towards--towards--”
+
+“Yes. Ye-es, I have thought so. I joke Emily a little about him
+sometimes.”
+
+“So do I, John. How do you think she”--with a jerk of the head toward
+the living-room--“feels--er--that way?”
+
+“I don't know. She likes him, I'm sure of that. But, so fur as I know,
+there's no understandin' between them. And, anyhow, John couldn't think
+of gettin' married, not for a long spell. He hasn't got any money.”
+
+“No, not yet he ain't, but he will have some day, or I miss my guess.
+He's gettin' more popular on the Cape all the time, and popular in
+the right places, too. Why, the last time I was in South Denboro Cap'n
+Elisha Warren spoke to me about him, and if Cap'n 'Lisha gets interested
+in a young feller it means a lot. 'Lisha's got a lot of influence.”
+
+“You say you joke with John about Emily. How's he take the jokes?”
+
+“Oh, he takes 'em all right. You can't get him mad by teasin'
+him, 'cause he won't tease. He generally comes right back at me
+about--er--that is--”
+
+“About what?”
+
+“Oh--nothin'. Just nonsense, that's all. Well, I cal'late I'd better be
+goin' if I want to fetch the postoffice afore it's shut up.”
+
+But he was destined not to “fetch” the postoffice that night. He had
+risen to go when the dining-room door opened and Emily appeared. Her
+face was flushed, and she seemed excited and angry.
+
+“Auntie,” she said, sharply, “Auntie, will you come into the living-room
+a moment. I want you to hear what that--what Mr. Daniels says. Don't
+stop to talk. Come! Captain Bangs, you may come, too. You are--are his
+friend and you should hear it.”
+
+Surprised and puzzled, Thankful and the captain followed her through the
+dining-room to the living-room. There they found Heman Daniels, standing
+by the center table, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable.
+
+“Now, Mr. Daniels,” said Emily, “I want you to tell my cousin and
+Captain Bangs just what you have told me. It's not true--I know it's not
+true, and I want them to be able to contradict such a story. Tell them.”
+
+Heman fidgeted with the paper-cutter on the table.
+
+“I merely told Miss Howes,” he said, nervously, “what was told me. It
+was told me by one of the parties most interested and so I accepted it
+as the truth. I--I have no personal interest in the matter. As--as a
+friend and--and a lawyer--I offered my services, that is all. I--”
+
+He was interrupted by the opening of the front door. John Kendrick,
+wearing his light overcoat, and hat in hand, entered the living-room.
+
+“I'm awfully sorry to be so late, Mrs. Barnes,” he began. “I was
+detained at the Centre. Hello, Captain! Good evening, Daniels! Good
+evening, Miss Howes!”
+
+Captain Obed and Thankful said, “Good evening.” Neither Emily nor Heman
+returned the greeting. John, for the first time, appeared to notice
+that something was wrong. He looked from Mrs. Barnes to Captain Bangs,
+standing together at one side of the table, and at Daniels and Emily
+at the other side. Heman had moved closer to the young lady, and in his
+manner was a hint of confidential understanding, almost of protection.
+
+Kendrick looked from one pair to the other. When he next spoke it was to
+Emily Howes.
+
+“Why, what's the matter?” he asked, with a smile. “This looks like a
+council of war.”
+
+Emily did not smile.
+
+“Mr. Kendrick,” she said, “I am very glad you came. Now you can deny it
+yourself.”
+
+John gazed at her in puzzled surprise.
+
+“Deny it?” he repeated. “Deny what?”
+
+Before Miss Howes could answer Heman Daniels spoke.
+
+“Kendrick,” he said, importantly, “Miss Howes has heard something
+concerning you which she doesn't like to believe.”
+
+“Indeed? Did she hear it from you, may I ask?”
+
+“She did.”
+
+“And that is why she doesn't believe it? Daniels, I'm surprised. Even
+lawyers should occasionally--”
+
+Emily interrupted. “Oh, stop!” she cried. “Don't joke, please. This is
+not a joking matter. If what I have been told IS true I should--But I
+know it isn't--I KNOW it!”
+
+John bowed. “Thank you,” he said. “What have you heard?”
+
+“She has heard--” began Heman.
+
+“Pardon me, Daniels. I asked Miss Howes.”
+
+Emily began a reply, but she did not finish it.
+
+“I have been told--” she began. “I have been told--Oh, I can't tell you!
+I am ashamed to repeat such wicked nonsense. Mr. Daniels may tell you;
+it was he who told me.”
+
+John turned to his fellow practitioner.
+
+“Very well,” he said. “Now, Daniels, what is it?”
+
+Heman did not hesitate.
+
+“Miss Howes has heard,” he said, deliberately, “that your client, Mr.
+Holliday Kendrick, is determined to force Mrs. Barnes here into selling
+him this house and land, to force her to sell whether she wishes it or
+not. Is that true?”
+
+John nodded, gravely.
+
+“I'm afraid it is,” he said. “He seems quite determined. In fact, he
+said he had expressed that determination to the lady herself. He did
+that, didn't he, Mrs. Barnes?”
+
+Thankful, who had been so far a perplexed and troubled listener,
+answered.
+
+“Why, yes,” she admitted. “He was here today and he give me to
+understand that he wanted this property of mine and was goin' to have
+it. If I wouldn't agree to sell it to him now then he'd drive me into
+sellin' later on. That's about what he said.”
+
+Captain Obed struck his fists together.
+
+“The swab!” he exclaimed. “Well, if that don't beat all my goin' to sea!
+Humph! I'd like to know how he cal'lates to do it.”
+
+“Anything more, Daniels?” inquired John.
+
+“Yes, there is something more. What we want to know from you, Kendrick,
+is whether or not you, as his legal adviser, propose to help him in this
+scheme of his. That is what we wish to know.”
+
+“We? What we? Has Mrs. Barnes--or Miss Howes--have they engaged you as
+their attorney, Daniels?”
+
+Before Daniels could reply Emily asked a question.
+
+“Did he--has he asked you to help him?” she demanded. “Has he?”
+
+John smiled. “I doubt if it could be called asking,” he observed. “He
+gave me orders to that effect shortly after he left here.”
+
+Emily gasped. Thankful and Captain Obed said, “Oh!” in concert. Heman
+Daniels smiled triumphantly.
+
+“You see, Miss Howes?” he said.
+
+“One moment, Daniels,” broke in Kendrick, sharply. “You haven't answered
+my question yet. Just where do you come in on this?”
+
+“I--I--” began Daniels, but once more Emily interrupted.
+
+“Are you--” she cried. “Tell me; are you going to help that man force my
+cousin into giving up her home?”
+
+Again John smiled. “Well, to be frank,” he said, “since it IS her home
+and she doesn't wish to sell it I can't for the life of me see how she
+can be forced into selling, with or without my valuable aid. Miss Howes,
+I--”
+
+“Stop! You persist in treating this affair as a joke. It is NOT a
+joke--to my cousin, or to me. Did you tell that man you would help him?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I knew it! I was certain of it! Of course you didn't!”
+
+“Pardon me, Miss Howes,” put in Daniels. “We have not heard all yet.
+Kendrick, do I understand that you told your cousin and--er--benefactor
+that you would NOT help him in his infamous scheme?”
+
+John's patience was nearing its limits. He smiled no more.
+
+“I don't know what you understand, Daniels,” he said, crisply. “Your
+understanding in many matters is beyond me.”
+
+“But did you say you would not help him?” persisted Emily.
+
+“Why no, not exactly. He did not wait to hear what I had to say. He
+seemed to take my assistance for granted.”
+
+Daniels laughed scornfully.
+
+“You see, Miss Howes?” he said again. Then, turning to Thankful: “Mrs.
+Barnes, I met Mr. Holliday Kendrick on the street just after he had come
+from the interview with his--er--attorney. He told me that he intended
+to force you into giving up your property to him and he told me also
+that his cousin here had the case in his hands and would work to
+carry it through. There seemed to be no doubt in his mind that this
+gentleman,” indicating John, “had accepted the responsibility. In fact
+he said he had.”
+
+Captain Obed snorted. “That's plaguy nonsense!” he declared. “I know
+better. John ain't that kind of feller. You wouldn't help anybody to
+turn a woman out of her house and home, would you, John? Course you
+wouldn't. The swab! Just 'cause he's got money he cal'lates he can run
+everything. Well, he can't.”
+
+“Goodness knows I hope he can't!” moaned Thankful.
+
+“And in the meantime we are waiting to hear what his lawyer has to say,”
+ observed Heman.
+
+John stepped forward. “Daniels,” he said, “it strikes me that your
+'we's' are a bit frequent. Why are you interfering in this affair?”
+
+Mr. Daniels drew himself up. “I am not interfering,” he replied. “My
+interest is purely that of a friend. AS a friend I told Miss Howes
+what your cousin said to me. She seemed to doubt my word. In justice to
+myself I propose to prove that I have spoken the truth, that is all. So
+far I think I may say that I have proved it. Now I demand to know what
+you intend doing. Are you for Mrs. Barnes or against her?”
+
+“So you demand that, do you?”
+
+“I do. Will you answer?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Ah ha! I thought not.”
+
+“I'll answer no demands from you. Why should I? If Mrs. Barnes or Miss
+Howes asks me I will answer, of course.”
+
+“Mr. Kendrick--” began Thankful. Emily interrupted.
+
+“Wait, Auntie,” she said. “He must answer me first. Mr. Kendrick, when
+that man came to you with his 'orders,' as you call them, you must have
+had some opportunity to speak. Why didn't you refuse at once?”
+
+For the first time John hesitated. “Well,” he said, slowly, “for one
+reason I was taken completely by surprise.”
+
+“So was Aunt Thankful, when he came to her. But she refused.”
+
+“And, for another, there were certain circumstances which made it hard
+to refuse point-blank. In a way, I suppose Mr. Kendrick was justified in
+assuming that I would work for his interests. I accepted his retaining
+fee. You remember that I hesitated before doing so, but--but I did
+accept, and I have acted as his attorney since. I--”
+
+“Stop! I did not ask for excuses. I ask you, as Mr. Daniels asked, are
+you for my cousin or against her?”
+
+“And I ask you what is Mr. Daniels' warrant for asking me anything?”
+
+“Answer my question! Will you fight for my cousin's rights, or have you
+sold yourself to--to this benefactor of yours?”
+
+John flushed at the repetition of the word.
+
+“I have tried to give value received for whatever benefactions have come
+my way,” he said, coldly. “This matter may be different; in a way it
+is. But not as Mr. Holliday Kendrick sees it. When a lawyer accepts a
+retaining fee--not for one case but for all cases which his client may
+give him--he is, by the ethics of his profession, honor bound to--”
+
+“Honor!” scornfully. “Suppose we omit the 'honor'.”
+
+“That is not easy to do. I AM my cousin's attorney. But, as Mrs. Barnes'
+friend and yours, I--”
+
+Emily stamped her foot. “Friend!” she cried. “I don't care for such
+friends. I have heard enough. I don't wish to hear any more. You were
+right, Mr. Daniels. I apologize for doubting your word. Aunt Thankful,
+you must settle this yourself. I--I am through. I--I am going. Please
+don't stop me.”
+
+She was on her way to the door of the dining-room. Heman Daniels called
+her name.
+
+“One minute, Miss Howes,” he said. “I trust you will not forget you have
+one friend who will be only too glad to work for Mrs. Barnes' interests
+and yours. I am at your service.”
+
+“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Daniels. I--I have no doubt we shall need
+your services. But please don't--”
+
+John Kendrick was at her side.
+
+“Miss Howes--Emily--” he pleaded. “Don't misunderstand me.”
+
+She burst out at him like, as Captain Obed said afterward, “an August
+thunder tempest.”
+
+“Misunderstand!” she repeated. “I don't misunderstand. I understand
+quite well. Don't speak to me again.”
+
+The door closed behind her. Thankful, after an instant's hesitation,
+hurried out after her.
+
+“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Daniels, and followed Mrs. Barnes.
+
+Captain Obed turned to his friend.
+
+“For the Lord sakes, John!” he shouted. “What in the everlastin' do you
+mean? What did you let her go that way for? Why didn't you tell her you
+wouldn't do it?”
+
+But Kendrick paid not the slightest attention. He was gazing at the door
+through which Emily and Thankful had disappeared. His face was white.
+
+“John,” repeated the captain.
+
+“Hush!” ordered John. He strode to the door and opened it.
+
+“Emily!” he cried. “Emily!”
+
+There was no answer. John waited a moment and then turned and walked to
+the window, where he raised the shade and stood looking out.
+
+“John,” said the captain again.
+
+“Hush! Don't say anything to me now.”
+
+So Captain Obed did not speak. A few minutes later the dining-room door
+opened and Mr. Daniels entered. His expression was one of complete, not
+to say malicious, satisfaction. John turned at the opening of the door.
+
+“Emily,” he began. Then, seeing Daniels, he remained silent, looking at
+him.
+
+“Kendrick,” said Heman, with dignity, “in the matter which we have just
+been discussing you will hereafter deal with me. That is Mrs. Barnes'
+wish and also Miss Howes'.”
+
+John did not reply. Once more he walked to the door and opened it.
+
+“Miss Howes!” he called. “Emily! If you will let me explain--Emily!”
+
+“I'll go fetch her,” declared Captain Obed. John pushed him back.
+
+“Don't interfere, Captain,” he said, sharply. “Emily!”
+
+No answer. Daniels made the next remark.
+
+“I'm afraid you don't get the situation, Kendrick,” he said. “Neither
+Miss Howes nor Mrs. Barnes cares to see you or speak with you. After
+this you are to deal with me. They have asked me, as a FRIEND,”
+ emphasizing the word, “to act as their representative in this and all
+matters.”
+
+John turned and looked at the speaker.
+
+“In all matters?” he asked, slowly.
+
+“Yes sir, in all.”
+
+“And they refuse to see me?”
+
+“It would--er--seem so. . . . Is there anything further, Kendrick? If
+not then this affair between your--er--client and mine would appear to
+be a matter of skill for you and me to contest. We'll see who wins.”
+
+John still looked at him.
+
+“So that's it then,” he said, after a moment. “You and I are to
+determine which is the better lawyer?”
+
+“So it would seem. Though, considering my record and experience, I don't
+know that--”
+
+“That such a test is necessary? I don't know that it is, either. But
+we'll have it.”
+
+He walked from the room and they heard him ascending the stairs. Captain
+Obed swore aloud. Heman Daniels laughed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+The next morning the captain was an early caller. Breakfast at the
+High Cliff House was scarcely over when he knocked at the kitchen door.
+Imogene opened the door.
+
+“Mr. Kendrick ain't here,” she said, in answer to the caller's question.
+“He's gone.”
+
+“Gone? So early? Where's he gone; down to his office?”
+
+“I don't know. He's gone, that's all I do know. He didn't stop for any
+breakfast either.”
+
+“Humph! That's funny. Where's Mrs. Thankful?”
+
+“She's up in Miss Emily's room. Miss Emily didn't come down to breakfast
+neither. I'll tell Mrs. Barnes you're here.”
+
+When Thankful came she looked grave enough.
+
+“I'm awful glad to see you, Cap'n,” she said. “I've been wantin' to talk
+to some sane person; the one I've been talkin' to ain't sane, not now.
+Come into the dinin'-room. Imogene, you needn't finish clearin' away
+till I tell you to. You stay in the kitchen here.”
+
+When she and Captain Obed were in the dining-room alone, and with both
+doors closed, Thankful told of the morning's happenings.
+
+“They're bad enough, too,” she declared. “Almost as bad as that silly
+business last night--or worse, if such a thing's possible. To begin
+with, Mr. John Kendrick's gone.”
+
+“Yes, Imogene said he'd gone. But what made him go so early?”
+
+“You don't understand, Cap'n. I mean he's gone--gone for good. He isn't
+goin' to board or room here any more.”
+
+Captain Obed whistled. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “You don't mean it?”
+
+“I wish I didn't, but I do. I didn't see him this mornin', he went too
+early for that, but he took his suitcase and his trunk is all packed and
+locked. He left a note for me with a check for his room rent and board
+in it. The note said that under the circumstances he presumed I would
+agree 'twas best for him to go somewheres else at once. He thanked me
+for my kindness, and said some real nice things--but he's gone.”
+
+“Tut! tut! Dear, dear! Where's he gone to? Did he say?”
+
+“No, I've told you all he said. I suppose likely I ought to have
+expected it, and perhaps, if he is goin' to work for that cousin of his
+and against me, it's best that he shouldn't stay here; but I'll miss him
+awful--a good deal more'n I miss the money he's paid me, and the land
+knows I need that. I can't understand why he acted the way he did last
+night. It don't seem like him at all.”
+
+“Humph! I should say it didn't. And it ain't like him either. There's a
+nigger in the woodpile somewheres; I wish I could smoke the critter out.
+What's Emily say about his goin'?”
+
+“She don't say anything. She won't talk about him at all, and she won't
+let me mention his name. The poor girl looks as if she'd had a hard
+night of it, but she looks, too, as if her mind was made up so fur's he
+was concerned.”
+
+Captain Obed pulled at his beard.
+
+“She didn't give him much of a chance last evenin', seemed to me,” he
+said. “If she'd only come back when he called after her that time, I
+cal'late he was goin' to say somethin'; but she didn't come. Wouldn't
+answer him at all.”
+
+“Did he call after her? I didn't hear him and I don't think she did.
+When she slammed out of that livin'-room she went right up the back
+stairs to her bedroom and I chased after her. She was cryin', or next
+door to it, and I wanted to comfort her. But she wouldn't let me.”
+
+“I see. Probably she didn't hear him call at all. He did, though; and
+he called her by her first name. Matters between 'em must have gone
+further'n we thought they had.”
+
+“Yes, I guess that's so. Do you know, Cap'n, I wouldn't wonder if Mr.
+Daniels knew that and that was why he was so--so nasty to Mr. Kendrick
+last night. Well, I'm afraid it's all off now. Emily's awful proud and
+she's got a will of her own.”
+
+“Um, so I should judge. And John's will ain't all mush and molasses
+either. That's the worst of young folks. I wonder how many good matches
+have been broke off just by two young idiots lettin' their pride
+interfere with their common-sense. I wish you and me had a dime for
+every one that had; you wouldn't have to keep boarders, and I wouldn't
+have to run sailin' parties with codfish passengers.”
+
+“That's so. But, Cap'n Bangs, DO you think Mr. Kendrick is goin' to try
+and force me into sellin' out just 'cause his boss says so? It don't
+seem as if he could. Why, he--he's seemed so grateful for what I've done
+for him. He said once I couldn't be kinder if I was his own mother. It
+don't seem as if he could treat me so, just for the money there was in
+it. But, Oh dear!” as the thought of Mr. Solomon Cobb crossed her mind,
+“seems as if some folks would do anything for money.”
+
+“John wouldn't. I've known of his turnin' down more'n one case there
+was money in account of its bein' more fishy than honest. No, if he does
+work for that--that half Holliday cousin of his on this job, it'll be
+because he's took the man's money and feels he can't decently say no.
+But I don't believe he will. No, sir-ee! I tell you there's a darky in
+this kindlin' pile. I'm goin' right down to see John this minute.”
+
+He went, but, instead of helping the situation, he merely made it worse.
+He found John seated at his office desk apparently engaged in his old
+occupation, that of looking out of the window. The young man's face was
+pale and drawn, but his manner was perfectly calm.
+
+“Hello, Captain,” he observed, as his caller entered. “I trust you've
+taken the necessary precautions, fumigated and all that sort of thing.”
+
+“Fumigated?”
+
+“Why, yes. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, this office is destined
+to become the den of the moral leper. As soon as my respected
+fellow-townsmen, the majority of them, learn that I am to battle with
+Heman the Great, and in such a cause, I shall be shunned and, so to
+speak, spat upon. You're taking big chances by coming here.”
+
+The captain grunted. “Umph!” he sniffed. “They don't know it yet;
+neither do I.”
+
+“Ah yes, but they will shortly. Daniels will take care that they do.”
+
+“John, for thunder sakes--”
+
+“Better escape contagion while you can, Captain. Unclean! Unclean!”
+
+“Aw, belay, John! I don't feel like jokin'. What you've got to tell me
+now is that it ain't so. You ain't goin' to--to try to--to--”
+
+His friend interrupted. “Captain Bangs,” he said, sharply, “this is a
+practical world we live in. You and I have had that preached to us; at
+least I have and you were present during the sermon. I don't know how
+you feel, of course; but henceforth I propose to be the most practical
+man you ever saw.”
+
+“Consarn your practicality! Are you goin' to help that--that gold-dust
+twin--that cussed relation of yours, grab Thankful Barnes' house and
+land from her?”
+
+“Look here, Bangs; when the--gold-dust twin isn't bad--when the twin
+offered me the position of his attorney and the blanket retainer along
+with it, who was it that hesitated concerning my acceptance? You? I
+don't remember that you did. Neither did--others. But I did accept
+because--well, because. Now the complications are here, and what then?”
+
+“John--John Kendrick, if you dast to set there and tell me you're
+cal'latin' to--you can't do it! You can't be goin' to try such a--”
+
+“Oh, yes, I can. I may not succeed, but I can try.”
+
+Captain Obed seldom lost his temper, but he lost it now.
+
+“By the everlastin'!” he roared. “And this is the young feller that I've
+been holdin' up and backin' up as all that's fair and above board! John
+Kendrick, do you realize--”
+
+“Easy, Captain, easy. Perhaps I realize what I'm doing better than you
+do.”
+
+“You don't neither. Emily Howes--”
+
+John's interruption was sharper now.
+
+“That'll do, Bangs,” he said. “Suppose we omit names.”
+
+“No, we won't omit 'em. I tell you you don't realize. You're drivin'
+that girl right straight to Heman Daniels, that's what you're doin'.”
+
+Kendrick smiled. “I should say there was no driving necessary,” he
+observed. “Daniels seems to be already the chosen guardian and adviser.
+I do realize what I'm doing, Captain, and,” deliberately, “I shall do
+it.”
+
+“John, Emily--”
+
+“Hush! I like you, Captain Obed. I don't wish to quarrel with you. Take
+my advice and omit that young lady's name.”
+
+Captain Obed made one last appeal.
+
+“John,” he pleaded, desperately, “don't! I know you're sort of--sort
+of tied up to Holliday Kendrick; I know you feel that you are. But this
+ain't a question of professional honor and that kind of stuff. It's
+right and wrong.”
+
+“Is it? I think not. I was quite willing to discuss the rights and
+wrongs, but I had no--however, that is past. I was informed last night,
+and in your hearing, that the question was to be purely a matter of
+legal skill--of law--between Daniels and myself. Very well; I am a
+lawyer. Good morning, Captain Bangs.”
+
+The captain left the office, still protesting. He was hurt and angry.
+It was not until later he remembered he had not told Kendrick that Heman
+Daniels must have spoken without authority when he declared himself the
+chosen representative of Mrs. Barnes and Emily in all matters between
+the pair and John. Heman could not have been given such authority
+because, according to Thankful's story, she and Miss Howes had
+immediately gone upstairs after leaving the living-room. Daniels
+could have spoken with them again that evening. But when Captain Obed
+remembered this it was too late. Thankful had asked Mr. Daniels to take
+her case, provided the attempt at ousting her from her property ever
+reached legal proceedings. And Emily Howes left East Wellmouth two days
+later.
+
+She had not intended to leave for South Middleboro so soon; she had
+planned to remain another week before going back to her school duties.
+But there came a letter from the committee asking her to return as soon
+as possible and she suddenly announced her determination to go at once.
+
+Thankful at first tried to dissuade her, but soon gave up the attempt.
+It was quite evident that Emily meant to go and equally certain, in her
+cousin's mind, that the reason for the sudden departure was the scene
+with John Kendrick. Emily refused to discuss the latter's conduct or to
+permit the mention of his name. She seemed reluctant even to speak of
+the Holliday Kendrick matter, although all of East Wellmouth was now
+talking of little else. When Mrs. Barnes, driven to desperation, begged
+her to say what should be done, she shook her head.
+
+“I wish I could tell you, Auntie,” she said, “but I can't. Perhaps you
+don't need to do anything yet. Mr. Daniels says the idea that that man
+can force you into selling is ridiculous.”
+
+“I know he does. But I'm a woman, Emily, and what I don't know about law
+would fill a bigger library than there is in this town by a consider'ble
+sight. It's always the woman, particularly a widow woman, that gets the
+worst of it in this kind of thing. I'd feel better if I knew somebody
+was lookin' out for me. Oh dear, if only Mr. John Kendrick hadn't--”
+
+“Auntie, please.”
+
+“Yes, I know. But it don't seem as if he could act so to me. It don't
+seem--”
+
+“Hush! It is quite evident he can. Don't say any more.”
+
+“Well, I won't. But what shall I do? Shall I put it all in Mr. Daniels'
+hands? He says he'll be glad to help; in fact about everybody thinks he
+is helpin', I guess. Hannah Parker told me--”
+
+“Don't, Auntie, don't. Put it in Mr. Daniels' hands, if you think best.
+I suppose it is all you can do. Yes, let Mr. Daniels handle it for you.”
+
+“All right. I'll tell him you and I have agreed--”
+
+“No. Tell him nothing of the sort. Don't bring my name into the matter.”
+
+“But, Emily, you don't think I ought to sell--”
+
+“No! No! Of course I don't think so. If I were you I should fight to the
+last ditch. I would never give in--never! Oh, Auntie, I feel wicked and
+mean to leave you now, with all this new trouble; but I must--I must. I
+can't stay here--I--”
+
+“There, there, Emily, dear! I understand, I guess. I know how hard it is
+for you. And I thought so much of him, too. I thought he was such a fine
+young--”
+
+“Aunt Thankful, are you daring to hint that I--I--care in the least for
+that--him? How dare you insinuate such a thing to me? I--I despise him!”
+
+“Yes, yes,” hastily. “Course you do, course you do. Well, we won't worry
+about that, any of it. Mr. Daniels says there's nothin' to worry about
+anyhow, and I'll tell him he can do what he thinks ought to be done when
+it's necessary. Now let's finish up that packin' of yours, dearie.”
+
+Thankful did not trust herself to accompany her cousin to Wellmouth
+Centre. She was finding it hard enough to face the coming separation
+with outward cheerfulness, and the long ride to the railway station
+she found to be too great a strain. So she made the lameness of George
+Washington's off fore leg an excuse for keeping that personage in the
+stable, and it was in Winnie S.'s depot-wagon that Emily journeyed to
+the Centre.
+
+They said good-by at the front gate. Emily, too, was trying to appear
+cheerful, and the parting was hurried.
+
+“Good-by, Auntie,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Write often and I
+will answer, I promise you. I know you'll be lonely after I've gone,
+but I have a plan--a secret. If I can carry it through you won't be SO
+lonely, I'm pretty sure. And don't worry, will you? The mortgage is all
+right and as for the other thing--well, that will be all right, too. You
+won't worry, will you?”
+
+“No, no; I'll be too busy to worry. And you'll come down for the
+Christmas vacation? You will, won't you?”
+
+“I'll try . . . I mean I will if I can arrange it. Good-by, dear.”
+
+The depot-wagon rattled out of the yard. Winnie S. pulled up at the gate
+to shout a bit of news.
+
+“Say, Mrs. Barnes,” he yelled, “we got one of your boarders over to our
+place now. John Kendrick's come there to live. Lots of folks are down
+on him 'count of his heavin' you over and takin' up along with Mr.
+Holliday; but Dad says he don't care about that so long's he pays his
+board reg'lar. Git dap, Old Hundred!”
+
+A last wave of Thankful's hand, the answering wave of a handkerchief
+from the rear seat of the depot-wagon, and the parting was over.
+Thankful went into the house. Lonely! She had never been more lonely
+in her life, except when the news of her husband's death was brought
+to her. The pang of loneliness which followed her brother Jedediah's
+departure for the Klondike was as nothing to this. She had promised not
+to worry, and she must keep that promise, but there was certainly plenty
+to cause worry. The mortgage which Emily had so comfortably declared
+“all right” was far from that. Solomon Cobb had not been near her since
+their interview. He had not yet said that he would renew the mortgage
+when it fell due. Mrs. Barnes began to fear that he did not intend to
+renew it.
+
+Heman Daniels, when he came in for supper, seemed disturbed to find that
+Miss Howes had gone. Somehow or other he had gained the impression that
+she was to leave the next morning.
+
+“Did she--did Miss Howes leave no message for me?” he inquired, with a
+carelessness which, to Thankful, seemed more assumed than real.
+
+“No,” answered the latter, “no, unless you call it a message about
+takin' the responsibility of Holliday Kendrick and his schemes off
+my hands. That is,” remembering Emily's desire not to have her name
+mentioned in the matter, “she didn't leave that. But I guess you can
+take charge of that mess, if you want to.”
+
+Mr. Daniels smiled a superior smile. “I intended doing so,” he said,
+“as a matter of friendship, Mrs. Barnes. You may rest easy. I have taken
+pains to let the town-folks know that your interests are mine and I
+think our--er--late--er--friend is learning what our best citizens think
+of his attitude.”
+
+There was truth in this statement. John Kendrick had foreseen the effect
+upon his popularity which his espousal of his wealthy relative's cause
+might have and his prophecy concerning “moral leprosy” was in process of
+fulfillment. Opinion in the village was divided, of course. There were
+some who, like Darius Holt, announced that they did not blame the young
+yellow. E. Holliday had money and influence and, as a business man, his
+attorney would be a fool not to stick by the cash-box. But there were
+others, and these leading citizens and hitherto good friends, who openly
+expressed disgust both with the rich man and his lawyer. Several of
+these citizens called upon Thankful to tell her of their sympathy and of
+their wish to help her in any way.
+
+“Not that you're liable to need help,” said one caller. “This property's
+yours and even John D. himself couldn't get it from you unless you were
+willin'. But it's a dirty trick just the same and young Kendrick, that
+all hands thought was so straight and honest, takin' part in it is the
+dirtiest thing in it. Well, he's hurt himself more'n he has anybody
+else.”
+
+Captain Obed Bangs was a gloomy man that fall. He had always liked John
+and the liking had grown to an ardent admiration and affection. He made
+several attempts to speak with the young man on the subject, but the
+latter would not discuss it. He was always glad to see the captain and
+quite willing to talk of anything but Mrs. Barnes' property and of Emily
+Howes. These topics were taboo and Captain Obed soon ceased to mention
+them. Also he no longer made daily calls at the ex-barber-shop and,
+in spite of himself, could not help showing, when he did call, the
+resentment he felt. John noticed this and there was a growing coldness
+between the two.
+
+“But,” declared the captain, stoutly, when he and Thankful were
+together, “I still say 'tain't so. I give in that it looks as if 'twas,
+but I tell you there's a nigger in the woodpile somewheres. Some day
+he'll be dug out and then there's a heap of tattle-tales and character
+naggers in this town that'll find they've took the wrong channel.
+They'll be good and seasick, that's what they'll be.”
+
+Mr. E. Holliday Kendrick, if he knew that his own popularity had
+suffered a shock, did not appear to care. He went on with his plans
+for enlarging his estate and, when he left East Wellmouth for New York,
+which he did early in October, told those who asked him that he had
+left the purchase of the “boarding-house nuisance” in the hands of his
+attorney. “I shall have that property,” he announced, emphatically. “I
+may not get it for some time, but I shall get it. I make it a point to
+get what I go after.”
+
+Emily, in her letters, those written soon after her arrival in South
+Middleboro, said nothing concerning her plan, the “secret” which was to
+cheer Mrs. Barnes' loneliness. Thankful could not help wondering what
+the secret might be, but in her own letters she asked no questions. And,
+one day in mid-October, that secret was divulged.
+
+Thankful, busy in the kitchen with Imogene, preparing dinner, heard the
+sound of wheels and horse's hoofs in the yard. Going to the door, she
+was surprised to see Captain Obed Bangs climbing from a buggy. The buggy
+was her own and the horse to which it was attached was her own George
+Washington. Upon the seat of the buggy was a small boy. Thankful merely
+glanced at the boy; her interest just then centered upon the fact that
+the captain was, or apparently had been, using her horse and buggy
+without her knowledge or consent. She certainly had no objection to his
+so using it, but it was most unlike him to do so.
+
+“Good mornin', ma'am,” he hailed, cheerfully. His eyes were twinkling
+and he appeared to be in high good humor.
+
+“Why, good mornin', Cap'n,” said Thankful. “I--you--you're goin'
+somewhere, I should judge.”
+
+The captain shook his head. “No,” he replied, “I've been. Had an errand
+up to the Centre. I knew somethin' was comin' on the mornin' train so I
+drove up to fetch it. Thought you wouldn't mind my usin' your horse and
+buggy. Imogene knew I was usin' it.”
+
+Thankful was surprised. “She did?” she repeated. “That's funny. She
+didn't say a word to me.”
+
+“No, I told her not to. You see, the--the somethin' I was expectin' was
+for you, so I thought we'd make it a little surprise. Emily--Miss Howes,
+she sent it.”
+
+“Emily--sent somethin' to me?”
+
+“Yup.”
+
+“For the land sakes! Well,” after a moment, “did it come? Where is it?”
+
+“Oh, yes, it came. It's right there in the buggy. Don't you see it?”
+
+Thankful looked at the buggy. The only thing in it, so far as she could
+see, was the little boy on the seat. The little boy grinned.
+
+“Hello, Aunt Thankful,” he said. “I've come to stay with you, I have.”
+
+Thankful started, stared, and then made a rush for the buggy.
+
+“Georgie Hobbs!” she cried. “You blessed little scamp! Come here to me
+this minute. Well, well, well!”
+
+Georgie came and was received with a bear hug and a shower of kisses.
+
+“Well, well!” repeated Thankful. “And to think I didn't know you! I'm
+ashamed of myself. And you're the surprise, I suppose. You ARE one, sure
+and sartin. How did you get here?”
+
+“I came on the cars,” declared Georgie, proudly. “Ma and Emmie put me on
+'em and told me to sit right still until I got to Wellmouth Centre and
+then get off. And I did, too; didn't I, Mr.--I mean Captain Bangs.”
+
+“You bet you did!” agreed the delighted captain. “That's some relation
+you've got there, Mrs. Barnes. He's little but Oh my! He and I have had
+a good talk on the way down. We got along fust-rate; hey, commodore? The
+commodore's agreed to ship second-mate along with me next v'yage I make,
+if I ever make one.”
+
+Thankful held her “relation”--he was Emily's half-brother and her own
+favorite next to Emily herself in that family--at arm's length. “You
+blessed little--little mite!” she exclaimed. “So you come 'way down here
+all alone just to see your old auntie. Did you ever in your life! And I
+suppose you're the 'secret' Emily said she had, the one that was to keep
+me from bein' lonesome.”
+
+Georgie nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Emmie, she's wrote you all about me.
+I've got the letter pinned inside of me here,” patting his small chest.
+“And I'm goin' to stay ever so long, I am. I want to see the pig and the
+hens and the--and the orphan, and everything.”
+
+“So you shall,” declared Thankful. “I'm glad enough to see you to turn
+the house inside out if you wanted to look at it. And you knew all about
+this, I suppose?” turning to Captain Obed.
+
+The captain laughed aloud.
+
+“Sartin I did,” he said. “Miss Howes and I have been writin' each other
+like a couple of courtin' young folks. I knew the commodore was goin'
+to set sail today and I was on hand up to the depot to man the yards.
+Forgive me for hookin' your horse and buggy, will you, Mrs. Thankful?”
+
+Forgiveness was granted. Thankful would have forgiven almost anything
+just then. The “commodore” announced that he was hungry and he was
+hurried into the house. The cares of travel had not taken away his
+appetite. He was introduced to Imogene, at whom he stared fixedly for
+a minute or more and then asked if she was the “orphan.” When told that
+she was he asked if her mamma and papa were truly dead. Imogene said she
+guessed they were. Then Georgie asked why, and, after then, what made
+them that way, adding the information that he had a kitty that went dead
+one time and wasn't any good any more.
+
+The coming of the “commodore” brought a new touch of life to the High
+Cliff House, which had settled down for its winter nap. Thankful, of
+course, read Emily's letter at the first opportunity. Emily wrote that
+she felt sure Georgie would be company for her cousin and that she had
+conceived the idea of the boy's visit before leaving East Wellmouth, but
+had said nothing because she was not sure mother would consent. But that
+consent had been granted and Georgie might stay until Christmas, perhaps
+even after that if he was not too great a care.
+
+He was something of a care, there was no doubt of that. Imogene, whom he
+liked and who liked him, declared that “that young one had more jump in
+him than a sand flea.” The very afternoon of his arrival he frightened
+the hens into shrieking hysterics, poked the fat and somnolent Patrick
+Henry, the pig, with a sharp stick to see if he was alive and not “gone
+dead” like the kitten, and barked his shins and nose by falling out of
+the wheelbarrow in the barn. Kenelm, who still retained his position at
+the High Cliff House and was meek and lowly under the double domination
+of his fiancee and his sister, was inclined to grumble. “A feller can't
+set down to rest a minute,” declared Kenelm, “without that young one's
+jumpin' out at him from behind somethin' or 'nother and hollerin',
+'Boo!' Seems to like to scare me into a fit. Picks on me wuss than
+Hannah, he does.”
+
+But even Kenelm confessed to a liking for the “pesky little nuisance.”
+ Captain Obed idolized him and took him on excursions along the beach
+or to his own fish-houses, where Georgie sat on a heap of nets and came
+home smelling strongly of cod, but filled to the brim with sea yarns.
+And Thankful found in the boy the one comfort and solace for her
+increasing troubles and cares. Altogether the commodore was in a fair
+way to become a thoroughly spoiled officer.
+
+With November came the rains again, and, compared with them, those of
+early September seemed but showers. Day after day and night after night
+the wind blew and the water splashed against the windows and poured from
+the overflowing gutters. Patrick Henry, the pig, found his quarters
+in the new pen, in the hollow behind the barn, the center of the flood
+zone, and being discovered one morning marooned on a swampy islet in the
+middle of a muddy lake, was transferred to the old sty, that built by
+the late Mr. Laban Eldredge, beneath the woodshed and adjoining the
+potato cellar. Thankful's orderly, neat soul rebelled against having
+a pig under the house, but, as she expressed it, “'twas either that or
+havin' the critter two foot under water.”
+
+Captain Obed, like every citizen of East Wellmouth, was disgusted with
+the weather. “I was cal'latin' to put in my spare time down to the
+shanty buildin' a new dory,” he said, “but I guess now I'll build an ark
+instead. If this downpour keeps on I'll need one bad as Noah ever did.”
+
+Heman Daniels, Miss Timpson and Caleb Hammond were now the only boarders
+and roomers Mrs. Barnes had left to provide for. There was little or no
+profit in providing for them, for the rates paid by the two last named
+were not high, and their demands were at times almost unreasonable. Miss
+Timpson had a new idea now, that of giving up the room she had occupied
+since coming to the Barnes boarding-house and moving her belongings into
+the suite at the rear of the second floor, that comprising the large
+room and the little back bedroom adjoining, the latter the scene of
+Thankful's spooky adventure on the first night of her arrival in East
+Wellmouth. These rooms ordinarily rented for much more than Miss Timpson
+had paid for her former apartment, but she had no thought of paying more
+for them. “Of course I shouldn't expect to get 'em for the same if 'twas
+summer,” she explained to Thankful, “but just now, with 'em standin'
+empty, I might as well move there as not. I know you'll be glad to have
+me, won't you, Mrs. Barnes, you and me being such good friends by this
+time.”
+
+And Thankful, although conscious of an injustice somewhere, did not like
+to refuse her “good friend.” So she consented and Miss Timpson moved
+into the back rooms. But she no sooner had her trunks carried there
+than she was struck by another brilliant idea. Thankful, hearing unusual
+sounds from above that Saturday morning, ascended the back stairs to
+find the school mistress tugging at the bureau, which she was apparently
+trying to drag from the small room into the larger.
+
+“It came to me all of a sudden,” panted Miss Timpson, who was out of
+breath but enthusiastic. “That little room's awful small and stuffy
+to sleep in, and I do hate to sleep in a stuffy room. But when I was
+standing there sniffing and looking it came to me.”
+
+“What came to you?” demanded the puzzled Thankful. “What are you talkin'
+about--the bureau?”
+
+“No, no! The idea! The bureau couldn't come to me by itself, could
+it? No, the idea came to me. That little room isn't good for much as a
+bedroom, but it will make the loveliest study. I can put my table and
+my books in there and move the bed and things in here. Then I'll have a
+beautiful, nice big bedroom and the cutest little study. And I've always
+wanted a study. Now if you and Imogene help me with the bureau and bed
+it'll be all fixed.”
+
+So Imogene, assisted by Kenelm, who was drafted in Thankful's place,
+spent a good part of the afternoon shifting furniture and arranging
+the bedroom and the “study.” Miss Timpson superintended, and as she was
+seldom satisfied until each separate item of the suite's equipment had
+been changed about at least twice, in order to get the “effect,” all
+three were nervous and tired when the shifting was over. Miss Timpson
+should have been happy over the attainment of the study, but instead she
+appeared gloomy and downcast.
+
+“I declare,” she said, as she and Thankful sat together in the
+living-room that evening, “I don't know's I've done right, after all. I
+don't know's I wish I had stayed right where I was.”
+
+“Mercy on us! Why?” demanded Thankful, a trifle impatiently.
+
+“Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'cause I'm kind of tired and nervous tonight.
+I feel as if--as if something was going to happen to me. I wonder if I
+could have another cup of tea before I went to bed; it might settle my
+nerves, you know.”
+
+Considering that the lady had drunk three cups of tea at supper Mrs.
+Barnes could not help feeling doubtful concerning the soothing effect of
+a fourth. But she prepared it and brought it into the living-room. Miss
+Timpson sipped the tea and groaned.
+
+“Do you ever have presentiments, Mrs. Barnes?” she asked.
+
+“Have what?”
+
+“Presentiments? Warnings, you know? I've had several in my life and they
+have always come to something. I feel as if I was going to have one
+now. Heavens! Hear that wind and rain! Don't they sound like somebody
+calling--calling?”
+
+“No, they don't. They sound cold and wet, that's all. Dear me, I never
+saw such a spell of weather. I thought this mornin' 'twas goin' to
+clear, but now it's come on again, hard as ever.”
+
+“Well,” with dismal resignation, “we'll all go when our time comes, I
+suppose. We're here today and gone tomorrow. I don't suppose there's any
+use setting and worrying. Be prepared, that's the main thing. Have you
+bought a cemetery lot, Mrs. Barnes? You ought to; everybody had. We
+can't tell when we're liable to need a grave.”
+
+“Goodness gracious sakes! Don't talk about cemetery lots and graves.
+You give me the blue creeps. Go to bed and rest up. You're tired, and no
+wonder; you've moved no less'n three times since mornin', and they
+say one movin's as bad as a fire. Here! Give me that tea-cup. There's
+nothin' left in it but grounds, and you don't want to drink THEM.”
+
+Miss Timpson relinquished the cup, took her lamp and climbed the stairs.
+Her good night was as mournful as a funeral march. Thankful, left alone,
+tried to read for a time, but the wailing wind and squeaking shutters
+made her nervous and depressed, so, after putting the key under the mat
+of the side door for Heman Daniels, who was out attending a meeting of
+the Masonic Lodge, she, too, retired.
+
+It was not raining when she awoke, but the morning was gray and cloudy.
+She came downstairs early, so early--for it was Sunday morning, when
+all East Wellmouth lies abed--that she expected to find no one, not even
+Imogene, astir. But, to her great surprise, Miss Timpson was seated by
+the living-room stove.
+
+“Land sakes!” exclaimed Thankful. “Are you up? What's the matter?”
+
+Miss Timpson, who had started violently when Mrs. Barnes entered, turned
+toward the latter a face as white, so Thankful described it afterward,
+“as unbleached muslin.” This was not a bad simile, for Miss Timpson's
+complexion was, owing to her excessive tea-drinking, a decided yellow.
+Just now it was a very pale yellow.
+
+“Who is it?” she gasped. “Oh, it's you, Mrs. Barnes. It IS you, isn't
+it?”
+
+“Me? Of course it's me. Have I changed so much in the night that you
+don't know me? What is it, Miss Timpson? Are you sick? Can I get you
+anything?”
+
+“No, no. I ain't sick--in body, anyway. And nobody can get me anything
+this side of the grave. Mrs. Barnes, I'm going.”
+
+“You're GOIN'? What? You don't mean you're dyin'?”
+
+Considering her lodger's remarks of the previous evening, those relating
+to “going when the time came,” it is no wonder Thankful was alarmed. But
+Miss Timpson shook her head.
+
+“No,” she said, “I don't mean that, not yet, though that'll come next;
+I feel it coming already. No, Mrs. Barnes, I don't mean that. I mean I'm
+going away. I can't live here any longer.”
+
+Thankful collapsed upon a chair.
+
+“Goin'!” she repeated. “You're goin' to leave here? Why--why you've just
+fixed up to stay!”
+
+Miss Timpson groaned. “I know,” she wailed; “I thought I had, but
+I--I've changed my mind. I'm going to leave--now.”
+
+By way of proof she pointed to her traveling-bag, which was beside her
+on the floor. Mrs. Barnes had not noticed the bag before, but now she
+saw that it was, apparently, packed.
+
+“My trunks ain't ready yet,” went on the schoolmistress. “I tried to
+pack 'em, but--but I couldn't. I couldn't bear to do it alone. Maybe you
+or Imogene will help me by and by. Oh, my soul! What was that?”
+
+“What? I didn't hear anything.”
+
+“Didn't you? Well, perhaps I didn't, either. It's just my nerves, I
+guess! Mrs. Barnes, could you help me pack those trunks pretty soon? I'm
+going away. I must go. If I stay in this house any longer I shall DIE.”
+
+She was trembling and wringing her hands. Thankful tried to comfort
+her and did succeed in quieting her somewhat, but, in spite of her
+questionings and pleadings Miss Timpson refused to reveal the cause of
+her agitation or of her sudden determination to leave the High Cliff
+House.
+
+“It ain't anything you've done or haven't done, Mrs. Barnes,” she said.
+“I like it here and I like the board and I like you. But I must go. I'm
+going to my cousin's down in the village first and after that I don't
+know where I'll go. Please don't ask me any more.”
+
+She ate a few mouthfuls of the breakfast which Thankful hastily prepared
+for her and then she departed for her cousin's. Thankful begged her to
+stay until Kenelm came, when he might harness the horse and drive her
+to her destination, but she would not wait. She would not even remain to
+pack her trunks.
+
+“I'll come back and pack 'em,” she said. “Or perhaps you and Imogene
+will pack 'em for me. Oh, Mrs. Barnes, you've been so kind. I hate to
+leave you this way, I do, honest.”
+
+“But WHY are you leavin'?” asked Thankful once more. For the first time
+Miss Timpson seemed to hesitate. She looked about, as if to make sure
+that the two were alone; then she leaned forward and whispered in her
+companion's ear.
+
+“Mrs. Barnes,” she whispered, “I--I didn't mean to tell you. I didn't
+mean to tell anybody. 'Twas too personal, too sacred a thing to tell.
+But I don't know's I shan't tell you after all; seem's as if I must tell
+somebody. Mrs. Barnes, I shan't live much longer. I've had a warning.”
+
+Thankful stared at her.
+
+“Rebecca Timpson!” she exclaimed. “Have you gone crazy? What are you
+talkin' about? A warnin'!”
+
+“Yes, a warning. I was warned last night. You--you knew I was a twin,
+didn't you?”
+
+“A which?”
+
+“A twin. Probably you didn't know it, but I used to have a twin sister,
+Medora, that died when she was only nineteen. She and I looked alike,
+and were alike, in most everything. We thought the world of each other,
+used to be together daytimes and sleep together nights. And she used
+to--er--well, she was different from me in one way--she couldn't help
+it, poor thing--she used to snore something dreadful. I used to scold
+her for it, poor soul. Many's the time I've reproached myself since,
+but--”
+
+“For mercy sakes, what's your sister's snorin' got to do with--”
+
+“Hush! Mrs. Barnes,” with intense solemnity. “As sure as you and I live
+and breathe this minute, my sister Medora came to me last night.”
+
+“CAME to you! Why--you mean you dreamed about her, don't you? There's
+nothin' strange in that. When you took that fourth cup of tea I said to
+myself--”
+
+“HUSH! Oh, hush! DON'T talk so. I didn't dream. Mrs. Barnes, I woke up
+at two o'clock this morning and--and I heard Medora snoring as plain as
+I ever heard anything.”
+
+Thankful was strongly tempted to laugh, but the expression on Miss
+Timpson's face was so deadly serious that she refrained.
+
+“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “Is that all? That's nothin'. A night like
+last night, with the rain and the blinds and the wind--”
+
+“Hush! It wasn't the wind. Don't you suppose I know? I thought it was
+the wind or my imagination at first. But I laid there and listened and I
+kept hearing it. Finally I got up and lit my lamp; and still I heard it.
+It was snoring and it didn't come from the room I was in. It came from
+the little back room I'd made into a study.”
+
+Thankful's smile faded. She was conscious of a curious prickling at
+the roots of her black hair. The back bedroom! The room in which Laban
+Eldredge died! The room in which she herself had heard--
+
+“I went into that room,” continued Miss Timpson. “I don't know how I
+ever did it, but I did. I looked everywhere, but there was nobody there,
+not a sign of anybody. And still that dreadful snoring kept on and on.
+And then I realized--” with a shudder, “I realized what I hadn't noticed
+before; that room was exactly the size and shape of the one Medora and
+I used to sleep in. Mrs. Barnes, it was Medora's spirit that had come to
+me. Do you wonder I can't stay here any longer?”
+
+Thankful fought with her feelings. She put a hand on the back of her
+neck and rubbed vigorously. “Nonsense!” she declared, bravely. “You
+imagined it. Nonsense! Whoever heard of a snorin' ghost?”
+
+But Miss Timpson only shook her head. “Good-by, Thankful,” she said. “I
+shan't tell anybody; as I said, I didn't mean to tell you. If--if you
+hear that anything's happened to me--happened sudden, you know--you'll
+understand. You can tell Imogene and Mr. Daniels and Mr. Hammond that
+I--that I've gone visiting to my cousin Sarah's. That'll be true,
+anyway. Good-by. You MAY see me again in this life, but I doubt it.”
+
+She hurried away along the path. Thankful reentered the house and stood
+in the middle of the kitchen floor, thinking. Then she walked steadily
+to the foot of the back stairs, ascended them, and walked straight
+to the apartments so recently occupied by the schoolmistress. Miss
+Timpson's trunks were there and the greater part of her belongings. Mrs.
+Barnes did not stop to look at these. She crossed the larger room and
+entered the little back bedroom.
+
+The clouds were breaking and the light of the November sun shone in. The
+little room was almost cheerful. There were no sounds except those from
+without, the neigh of George Washington from his stall, the cackle of
+the hens, the hungry grunts of Patrick Henry, the pig, in his sty beside
+the kitchen.
+
+Thankful looked and listened. Then she made a careful examination of the
+room, but found nothing mysterious or out of the ordinary. And yet there
+was a mystery there. She had long since decided that her own experience
+in that room had been imagination, but now that conviction was shaken.
+Miss Timpson must have heard something; she HAD heard something which
+frightened her into leaving the boarding-house she professed to like so
+well. Ghost or no ghost, Miss Timpson had gone; and one more source of
+income upon which Mrs. Barnes had depended went with her. Slowly, and
+with the feeling that not only this world but the next was conspiring to
+bring about the failure of her enterprise and the ruin of her plans and
+her hopes, Thankful descended the stairs to the kitchen and set about
+preparing breakfast.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Mr. Caleb Hammond rose that Sunday morning with a partially developed
+attack of indigestion and a thoroughly developed “grouch.”
+ The indigestion was due to an injudicious partaking of light
+refreshment--sandwiches, ice cream and sarsaparilla “tonic”--at the
+club the previous evening. Simeon Baker had paid for the refreshment,
+ordering the supplies sent in from Mr. Chris Badger's store. Simeon had
+received an unexpected high price for cranberries shipped to New York,
+and was in consequence “flush” and reckless. He appeared at the club at
+nine-thirty, after most of its married members had departed for their
+homes and only a few of the younger set and one or two bachelors, like
+Mr. Hammond, remained, and announced that he was going to “blow the
+crowd.” The crowd was quite willing to be blown and said so.
+
+Mr. Hammond ate three sandwiches and two plates of ice cream, also he
+smoked two cigars. He did not really feel the need of the second cream
+or the second cigar, but, as they were furnished without cost to him, he
+took them as a matter of principle. Hence the indigestion.
+
+The “grouch” was due partially to the unwonted dissipation and its
+consequences and partly to the fact that his winter “flannels” had not
+been returned by Mrs. Melinda Pease, to whom they had been consigned for
+mending and overhauling.
+
+It was the tenth of November and for a period of twenty-four years, ever
+since his recovery from a severe attack of rheumatic fever, Caleb had
+made it a point to lay aside his summer underwear on the morning of
+November tenth and don a heavy suit. Weather, cold or warm, was not
+supposed to have any bearing on this change. The ninth might be as
+frigid as a Greenland twilight and the tenth as balmy as a Florida
+noon--no matter; on the ninth Mr. Hammond wore light underwear and
+shivered; on the tenth he wore his “flannels” and perspired. It was
+another of his principles, and Caleb had a deserved reputation for
+adhering to principle and being “sot” in his ways.
+
+So, when, on this particular tenth of November, this Sabbath morning,
+he rose, conscious of the sandwiches and “tonic,” and found no suit of
+flannels ready for him to don, his grouch began to develop. He opened
+his chamber door a crack and shouted through the crack.
+
+“Mrs. Barnes,” he called. “Hi--i, Mrs. Barnes!”
+
+Thankful, still busy in the kitchen, where she had been joined by
+Imogene, sent the latter to find out what was the matter. Imogene
+returned, grinning.
+
+“He wants his flannels,” she announced. “Wants to know where them winter
+flannels Mrs. Pease sent home yesterday are. Why, ain't they in his
+room, he says.”
+
+Thankful sniffed. Her experience with Miss Timpson, and the worry caused
+by the latter's leaving, had had their effect upon her patience.
+
+“Mercy sakes!” she exclaimed. “Is that all? I thought the house was
+afire. I don't know where his flannels are. Why should I? Where'd
+Melindy put 'em when she brought 'em here?”
+
+Imogene chuckled. “I don't think she brought 'em at all,” she replied.
+“She wa'n't here yesterday. She--why, yes, seems to me Kenelm said he
+heard she was sick abed with a cold.”
+
+Thankful nodded. “So she is,” she said. “Probably the poor thing ain't
+had time to finish mendin' 'em. It's a good deal of a job, I guess. She
+told me once that that Hammond man wore his inside clothes till they
+wa'n't anything BUT mendin', just hung together with patches, as you
+might say. His suits and overcoats are all right enough 'most always,
+but he can't seem to bear to spend money for anything underneath.
+Perhaps he figgers that patches are good as anything else, long's they
+don't show. Imogene, go tell him Melindy didn't fetch 'em.”
+
+Imogene went and returned with her grin broader than ever.
+
+“He says she did bring 'em,” she announced. “Says she always brings him
+his things on the ninth. He's pretty peppery this mornin', seems to me.
+Says he don't cal'late to stand there and freeze much longer.”
+
+“Freeze! Why, it's the warmest day we've had for a fortni't. The sun's
+come out and it's cleared up fine, like Indian summer. Oh, DO be still!”
+ as another shout for “Mrs. Barnes” came from above. “Here, never mind,
+Imogene; I'll tell him.”
+
+She went into the front hall and called up the stairs.
+
+“Your things ain't here, Mr. Hammond,” she said. “Melindy didn't bring
+'em. She's laid up with a cold and probably couldn't get 'em ready.”
+
+“Course she's got 'em ready! She always has 'em ready. She knows I want
+'em.”
+
+“Maybe so, but she ain't always sick, 'tain't likely. They ain't here,
+anyway. You won't need 'em today.”
+
+“Need 'em? Course I need 'em. It's colder than Christmas.”
+
+“No, it isn't. It's almost as warm as September. Put on two suits of
+your others, if you're so cold. And come down to breakfast as soon as
+you can. We've all had ours.”
+
+When Mr. Hammond did come down to breakfast his manner was that of a
+martyr. The breakfast itself, baked beans and fishballs, did not appeal
+to him, and he ate little. He grumbled as he drank his coffee.
+
+“Healthy note, this is!” he muttered. “Got to set around and freeze to
+death just 'cause that lazy critter ain't finished her job. I pay her
+for it, don't I?”
+
+Thankful sniffed. “I suppose you do,” she said, adding under her breath,
+“though how much you pay is another thing.”
+
+“Is this all the breakfast you've got?” queried Caleb.
+
+“Why, yes; it's what we always have Sunday mornin's. Isn't it what you
+expected?”
+
+“Oh, I expected it, all right. Take it away; I don't want no more.
+Consarn it! I wish sometimes I had a home of my own.”
+
+“Well, why don't you have one? I should think you would. You can afford
+it.”
+
+Mr. Hammond did not reply. He folded his napkin, seized his hat and coat
+and went out. When he crossed the threshold he shivered, as a matter of
+principle.
+
+He stalked gloomily along the path by the edge of the bluff. Captain
+Obed Bangs came up the path and they met.
+
+“Hello, Caleb!” hailed the captain. “Fine weather at last, eh? Almost
+like August. Injun summer at last, I cal'late. What you got your coat
+collar turned up for? Afraid of getting your neck sunburned?”
+
+Mr. Hammond grunted and hurried on. Captain Obed had chosen a poor topic
+if he desired a lengthy conversation.
+
+Mrs. Pease lived at the farther end of the village and when Caleb
+reached there he was met by the lady's niece, Emma Snow.
+
+“Aunt Melindy's real poorly,” said Emma. “She's been so for 'most three
+days. I'm stayin' here with her till she gets better. No, she ain't had
+time to do your mendin' yet. Anyhow it's so nice and warm you don't need
+the things, that's a comfort.”
+
+It may have been a comfort to her, but it was not to Caleb. He growled
+a reply and turned on his heel. The churchgoers along the main road
+received scanty acknowledgment of their greetings.
+
+“Ain't you comin' to meetin'?” asked Abbie Larkin.
+
+“Naw,” snarled Caleb, “I ain't.”
+
+“Why not? And it's such a lovely day, too.”
+
+“Ugh!”
+
+“Why ain't you comin' to meetin', Mr. Hammond?”
+
+“'Cause I don't feel like it, that's why.”
+
+“I want to know! Well, you DON'T seem to be in a pious frame of mind,
+that's a fact. Better come; you may not feel like church, but I should
+say you needed it, if ever anybody did.”
+
+Caleb did not deign a reply. He stalked across the road and took the
+path to the shore.
+
+As he came opposite the Parker cottage he saw Hannah Parker at the
+window. He nodded and his nod was returned. Hannah's experience was as
+gloomy as his own. She did not look happy and somehow the idea that she
+was not happy pleased him; Abbie Larkin had been altogether too happy;
+it grated on him. He was miserable and he wanted company of his own
+kind. He stopped, hesitated, and then turned in at the Parker gate.
+
+Hannah opened the door.
+
+“Good mornin', Caleb,” she said. “Come in, won't you? It looks sort of
+chilly outdoor.”
+
+This WAS a kindred spirit. Mr. Hammond entered the Parker sitting-room.
+Hannah motioned toward a chair and he sat down.
+
+“Mornin', Hannah,” said Caleb. “'Tis chilly. It'll be a mercy if we
+don't catch our deaths, dressed the way some of us be. How's things with
+you?”
+
+Miss Parker shook her head. “Oh, I don't know, Caleb,” she answered.
+“They ain't all they might be, I'm afraid.”
+
+“What's the matter? Ain't you feelin' up to the mark?”
+
+“Oh, yes--yes; I'm feeling well enough in body. I ain't sick, if that's
+what you mean. I'm kind of blue and--and lonesome, that's all. I try to
+bear up under my burdens, but I get compressed in spirit sometimes, I
+can't help it. Ah, hum a day!”
+
+She sighed and Mr. Hammond sighed also.
+
+“You ain't the only one,” he said. “I'm bluer'n a whetstone myself, this
+mornin'.”
+
+“What's the trouble?”
+
+“Trouble? Trouble enough! Somethin' happened this mornin' that riled me
+all up. It--” he paused, remembering that the cause of the “rilin'” was
+somewhat personal, not to say delicate. “Well--well, never mind what it
+was,” he added. “'Twas mighty aggravatin', that's all I've got to say.”
+
+Hannah sighed again. “Ah, hum!” she observed. “There's aggravations
+enough in this life. And they generally come on account of somebody
+else, too. There's times when I wish I didn't have any flesh and blood.”
+
+“Hey? Good land! No flesh and blood! What do you want--bones?”
+
+“Oh, I don't mean that. I wish I didn't have any--any relations of my
+own flesh and blood.”
+
+“Humph! I don't know's you'd be any better off. I ain't got nobody and
+I ain't what you might call cheerful. I know what's the matter with you,
+though. That Kenelm's been frettin' you again, I suppose.”
+
+He had guessed it. Kenelm that morning had suddenly announced that he
+was to have a day off. He was cal'latin' to borrow Mrs. Barnes' horse
+and buggy and go for a ride. His sister promptly declared that would be
+lovely; she was just wishing for a ride. Whereupon Kenelm had hemmed and
+hawed and, at last, admitted that his company for the drive was already
+provided.
+
+“Oh!” sneered Hannah. “I see. You're goin' to take that precious inmate
+of yours along. And I've got to set here alone at home. Well, I should
+think you'd be ASHAMED.”
+
+“What for? Ain't nothin' in takin' a lady you're keepin' company with
+out drivin', is there? I don't see no shame in that.”
+
+“No, I presume likely YOU don't. You're way past shame, both of you. And
+when I think of all I've done for you. Slaved and cooked your meals--”
+
+“Well, you're cookin' 'em yet, ain't you? I ain't asked you to stop.”
+
+“I will stop, though. I will.”
+
+“All right, then; heave ahead and stop. I cal'late my wife'll be willin'
+to cook for me, if it's needful.”
+
+“Your wife! She ain't your wife yet. And she shan't be. This ridiculous
+engaged business of yours is--is--”
+
+“Well, if you don't like the engagin', why don't you stop it?”
+
+“Why don't YOU stop it, you mean. You would if you had the feelin's of a
+man.”
+
+“Humph! And let some everlastin' lawyer sue me out of my last cent for
+damages. All right, I'll stop it if you say so. There's plenty of room
+in the poorhouse, they tell me. How'd you like to give us this place and
+move to the poorhouse, Hannah?”
+
+“But--but, O Kenelm, I can't think of your gettin' married! I can't
+think of it!”
+
+“Don't think of it. I ain't thinkin' of it no more'n I can help. Why
+ain't you satisfied with things as they be? Everything's goin' on all
+right enough now, ain't it? You and me are livin' together same as we
+have for ever so long. You're here and I--well, I--”
+
+He did not finish the sentence, but his sister read his thought. She
+knew perfectly well that her brother was finding a measure of enjoyment
+in the situation, so far as his dealings with her were concerned. He was
+more independent than he had been since she took him in charge. But she
+realized, too, her own impotence. She could not drive him too hard or
+he might be driven into marrying Imogene. And THAT Hannah was determined
+should be deferred as long as possible.
+
+So she said no more concerning the “ride” and merely showed her feelings
+by moping in the corner and wiping her eyes with her handkerchief
+whenever he looked in her direction. After he had gone she spent the
+half-hour previous to Mr. Hammond's arrival in alternate fits of rage
+and despair.
+
+“So Kenelm's been actin' unlikely, has he?” queried Caleb. “Well, if
+he was my brother he'd soon come to time quick, or be put to bed in a
+hospital. That's what would happen to HIM.”
+
+Miss Parker looked as if the hospital picture was more appealing than
+dreadful.
+
+“I wish he was your brother,” she said. “Or I wish I was independent and
+had a house of my own.”
+
+“Huh! Gosh! So do I wish I had one. I've been wishin' it all the
+mornin'. If I had a home of my own I'd have what I wanted to eat--yes,
+and wear. And I'd have 'em when I wanted 'em, too.”
+
+“Don't they give you good things to eat over at Mrs. Barnes'?”
+
+“Oh, they're good enough maybe, if they're what you want. But boardin's
+boardin'; 'tain't like your own home.”
+
+“Caleb, it's a wonder to me you don't rent a little house and live in
+it. You've got money enough; least so everybody says.”
+
+“Humph! What everybody says is 'most generally lies. What would be the
+sense of my hirin' a house? I'd have to have a housekeeper and a good
+one costs like thunder. A feller's wife has to get along on what he
+gives her, but a housekeeper--”
+
+He stopped short, seemingly struck by a new and amazing idea. Miss
+Parker rambled on about the old days when “dear papa” was alive;
+how happy she was then, and so on, with occasional recourse to the
+handkerchief. Suddenly Caleb slapped his knee.
+
+“It's all right,” he said. “It's fine--and it's commonsense, too.
+Hannah, what's the matter with you and me gettin' married?”
+
+Hannah stared at him.
+
+“Married!” she repeated. “Me get married! Who to, for the land sakes?
+Are you out of your head?”
+
+“Not a mite. What's the matter with you marryin' me?”
+
+“My soul! Is this a funny-paper joke, or are you--”
+
+“'Tain't a joke; I mean it. Is there any reason why we shouldn't marry
+and settle down together, you and me? I don't see none. You could keep
+house for me then, and 'twouldn't cost--that is, you could look out for
+me, and I--well, I suppose likely I could look out for you, too. Why
+not?”
+
+“Why, how you talk, Caleb Hammond!”
+
+“No, I don't talk neither. I mean it. You was wishin' for a home of your
+own; so was I. Let's have one together.”
+
+“Well, I swan! Get married at our--at our age! I never did hear such
+talk! We'd be a nice young bride and groom, wouldn't we? I guess East
+Wellmouth folks would have somethin' to laugh at then.”
+
+“Let 'em laugh. Laughin' don't cost nothin', and, if it does, we won't
+have to pay for it. See here, Hannah, this ain't any foolish front-gate
+courtin', this ain't. It's just common-sense business. Let's do it. I
+will if you will.”
+
+Miss Parker shook her head. The prospect of being Mrs. Caleb Hammond
+was not too alluring. Caleb's reputation as a husband was not, while
+his wife lived, that of a “liberal provider.” And yet this was Hannah's
+first proposal, and it had come years after she had given up hoping for
+one. So she prolonged the delicious moment as long as possible.
+
+“I suppose you're thinkin' about that brother of yours,” suggested Mr.
+Hammond. “Well, he'll be all right. 'Cordin' to what I've heard, and
+seen myself, he's hangin' around that hired help girl at the High Cliff
+pretty reg'lar these days. Maybe he'll marry her and you'll be left
+without anybody. If he don't marry her he can come to live along of
+us--maybe. If he does he'll mind his p's and q's, I tell you that. He'll
+find out who's boss.”
+
+This speech had an effect. For the first time Hannah's determination
+wavered. Kenelm was, although Caleb did not know it, actually engaged to
+marry Imogene. His sister was even then writhing under the humiliation.
+And here was an opportunity to get even, not only with Kenelm, but with
+the “inmate.” If she, Hannah, were to marry and leave the pair instead
+of being herself left! Oh, the glory of it--the triumphant glory of it!
+How she could crush her brother! How she could gloat over and sneer
+at Imogene! The things she might say--she, the wife of a rich man! Oh,
+wonderful!
+
+“Well, come on, Hannah, come on,” urged the impatient Caleb. “What do
+you say?”
+
+But Miss Parker still shook her head. “It ain't any use, Caleb,” she
+declared. “Even if--if I wanted to, how could I tell Kenelm? He'd raise
+an awful fuss. He'd tell everybody and they--”
+
+“No, he wouldn't. I'd break his neck if he did. . . . And--eh--” as
+another idea came to him, “he needn't know till 'twas all over. We
+could get married right off now, and not tell a soul--Kenelm or anybody
+else--till it was done. Then they could talk or shut up, we wouldn't
+care. They couldn't change nothin'.”
+
+“Caleb Hammond, do you suppose I'd have the face to go to a minister
+in this town and have you tell him we'd come to get married? I'd be so
+ashamed--”
+
+“Hold on! We don't have to go to a minister in this town. There's other
+towns with parsons in them, ain't they? We could drive over somewheres
+else.”
+
+“Everybody'd see us drivin' together.”
+
+“What of it? They see us drivin' to the Cattle Show together, didn't
+they?”
+
+“Yes, and they've talked about it ever since, some of 'em. That Abbie
+Larkin said--Oh, I can't tell you what she said. No, I shan't do it.
+I shouldn't have the face. And everybody'd ask where we was bound,
+and I'd--I'd be so--so mortified and--and--why, I'd act like a
+reg'lar--er--er--domicile that had run away from the Idiots' Home. No,
+no, no! I couldn't.”
+
+Mr. Hammond thought it over. Then he said:
+
+“See here, Hannah, I cal'late we can fix that. We'll start in the night,
+after all hands have gone to bed. I'll sneak out about quarter to twelve
+and borrow Thankful's horse and buggy out of her barn. I know where she
+keeps the key. I'll be ready here at twelve prompt--or not here, maybe,
+but down in the hollow back of your henhouse. You must be there and
+we'll drive over to Trumet--”
+
+“Trumet! Why, Caleb Hammond, I know everybody in Trumet well's I do
+here. And gettin' to Trumet at three o'clock in the mornin' would be--”
+
+“Then we won't go to Trumet. We'll go to Bayport. It's quite a trip, but
+that's all the better 'cause we won't make Bayport till daylight. Then
+we'll hunt up a parson to marry us and come back here and tell folks
+when we get good and ready. Thankful'll miss the horse and team,
+I cal'late, but I'll fix that; I'll leave a note sayin' I took the
+critter, bein' called away on business.”
+
+“Yes, but what will I tell Kenelm?”
+
+“Don't tell him anything, the foolhead. Why, yes, you can leave a note
+sayin' you've gone up to the village, to the store or somethin', and
+that he must get his own breakfast 'cause you won't be back till after
+he's gone to work over to Thankful's. That'll fix it. By crimus! That'll
+fix it fine. Look here, Hannah Parker; I've set out to do this and, by
+crimus, I'm goin' to do it. Come on now; let's.”
+
+Caleb was, as has been said, “sot” in his ways. He was “sot” now, and
+although Hannah continued to protest and declare she could not do such
+a thing, she yielded at last. Mr. Hammond left the Parker cottage in
+a triumphant mood. He had won his point and that had pleased him for a
+time; then, as he began to ponder upon that point and its consequences
+his triumph changed to misgiving and doubt. He had had no idea, until
+that forenoon, of marrying again. His proposal had been made on impulse,
+on the spur of the moment. He was not sure that he wished to marry
+Hannah Parker. But he had pleaded and persuaded her into accepting him
+that very night. Even if he wished to back out, how could he--now? He
+was conscious of an uneasy feeling that, perhaps, he had made a fool of
+himself.
+
+He went to his room early in the evening and stayed there, looking at
+his watch and waiting for the rest of the family to retire. He heard
+Georgie's voice in the room at the end of the hall, where Mrs. Barnes
+was tucking the youngster in for the night. Later he heard Imogene come
+up the backstairs and, after her, Thankful herself. But it was nearly
+eleven before Heman Daniels' important and dignified step sounded on the
+front stairs and by that time the Hammond nerves were as taut as banjo
+strings.
+
+It was nearly twelve before he dared creep downstairs and out of the
+back door, the key of which he left in the lock. Luckily the barn was
+a good distance from the house and Mrs. Barnes and Imogene were sound
+sleepers. But even with those advantages he did not dare attempt
+getting the buggy out of the barn, and decided to use the old discarded
+carryall, relic of “Cap'n Abner,” which now stood under the open shed at
+the rear.
+
+George Washington looked at him in sleepy wonder as he tiptoed into
+the barn and lit the lantern. To be led out of his stall at “midnight's
+solemn hour” and harnessed was more than George's equine reasoning could
+fathom. The harnessing was a weird and wonderful operation. Caleb's
+trembling fingers were all thumbs. After a while, however, the
+harnessing was accomplished somehow and in some way, although whether
+the breeching was where the bridle should have been or vice versa was
+more than the harnesser would have dared swear. After several centuries,
+as the prospective bridegroom was reckoning time, the horse was between
+the shafts of the carriage and driven very carefully along the road to
+the Parker homestead.
+
+He hitched the sleepy animal to a pine tree just off the road and
+tiptoed toward the hollow, the appointed rendezvous. To reach this
+hollow he was obliged to pass through the Parker yard and, although he
+went on tiptoe, each footstep sounded, in his ears, like the crack of
+doom. He tried to think of some explanation to be made to Kenelm in case
+the latter should hear and hail him, but he could think of nothing
+more plausible than that he was taking a walk, and this was far from
+satisfactory.
+
+And then he was hailed. From a window above, at the extreme end of the
+kitchen, came a trembling whisper.
+
+“Caleb! Caleb Hammond, is that you?”
+
+Mr. Hammond's heart, which had been thumping anything but a wedding
+march beneath the summer under-flannels, leaped up and stuck in his
+throat; but he choked it down and gasped a faint affirmative.
+
+“Oh, my soul and body! Where HAVE you been? I've been waitin' and
+waitin'.”
+
+“What in time did you wait up there for? Why don't you come down?”
+
+“I can't. Kenelm's locked the doors, and the keys are right next to his
+room door. I can't get down.”
+
+Here was an unexpected obstacle. Caleb was nonplused.
+
+“Go home!” wailed the voice from above. “Don't stand there. Go HOME!
+Can't you SEE it ain't any use? Go HOME!”
+
+Five minutes before he received this order Mr. Hammond would have been
+only too glad to go home. Now he was startled and angry and, being
+angry, his habitual stubbornness developed.
+
+“I shan't go home neither,” he whispered, fiercely. “If you can't come
+down I'll--I'll come up and get you.”
+
+“Shh--shh! He'll hear you. Kenelm'll hear you.”
+
+“I don't care much if he does. See here, Hannah, can't you get down
+nohow? How about that window? Can't you climb out of that window? Say,
+didn't I see a ladder layin' alongside the woodshed this mornin'?”
+
+“Yes, there's a ladder there, but--where are you goin'? Mr.
+Hammond--Caleb--”
+
+But Caleb was on his way to the woodshed. He found the ladder and
+laboriously dragged it beneath the window. Kenelm Parker had a local
+reputation for sleeping like the dead. Otherwise Mr. Hammond would never
+have dared risk the noise he was making.
+
+Even after the ladder had been placed in position, Miss Parker
+hesitated. At first she flatly refused to descend, asserting that no
+mortal power could get her down that thing alive. But Caleb begged and
+commanded in agonized whispers, and finally she was prevailed upon to
+try. Mr. Hammond grasped the lower end of the ladder with a grip that
+brought the perspiration out upon his forehead, and the lady, with
+suppressed screams and ejaculations of “Oh, good Lord!” and “Heavens and
+earth! What shall I do?” reached the ground safe and more or less sound.
+They left the ladder where it was, and tiptoed fearfully out to the
+lane.
+
+“Whew!” panted the exhausted swain, mopping his brow. “I'm clean
+tuckered out. I ain't done so much work for ten years.”
+
+“Don't say a word, Caleb Hammond. If I ain't got my death of--of ammonia
+or somethin', I miss my guess. I'm all wheezed up from settin' at that
+open winder waitin' for you to come; and I thought you never WOULD
+come.”
+
+As Caleb was helping the lady of his choice into the carryall he noticed
+that she carried a small hand-bag.
+
+“What you got that thing for?” he demanded.
+
+“It's my reticule; there's a clean handkerchief and a few other things
+in it. Mercy on us! You didn't suppose I'd go off to get married without
+even a decent handkerchief, did you? I feel enough like a sneakin'
+ragamuffin and housebreaker as 'tis. Why I ever was crazy enough
+to--where have you put the horse?”
+
+Mr. Hammond led her to where George Washington was tethered. The father
+of his country was tired of standing alone in the damp, and he trotted
+off briskly. The first mile of their journey was accomplished safely,
+although the night was pitch-dark, and when they turned into the Bayport
+Road, which for two-thirds of its length leads through thick soft pine
+and scrub-oak woods, it was hard to distinguish even the horse's ears.
+Miss Parker insisted that every curtain of the carryall--at the back and
+both sides--should be closely buttoned down, as she was fearful of the
+effects of the night air.
+
+“Fresh air never hurts nobody,” said Caleb. “There ain't nothin' so good
+for a body as fresh air. I sleep with my window open wide winter and
+summer.”
+
+“You DO? Well, I tell you right now, I don't. I should say not! I shut
+every winder tight and I make Kenelm do the same thing. I don't run any
+risks from drafts.”
+
+Mr. Hammond grunted, and was silent for some little time, only
+brightening up when the lady, now in a measure recovered from her fright
+and the anxiety of waiting, began to talk of the blessings that were to
+come from their independent wedded life in a home of their own.
+
+“We'll keep chickens,” she said, “because I do like fresh eggs for
+breakfast. Let's see; this is the way 'twill be; you'll get up about
+five o'clock and kindle the fire, and--”
+
+“Hey?”
+
+“I say you'll get up at five o'clock and kindle the fire.”
+
+“ME get up and kindle it?”
+
+“Sartin; you don't expect I'm goin' to, do you?”
+
+“No-o, I suppose not. It come kind of sudden, that's all. You see, I've
+been used to turnin' out about seven. Seldom get up afore that.”
+
+“Seven! My soul! I always have my breakfast et by seven. Well, as I say,
+you get up at five and kindle the fire, and then you'll go out to the
+henyard and get what eggs there is. Then--”
+
+“Then I'll come in and call you, and you'll come down and get breakfast.
+What breakfasts we will have! Eggs for you, if you want 'em, and ham and
+fried potatoes for me, and pie--”
+
+“Pie? For breakfast?”
+
+“Sartin. Laviny Marthy, my first wife, always had a piece of pie warmed
+for me, and I've missed it since. I don't really care two cents for
+breakfast without pie.”
+
+“Well now, Caleb, if you think I'm goin' to get up and warm up pie every
+mornin', let alone fryin' potatoes, and--”
+
+“See here, Hannah! Seems to me if I'm willin' to turn out at that
+ungodly hour and then go scratchin' around the henhouse to please you,
+you might be willin' to have a piece of pie het up for me.”
+
+“Well, maybe you're right. But I must say--well, I'll try and do it.
+It'll seem kind of hard, though, after the simple breakfasts Kenelm and
+I have when we're alone. But--what are you stoppin' for?”
+
+“There seems to be a kind of crossroads here,” said Caleb, bending
+forward and peering out of the carryall. “It's so everlastin' dark a
+feller can't see nothin'. Yes, there is crossroads, three of 'em. Now,
+which one do we take? I ain't drove to Bayport direct for years. When we
+went to the Cattle Show we went up through the Centre. Do you know which
+is the right road, Hannah?”
+
+Hannah peered forth from the blackness of the back seat. “Now, let me
+think,” she said. “Last time I went to Bayport by this road was four
+year ago come next February. Sarah Snow's daughter Becky was married to
+a feller named Higgins--Solon Higgins' son 'twas. No, 'twa'n't his son,
+because--”
+
+“Aw, crimus! Who cares if 'twas his aunt's gran'mother? What I want to
+know is which road to take.”
+
+“Well, seems to me, nigh as I can recollect, that we took the left-hand
+road. No, I ain't sure but 'twas the right-hand. There's a bare chance
+that it might have been the middle one, 'cause there was trees along
+both sides. I know we was goin' to Becky Snow's weddin'--”
+
+“Trees 'long it! There ain't nothin' BUT trees for two square miles
+around these diggin's. Git dap, you! I'll take the right-hand road. I
+think that's the way.”
+
+“Well, so do I; but, as I say, I ain't sure. You needn't be so cross and
+unlikely, whether 'tis or 'tain't.”
+
+If the main road had been dark, the branch road was darker, and the
+branches of the trees slapped and scratched the sides of the carryall.
+Caleb's whole attention was given to his driving, and he said nothing.
+Miss Parker at length broke the dismal silence.
+
+“Caleb,” she said, “what time had we ought to get to Bayport?”
+
+“About four o'clock, I should think. We'll drive 'round till about seven
+o'clock, and then we'll go and get married. I used to know the Methodist
+minister there, and--”
+
+“METHODIST minister! You ain't goin' to a Methodist minister to be
+married?”
+
+“I sartin shouldn't go to no one else. I've been goin' to the Methodist
+church for over thirty year. You know that well's I do.”
+
+“I snum I never thought of it, or you wouldn't have got me this far
+without settlin' that question. I was confirmed into the Baptist faith
+when I was twelve year old. And you must have known that just as well as
+I knew you was a Methodist.”
+
+“Well, if you knew I was one you ought to know I'd want a Methodist to
+marry me. 'Twas a Methodist married me afore.”
+
+“Humph! What do you suppose I care who married you before? I'm the one
+that's goin' with you to be married now; and if I was married by anybody
+but a Baptist minister I wouldn't feel as if I was married at all.”
+
+“Well, I shan't be married by no Baptist.”
+
+“No Methodist shall marry ME.”
+
+“Now, look here, Hannah--”
+
+“I don't care, Caleb. You ain't done nothin' but contradict me since we
+started. I've been settin' up all night, and I'm tired out, and there's
+a draft comin' in 'round these plaguy curtains right on the back of
+my neck. I'll get cold and die and you'll have a funeral on your hands
+instead of a weddin'. And I don't know's I'd care much,” desperately.
+
+Caleb choked down his own irritation.
+
+“There, there, Hannah,” he said, “don't talk about dyin' when you're
+just gettin' ready to live. We won't fret about the minister business.
+If worst comes to worst I'll give in to a Baptist, I suppose. One reason
+I did figger on goin' to a Methodist was that, I bein' of that faith, I
+thought maybe he'd do the job a little cheaper for us.”
+
+“Cheaper? What do you mean? Was you cal'latin' to make a BARGAIN with
+him?”
+
+“No, no, course not. But there ain't any sense in heavin' money away on
+a parson more'n on anybody else.”
+
+“Caleb Hammond, how much do you intend givin' that minister?”
+
+Mr. Hammond stirred uneasily on the seat of the carryall.
+
+“Oh, I don't know,” he answered evasively.
+
+“Yes, you do know, too. How much?”
+
+“I don't know. Two or three dollars, maybe.”
+
+“TWO or three dollars! My soul and body! Is two dollars all you're
+willin' to give up to get MARRIED? Is THAT all the ceremony's worth to
+you? Two dollars! My soul!”
+
+“Oh, let up! I don't care. I'll--I'll--” after a desperate wrestle with
+his sense of economy. “I'll give him whatever you say--in reason. Eh!
+. . . What's that foolhead horse stoppin' for now? What in the tunket's
+the matter with him?”
+
+The matter was simply that in his hasty harnessing Mr. Hammond had but
+partially buckled one of the girths, and the horse was now half-way out
+of the shafts, with the larger part of the harness well up towards his
+ears. Caleb groaningly climbed down from the seat, rummaged out and lit
+the lantern, which he had been thoughtful enough to put under the seat
+before starting, and proceeded to repair damages. This took a long time,
+and in getting back to the carryall he tore a triangular rent in the
+back of his Sunday coat. He had donned his best clothes to be married
+in, and, to add to his troubles, had left his watch in the fob-pocket of
+his everyday trousers, so they had no means of knowing the time.
+
+“That's a nice mess,” he grumbled, taking off his coat to examine the
+tear by the light of the lantern. “Nice-lookin' rag-bag I'll be to get
+married.”
+
+“Maybe I can mend it when we get to Bayport,” said Miss Parker.
+
+“What'll you mend it with--pins?”
+
+“No, there's a needle and thread in my reticule. Wait till we get to
+Bayport and then--”
+
+“Can't mend it in broad daylight ridin up and down the main street, can
+you? And I'd look pretty shuckin' my coat in the minister's parlor for
+you to patch up the holes in it. Couldn't you mend it now?”
+
+Hannah announced her willingness to try, and the reticule being
+produced, the needle was threaded after numerous trials, and the mending
+began. Caleb, holding the lantern, watched the operation anxiously, his
+face falling at every stitch.
+
+“I'm afraid I haven't made a good job of it,” sighed Hannah, gazing
+sorrowfully at the puckered and wrinkled star in the back of the
+garment. “If you'd only held that lantern steady, instead of jigglin' it
+round and round so, I might have done better.”
+
+Mr. Hammond said nothing, but struggled into his coat, and picked up the
+reins. He sighed, heavily, and his sigh was echoed from the back seat of
+the carryall.
+
+The road was now very rough, and the ruts were deep and full of holes.
+George Washington seemed to be stumbling through tall grass and bushes,
+and the carryall jolted and rocked from side to side. Miss Parker grew
+more and more nervous. After a particularly severe jolt she could not
+hold in any longer.
+
+“Land of love, Caleb!” she gasped. “Where ARE you goin'! It doesn't seem
+as if this could be the right road!”
+
+“I don't know whether 'tis or not; but it's too narrow and too dark to
+turn 'round, so we've got to go ahead, that's all.”
+
+“Oh, heavens! What a jounce that was! Seems to me you're awful reckless.
+I wish Kenelm was drivin'; he's always so careful.”
+
+This was too much. Mr. Hammond suppressed his feelings no longer.
+
+“I wish to thunder he was!” he roared. “I wish Kenelm or some other dam'
+fool was here instead of me.”
+
+“Caleb HAMMOND!”
+
+“I don't care, Hannah. You're enough to drive a deacon to swearin'.
+It's been nothin' but nag, nag, nag, fight, fight, fight ever since this
+cruise started. If--if we row like this afore we're married what'll
+it be afterwards? Talk about bein' independent! Git dap there!” this a
+savage roar at George Washington, who had stopped again. “I do believe
+the idiot's struck with a palsy.”
+
+Hannah leaned forward and touched her fellow-sufferer on the arm. “Sshh,
+shh, Caleb!” she said. “Don't holler so. I don't blame you for hollerin'
+and--and I declare I don't know as I much blame you for swearin', though
+I never thought I'D live to say a thing like that. But it ain't the
+horse deserves to be sworn at. He ain't the idiot; the idiots are you
+and me. We was both of us out of sorts this mornin', I guess--I know I
+was--and then you come along and we talked and--and, well, we both went
+into this foolish, ridiculous, awful piece of silliness without stoppin'
+to figger out whether we really wanted to, or whether we was liable to
+get along together, or anything else. Caleb, I've been wantin' to say
+this for the last hour or more--now I'm goin' to say it: You turn that
+horse's head around and start right home again.”
+
+Mr. Hammond shook his head.
+
+“No,” he said.
+
+“I say yes. I don't want to marry you and I don't believe you want to
+marry me. Now do you--honest?”
+
+Caleb was silent for a full minute. Then he drew a deep breath.
+
+“It don't make no difference whether I do or not, fur's I can see,” he
+said, gloomily. “It's too late to start home now. I don't know what time
+'tis, but we must have been ridin' three or four hours--seems eight or
+ten year to me--and we ought to be pretty near to Bayport. If we
+should turn back now we wouldn't get home till long after daylight, and
+everybody would be up and wantin' to know the whys and wherefores. If we
+told 'em we'd been ridin' around together all night, and didn't give any
+reasons for it, there'd be talk enough to last till Judgment. No, we've
+just got to get married now. That's all there is to it.”
+
+Hannah groaned as the truth of this statement dawned upon her. Caleb
+gathered the reins in his hands preparatory to driving on, when a new
+thought came to him.
+
+“Say, Hannah,” he observed, “I suppose you left that note for Kenelm,
+didn't you?”
+
+Miss Parker uttered a faint shriek.
+
+“Oh, my soul!” she cried. “I didn't! I didn't! I wrote it, but I was so
+upset when I found I couldn't get the doorkey and get out that way that
+I left the note in my bureau drawer.”
+
+“Tut, tut! Huh! Well, he may find it there; let's hope he does.”
+
+“But he won't! He WON'T! He never finds anything, even if it's in plain
+sight. He won't know what's become of me--”
+
+“And he'll most likely have the whole town out lookin' for you. I guess
+now you see there's nothin' to do but for us to get married--don't you?”
+
+“Oh! Oh! Oh!” wailed Miss Parker, and burst into tears.
+
+Caleb groaned. “Git dap!” he shouted to the horse. “No use cryin',
+Hannah. Might's well grin and bear it. The joyful bridal party'll now
+proceed.”
+
+But the horse refused to proceed, and his driver, peering forward, dimly
+saw a black barrier in front of him. He lit the lantern once more and,
+getting out of the carryall, discovered that the road apparently ended
+at a rail fence that barred further progress.
+
+“Queer,” he said. “We must be pretty nigh civilization. Got to Bayport,
+most likely, Hannah; there seems to be a buildin' ahead of us there. I'm
+goin' to take the lantern and explore. You set still till I come back.”
+
+But this Miss Parker refused to do. She declared that she would not wait
+alone in those woods for anybody or anything. If her companion was going
+to explore so was she. So Mr. Hammond assisted her to alight, and after
+he had taken down the bars, the pair went on through a grove to where a
+large building loomed against the sky.
+
+“A church,” said Caleb. “One of the Bayport churches, I cal'late. Wonder
+which 'tis?”
+
+“There's always a sign on the front of a church,” said Hannah. “Let's go
+around front and see.”
+
+There were no trees in front of the church, and when they came out by
+the front platform, Miss Parker exclaimed, “Well, I never! I wouldn't
+believe I'd remember so clear. This church seems just as familiar as if
+I was here yesterday. Why, what's the matter?”
+
+Mr. Hammond was standing on the platform, holding his lantern up before
+a gilt-lettered placard by the church door.
+
+“Hannah,” he gurgled, “this night's been too much for me. My foolishness
+has struck out of my brains into my eyes. I can't read straight. Look
+here.”
+
+Hannah clambered up beside her agitated companion, and read from the
+placard these words:
+
+               FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH
+
+          REV. JONATHAN LANGWORTHY, PASTOR
+
+“Good land!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Langworthy! Why, Mr. Langworthy is the
+minister at Wellmouth Centre, ain't he? I thought he was.”
+
+“He is, but perhaps there's another one.”
+
+“No, there ain't--not another Baptist. And--and this church, what little
+I can see of it, LOOKS like the Wellmouth Centre Baptist Church, too; I
+declare it does! . . . Where are you goin'?”
+
+Caleb did not reply, neither did he turn back. Hannah, who did not
+propose to be left alone there in the dark, was hurrying after him,
+but he stopped and when she reached his side she found him holding the
+lantern and peering at an iron gate in a white fence. His face, seen by
+the lantern light, was a picture of bewildered amazement.
+
+“What is it?” she demanded. “What IS it?”
+
+He did not answer, but merely pointed to the gate.
+
+“Eh? What--why--why, Caleb, that's--ain't that the Nickerson memorial
+gate? . . . It can't be! But--but it IS! Why--”
+
+Mr. Hammond was muttering to himself.
+
+“We took the wrong road at the crossin',” he said. “Then we must have
+switched again, probably when we was arguin' about kindlin' the fire;
+then we must have turned again when the harness broke; and that must
+have fetched us into Lemuel Ellis' wood-lot road that comes out--”
+
+“Eh? Lemuel Ellis' wood-lot? Why, Lemuel's wood-lot is at--”
+
+“It's at Wellmouth Centre, that's where 'tis. No wonder that church
+looked familiar. Hannah, we ain't been nigh Bayport. We've been ridin'
+round and round in circles through them woods all night.”
+
+“Caleb HAMMOND!”
+
+Before Caleb could add anything to his astonishing statement the silence
+of the night was broken by the clang of the bell in the tower of the
+church. It clanged four times.
+
+“WHAT!” exclaimed Caleb. “Only four o'clock! It can't be!”
+
+“My soul!” cried Miss Parker, “only four! Why--why, I thought we'd been
+ridin' ten hours at least. . . . Caleb Hammond, you and me don't want to
+find a minister; what we need to look up is a pair of guardians to take
+care of us.”
+
+But Mr. Hammond seized her arm.
+
+“Hannah,” he cried, excitedly, “do you understand what that means--that
+clock strikin'? It means that, bein' as we're only five miles from home,
+we can GET home, if we want to, afore anybody's out of bed. You can
+sneak up that ladder again; I can get that horse and team back in
+Thankful's stable; we can both be in our own beds by gettin'-up time and
+not one soul need ever know a word about this foolishness. If we--”
+
+But Miss Parker had not waited for him to finish; she was already on her
+way to the carryall.
+
+
+At a quarter after seven that morning Thankful knocked at the door of
+her boarder's room.
+
+“Mr. Hammond!” she called. “Mr. Hammond!”
+
+Caleb awoke with a start.
+
+“Eh?” he said.
+
+“Are you up? It's most breakfast time.”
+
+Caleb, now more thoroughly awake, looked about his room. It was real; he
+was actually in it--and safe--and still single.
+
+“Yes--yes; all right,” he said. “I'll get right up. Must have overslept
+myself, I guess. What--what made you call me? Nothin'--er--nothin's
+happened, has it?”
+
+“No, nothin's happened. But you're usually up by seven and, as I hadn't
+heard a sound from you, I was afraid you might be sick.”
+
+“No, no; I ain't sick. I'm feelin' fine. Has--has Kenelm Parker got here
+yet?”
+
+“Yes, he's here.”
+
+“Ain't--ain't said nothin', has he?”
+
+“Said anything? No. What do you mean? What did you expect him to say?”
+
+“Nothin', nothin', I--I wondered what sort of a drive he and Imogene had
+yesterday, that's all. I thought it would be fine to hear him tell about
+it. You run along, Mrs. Barnes; I'll hurry and get dressed.”
+
+He jumped out of bed. He was tired and lame and his head ached--but,
+Oh, he was happy! He had stabled George Washington and reached his room
+without disturbing anyone. And, as Kenelm had, according to Mrs. Barnes,
+spoken and appeared as usual, it was evident that Hannah Parker, too,
+had gotten safely and undetected to her own apartment.
+
+Thankful knocked at his door again.
+
+“I'm sorry,” she said, “but Melindy Pease hasn't sent home your mendin'
+yet. I'm afraid you'll have to do without your--er--your winter things
+for one more day.”
+
+“Hey? My winter--Oh, yes, yes. Well, I don't care. It's warmer today
+than 'twas yesterday.”
+
+“Oh no, it isn't; it's a good deal colder. I hope you won't catch cold.”
+
+“No, no, I shan't. I'm feelin' fine.”
+
+“Well, thank goodness for that.”
+
+“Thank goodness for a good many things,” said Mr. Hammond, devoutly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+If Kenelm noticed that George Washington seemed unusually tired that
+morning, or that the old carryall behind the barn had some new scratches
+on its sides and wheels, and leaves and pine needles on its cushions and
+floor, he did not mention what he saw. For a day or two both Mr. Hammond
+and Miss Parker were anxious and fearful, but as nothing was said and
+no questions were asked, they began to feel certain that no one save
+themselves knew of the elopement which had turned out to be no elopement
+at all. For a week Hannah's manner toward her brother was sweetness
+itself. She cooked the dishes he liked and permitted him to do as he
+pleased without once protesting or “nagging.” She had done comparatively
+little of the latter since the announcement of the “engagement,” but now
+she was more considerate and self-sacrificing than ever. If Kenelm was
+aware of the change he made no comment upon it, perhaps thinking it good
+policy to let well enough alone. Gradually the eloping couple began to
+feel that their secret was secure and to cease worrying about it. But
+Caleb called no more at the Parker cottage and when he and Hannah met
+they bowed, but did not stop to converse.
+
+Miss Timpson's sudden departure from the High Cliff House caused less
+talk than Thankful had feared. It happened that the “cousin Sarah” to
+whose home Miss Abigail had fled, was seized with an attack of grippe
+and this illness was accepted as the cause of the schoolmistress's move.
+And Miss Timpson herself kept her word; she told no one of the “warning”
+ she had received. So Thankful was spared the gossip and questioning
+concerning the snoring ghost in the back bedroom. For so much she was
+grateful, but she missed the weekly room rent and the weekly board
+money. The financial situation was becoming more and more serious for
+her, and as yet Solomon Cobb had not made known his decision in the
+matter of the mortgage.
+
+During the week following Miss Timpson's departure Thankful spent
+several nights in the rooms the former had vacated, lying awake and
+listening for sounds from the back bedroom. She heard none. No ghost
+snored for her benefit. Then other happenings, happenings of this world,
+claimed her attention and she dropped psychical research for the time.
+
+The first of these happenings was the most surprising. One forenoon
+Kenelm returned from an errand to the village bringing the morning's
+mail with him. There were two letters for Mrs. Barnes. One was from
+Emily and, as this happened to be on top, Thankful opened it first.
+
+There was good news in the letter, good news for Georgie and also for
+Mrs. Barnes herself. Georgie had been enjoying himself hugely during his
+stay in East Wellmouth. He spent every moment of pleasant weather out
+of doors and his energetic exuberance kept the livestock as well as the
+humans on the “Cap'n Abner place” awake and lively. He fed the hens, he
+collected the eggs, he pumped and carried water for George Washington;
+and the feeding of Patrick Henry was his especial care. That pig, now a
+plump and somnolent porker, was Georgie's especial favorite. It was past
+“hog-killing time” in East Wellmouth, but Thankful had given up the idea
+of turning Patrick Henry into spare ribs and lard, at least until her
+lively young relative's visit was at an end. That end was what Georgie
+feared. He did not want to go home. Certainly Thankful did not want him
+to go, and she and Captain Obed--the latter's fondness for his “second
+mate” stronger than ever--wrote to Miss Howes, begging her to use her
+influence with the family to the end that Georgie's visit might be
+prolonged until after Christmas, at any rate.
+
+And in Emily's reply, the letter which Kenelm brought from the
+postoffice that morning, the permission was granted. Georgie might stay
+until New Year's Day.
+
+
+Then [wrote Emily], he must come back with me. Yes, with me; for, you
+see, I am going to keep my word. I am coming to spend my Christmas
+vacation with you, just as I said I should if it were possible. There!
+aren't you glad? I know you are, for you must be so lonely, although one
+not knowing you as well as I do would never guess it from your letters.
+You always write that all is well, but I know. By the way, are there any
+developments in the matter of the loan from Mr. Cobb? I am very glad
+the renewal of the mortgage is to be all right, but I think he should do
+more than that. And have you been troubled in the other affair, that of
+your neighbor? You have not mentioned it--but have you?
+
+
+Thankful had not been troubled in the “other affair.” That is to say,
+she had not been troubled by E. Holliday Kendrick or his attorney.
+No move had been made, at least so far as anyone could learn, in the
+project of forcing her to sell out, and Heman Daniels declared that
+none would be made. “It is one thing to boast,” said Mr. Daniels, “and
+another to make good. My--ahem--er--professional rival is beginning
+to realize, I think, that he has in this case bitten off more than he
+can--er--so to speak, chew. That young man has succeeded in ruining
+himself in this community and that is all he has succeeded in.”
+
+John said nothing. At his new boarding-place, Darius Holt's, he answered
+no questions concerning his plans, and was silent and non-communicative.
+He kept to himself and made no effort to regain his lost popularity or
+to excuse his action. Thankful saw him but seldom and even Captain Obed
+no longer mentioned John's name unless it was mentioned to him. Then he
+discussed the subject with a scornful sniff and the stubborn declaration
+that there was a mistake somewhere which would some day be explained.
+But his confidence was shaken, that was plain, and his optimism assumed.
+He and Mrs. Barnes avoided discussion of John Kendrick and his affairs.
+
+Thankful read and reread the letter from Emily Howes. The news it
+contained was so good that she forgot entirely the fact that there was
+another envelope in the mail. Only when, as she sprang to her feet to
+rush out into the yard and tell Georgie that his plea for an extension
+of his visit was granted, was her attention called to this second
+letter. It fell from her lap to the floor and she stooped and picked it
+up.
+
+The first thing she noticed was that the envelope was in a remarkably
+crumpled and dirty condition. It looked as if it had been carried in a
+pocket--and a not too clean pocket--for many days. Then she noticed the
+postmark--“Omaha.” The address was the last item to claim her attention
+and, as she stared at the crumpled and crooked hand-writing, she gasped
+and turned pale.
+
+Slowly she sank back into her chair and tore open the envelope. The
+inclosure was a dingy sheet of cheap notepaper covered with a penciled
+scrawl. With trembling fingers she unfolded the paper and read what was
+written there. Then she leaned back in the chair and put her hand to her
+forehead.
+
+She was sitting thus when the door of the dining-room opened and a voice
+hailed: “Ahoy there! Anybody on deck?”
+
+She turned to see Captain Obed Bangs' cheery face peering in at her.
+
+“Hello!” cried the captain, entering the room and tossing his cap on the
+table. “You're here, are you? I was lookin' for you and Imogene said she
+cal'lated you was aboard ship somewheres, but she wa'n't sartin where.
+I've come to get that second mate of mine. I'm goin' off with a gang
+to take up the last of my fish weirs and I thought maybe the little
+shaver'd like to go along. I need help in bossin' the fo'mast hands, you
+see, and he's some consider'ble of a driver, that second mate is.
+Yes sir-ee! You ought to hear him order 'em to get up anchor. Ho! ho!
+I--Hey? Why--why, what's the matter?”
+
+Thankful's face was still pale and she was trembling.
+
+“Nothin', nothin', Cap'n Bangs,” she said. “I've had a--a surprise,
+that's all.”
+
+“A surprise! Yes, you look as if you had.” Then, noticing the letter in
+her lap, he added. “You ain't had bad news, have you?”
+
+“No. No, not exactly. It's good news. Yes, in a way it's good news,
+but--but I didn't expect it and--and it has shook me up a good deal.
+. . . And--and I don't know what to do. Oh, I don't know WHAT I'd ought
+to do!”
+
+The distress in her tone was so real that the captain was greatly
+disturbed. He made a move as if to come to her side and then,
+hesitating, remained where he was.
+
+“I--I'd like to help you, Thank--er--Mrs. Barnes,” he faltered,
+earnestly. “I like to fust-rate, if--if I could. Ain't there--is there
+anything I could do to help? Course you understand I ain't nosin' in
+on your affairs, but, if you feel like tellin' me, maybe I--Look
+here, 'tain't nothin' to do with that cussed Holliday Kendrick or his
+meanness, is it?”
+
+Thankful shook her head. “No,” she said, “it isn't that. I've been
+expectin' that and I'd have been ready for anything he might do--or
+try to do. But I wasn't expectin' THIS. How COULD anybody expect it? I
+thought he was dead. I thought sure he must be dead. Why, it's six year
+since he--and now he's alive, and he wants--What SHALL I do?”
+
+Captain Obed took a step forward.
+
+“Now, Mrs. Barnes,” he begged, “I wish you would--that is, you know if
+you feel like it I--well, here I am. Can't I do SOMETHIN'?”
+
+Thankful turned and looked at him. She was torn between an intense
+desire to make a confidant of someone and her habitual tendency to keep
+her personal affairs to herself. The desire overcame the habit.
+
+“Cap'n Bangs,” she said, suddenly, “I will tell you I've just got to
+tell somebody. If he was just writin' to say he was all right and alive,
+I shouldn't. I'd just be grateful and glad and say nothin'. But the poor
+thing is poverty-struck and friendless, or he says he is, and he wants
+money. And--and I haven't got any money just now.”
+
+“I have,” promptly. “Or, if I ain't got enough with me I can get more.
+How much? Just you say how much you think he'll need and I'll have
+it for you inside of a couple of hours. If money's all you want--why,
+that's nothin'.”
+
+Thankful heard little, apparently, of this prodigal offer. She took up
+the letter.
+
+“Cap'n Bangs,” said she, “you remember I told you, one time when we were
+talkin' together, that I had a brother--Jedediah, his name was--who used
+to live with me after my husband was drowned?”
+
+“Yes. I remember. You said he'd run off to go gold-diggin' in the
+Klondike or somewheres. You said he was dead.”
+
+“I thought he must be. I gave him up long ago, because I was sartin sure
+if he wasn't dead he'd have written me, askin' me to let him come back.
+I knew he'd never be able to get along all by himself. But he isn't
+dead. He's alive and he's written me now. Here's his letter. Read it,
+please.”
+
+The captain took the letter and slowly read it through. It was a
+rambling, incoherent epistle, full of smudges where words had been
+scratched out and rewritten, but a pitiful appeal nevertheless. Jedediah
+Cahoon had evidently had a hard time since the day when, after declaring
+his intention never to return until “loaded down with money,” he had
+closed the door of his sister's house at South Middleboro and gone out
+into the snowstorm and the world. His letter contained few particulars.
+He had wandered far, even as far as his professed destination, the
+Klondike, but, wherever he had been, ill luck was there to meet him.
+He had earned a little money and lost it, earned a little more and
+lost that; had been in Nome and Vancouver and Portland and Seattle; had
+driven a street car in Tacoma.
+
+
+I wrote you from Tacoma, Thankful [the letter said], after I lost that
+job, but you never answered. Now I am in 'Frisco and I am down and out.
+I ain't got any good job and I don't know where I will get one. I want
+to come home. Can't I come? I am sorry I cleared out and left you the
+way I done, and if you will let me come back home again I will try to
+be a good brother to you. I will; honest. I won't complain no more and
+I will split the kindling and everything. Please say I can come. Do
+PLEASE.
+
+
+Then came the appeal for money, money for the fare east. It was to be
+sent to an address in San Francisco, in care of a person named Michael
+Kelly.
+
+
+I am staying with this Kelly man [concluded Jedediah]. He keeps a kind
+of hotel like and I am doing chores for him. If you send the money right
+off I will get it I guess before he fires me. Send it QUICK for the Lord
+sakes.
+
+
+Captain Obed finished the letter.
+
+“Whew!” he whistled. “He's in hard luck, ain't he?”
+
+Thankful wrung her hands. “Yes,” she answered, “and I must help him
+somehow. But how I'm goin' to do it just now I don't see. But I must, of
+course. He's my brother and I MUST.”
+
+“Sartin you must. We--er--that is, that can be fixed all right. Humph!
+He sent this to you at South Middleboro, didn't he, and 'twas forwarded.
+Let's see when he wrote it. . . . Eh? Why, 'twas written two months ago!
+Where in the world has it been all this time?”
+
+“I don't know. I can't think. And he says he is in San Francisco, and
+the postmark on that envelope is Omaha, Nebraska.”
+
+“Land of love, so 'tis. And the postmark date is only four days back.
+Why did he hang on to the thing for two months afore he mailed it? And
+how did it get to Omaha?”
+
+“I don't know. All I can think of is that he gave the letter to somebody
+else to mail and that somebody forgot it. That's all I can think of. I
+can't really think of anything after a shock like this. Oh, dear! Oh,
+dear! The poor, helpless, incompetent thing! He's probably starved to
+death by this time and it's all my fault. I NEVER should have let him
+go. What SHALL I do? Wasn't there enough without this?”
+
+For the first time Thankful's troubles overcame her courage and
+self-restraint. She put her handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+The captain was greatly upset. He jammed his hands into his pockets,
+took them out again, reached for his own handkerchief, blew his nose
+violently, and began pacing up and down the room. Suddenly he seemed to
+have made up his mind.
+
+“Mrs. Barnes,” he said, “I--I--”
+
+Thankful's face was still buried in her handkerchief.
+
+“I--I--” continued Captain Obed. “Now, now, don't do that. Don't DO it!”
+
+Mrs. Barnes wiped her eyes.
+
+“I won't,” she said, stoutly. “I won't. I know I'm silly and childish.”
+
+“You ain't neither. You're the pluckiest and best woman ever was. You're
+the finest--er--er--Oh, consarn it, Thankful, don't cry any more. Can't
+you,” desperately, “can't you see I can't stand it to have you?”
+
+“All right, Cap'n Bangs, I won't. Don't you bother about me or my
+worries. I guess likely you've got enough of your own; most people
+have.”
+
+“I ain't. I ain't got enough. Do me good if I had more. Thankful, see
+here; what's the use of your fightin' all these things alone? I've
+watched you ever since you made port here in South Wellmouth and it's
+been nothin' but fight and worry all the time. What's the use of it?
+You're too good a woman to waste your life this way. Give it up.”
+
+“Give it up?”
+
+“Yes, give it up. Give up this wearin' yourself out keepin' boarders and
+runnin' this big house. Why don't you stop takin' care of other folks
+and take care of yourself for a spell?”
+
+“But I can't. I can't take care of myself. All I have is invested in
+this place and if I give it up I lose everything.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I know what you mean. But what I mean is--is--”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean--I mean why don't you let somebody take care of you? That's what
+I mean.”
+
+Thankful turned to stare at him.
+
+“Somebody--else--take care of me?” she repeated.
+
+“Yes--yes. Don't look at me like that. If you do I can't say it.
+I'm--I'm havin' a--a hard enough time sayin' it as 'tis. Thankful
+Barnes, why--don't LOOK at me, I tell you!”
+
+But she still looked at him, and, if a look ever conveyed a meaning,
+hers did just then.
+
+“I ain't crazy,” declared Captain Obed. “I can see you think I am, but
+I ain't. Thankful, I--Oh, thunderation! What is the matter with me?
+Thankful, let ME take care of you, will you?”
+
+Thankful rose to her feet. “Obed Bangs!” she exclaimed.
+
+“I mean it. I've been meanin' it more and more ever since I first met
+you, but I ain't had the spunk to say it. Now I'm goin' to say it if I
+keel over on the last word. Thankful, why don't you marry me?”
+
+Thankful was speechless. The captain plunged desperately on.
+
+“Will you, Thankful?” he begged. “I know I'm an old codger, but I ain't
+in my second childhood, not yet. I--I'd try mighty hard to make you
+happy. I haven't got anybody of my own in the world. Neither have
+you--except this brother of yours, and, judgin' from his letter and what
+you say, HE won't take any care; he'll BE a care, that's all. I ain't
+rich, but I've got money enough to help you--and him--and me afloat and
+comf'table. Thankful, will you?”
+
+Thankful was still looking at him. He would have spoken again, but she
+raised her hand and motioned him to silence.
+
+“Obed,” she asked, after a moment, “what made you say this to me?”
+
+“What made me say it? What kept me still so long, you ought to ask.
+Haven't I come to think more and more of you ever since I knew you?
+Haven't I been more and more sorry for you? And pitied you? I--”
+
+She raised her hand again. “I see,” she said, slowly. “I see. Thank
+you, Obed. You're so kind and self-sacrificin' you'd do anything or say
+anything to help a--friend, wouldn't you? But of course you can't do
+this.”
+
+“Can't? Why can't I? Self-sacrifice be hanged! Thankful, can't you
+see--”
+
+“Yes. Oh yes. I can see. . . . Now let's talk about Jedediah. Do you
+think--”
+
+“Jedediah be keelhauled! Will you marry me, Thankful Barnes?”
+
+“Why no, Obed; of course I won't.”
+
+“You won't? Why not?”
+
+“Because--well, because I--I can't. There, there, Obed! Please don't ask
+me again. Please don't!”
+
+Captain Obed did not ask. He did not speak again for what, to Mrs.
+Barnes, seemed a long, long time. At length she could bear it no longer.
+
+“PLEASE, Obed,” she begged.
+
+The captain slowly shook his head. Then he laughed a short, mirthless
+laugh.
+
+“What an old fool I am!” he muttered. “What an old fool!”
+
+“Obed, don't talk so! Don't! Do you want to make
+this--everything--harder for me?”
+
+He straightened and squared his shoulders.
+
+“Thank you, Thankful,” he said, earnestly. “Thank you for sayin' that.
+That's the way to talk to me. I know I'm an old fool, but I won't be any
+more, if I can help it. Make it harder for you? I guess not!”
+
+“Obed, I'm so sorry.”
+
+“Sho! sho! You needn't be. . . . I'm all right. I've been dreamin'
+foolish dreams, like a young feller after a church picnic dinner, but
+I'm awake now. Yes'm, I'm awake. Now just you forget that I talked in my
+sleep. Forget the whole of it and let's get back to--to that brother of
+yours. We've got to locate him, that's the first thing to be done. I'll
+send a telegram right off to that Kelly man out in 'Frisco askin' if
+what's-his-name--Jedediah--is there yet.”
+
+“Obed, you won't--you won't feel hard towards me? You won't
+let--this--interfere with our friendship?”
+
+“Sho! Hush, hush, Thankful! You make me more ashamed of myself than
+ever, and that ain't necessary. Now the first thing is to send that
+telegram. If we locate your brother then we'll send him a ticket to
+Boston and some money. Don't you worry, Thankful; we'll get him here.
+And don't you fret about the money neither. I'll 'tend to that and you
+can pay me afterwards.”
+
+“No, no; of course I shan't let--”
+
+“Yes, you will. There's some things you can't stop and that's one of
+'em. You talked about our friendship, didn't you? Well, unless you want
+me to believe I ain't your friend, you'll let me run my own course
+this time. So long, Thankful; I'm off to Chris Badger's to send that
+telegram.”
+
+He snatched up his cap and was on his way to the door. She followed him.
+
+“Obed,” she faltered, “I--I--What CAN I say to you? You are SO good!”
+
+“Tut! tut! Me good? Don't let Heman Daniels hear you say that. He's a
+church deacon and knows what goodness is. So long, Thankful. Soon's I
+hear from Kelly, I'll report.”
+
+He hurried from the house. Thankful watched him striding down the path.
+Not once did he hesitate or look back. She turned from the door and,
+returning to her chair by the center table, sat down. For a moment she
+sat there and then, leaning her head upon her arms on the table, wept
+tears of absolute loneliness and despair.
+
+The telegram to Michael Kelly of San Francisco brought an answer, but
+a most unsatisfactory one. Jedediah Cahoon had not been in the Kelly
+employ for more than six weeks. Kelly did not know where he had gone
+and, apparently, did not care. Captain Obed then wired and wrote the San
+Francisco police officials, urging them to trace the lost one. This they
+promised to do, but nothing came of it. The weeks passed and no word
+from them or from Jedediah himself was received. His letter had come to
+prove that, at the time it was written, he was alive; whether or not he
+was still alive, or where he might be if living, was as great a mystery
+as ever. Day after day Thankful watched and waited and hoped, but her
+waiting was unrewarded, and, though she still hoped, her hope grew
+steadily fainter; and the self-reproach and the worry greater in
+proportion.
+
+She and Georgie and Imogene spent Thanksgiving Day alone. Heman Daniels
+and Mr. Hammond were invited out and Captain Obed, who had meant to eat
+his Thanksgiving dinner at the High Cliff House, was called to Boston on
+business connected with his fish selling, and could not return in time.
+
+Early in December Thankful once more drove to Trumet to call upon
+Solomon Cobb. The question of the renewal of the mortgage she felt must
+remain a question no longer. But she obtained little satisfaction from
+her talk with the money-lender. Mr. Cobb's first remark concerned the
+Holliday Kendrick offer to buy the “Cap'n Abner place.”
+
+“Did he mean it, do you think?” he demanded. “Is he really so sot on
+buyin' as folks say he is?”
+
+“I'm afraid so.”
+
+“Huh! And he's hired his lawyer--that young cousin of his--Bailey
+Kendrick's son--to make you sell out to him?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What's the young feller done about it; anything?”
+
+“No; nothin' that I know of.”
+
+“Humph! Sure of that, be ye? I hear he's been spendin' consider'ble time
+over to Ostable lately, hangin' round the courthouse, and the probate
+clerk's office. Know what he's doin' that for?”
+
+“No, I didn't know he had. How did you know it?”
+
+“I knew. Ain't much goin' on that I don't know; I make it my business to
+know. Why don't you sell out to old Holliday?”
+
+“I don't want to sell. My boardin'-house has just got a good start and
+why should I give it up? I won't sell.”
+
+“Oh, you won't! Pretty independent for anybody with a mortgage hangin'
+over 'em, ain't ye?”
+
+“Solomon, are you goin' to renew that mortgage when it comes due?”
+
+Mr. Cobb pulled his whiskers. “I don't know's I am and I don't know's I
+ain't,” he said. “This Kendrick business kind of mixes things up. Might
+be a good idea for me to foreclose that mortgage and sell the place to
+him at my own price. Eh? What do you think of that?”
+
+“You wouldn't do it! You couldn't be so--”
+
+“So what? Business is business and if he's goin' to put you out anyhow,
+I don't see why I shouldn't get my share of the pickin's.”
+
+“But he ain't goin' to put me out.”
+
+“He says he is. Now--now--clear out and don't bother me. When that
+mortgage falls due I'll let you know what I intend doin' with it. If
+you pester me now I won't renew anyhow. Go along home and quit your
+frettin'. Long's you're there, you BE there. What more do you want?”
+
+There was a good deal more of this sort of thing, but it was all quite
+as unsatisfactory. Thankful gave it up at last.
+
+“I shan't come here again,” she declared desperately. “If you want to
+see me you can come to my place.”
+
+“Humph!”
+
+“Well, you will, or not see me. Why haven't you been there? Time and
+time again you have promised to come, but you never have. I shall begin
+to believe there is some reason why you don't want to go into that
+house.”
+
+She was on her way to the door, but Solomon called after her.
+
+“Here!” he shouted. “Hold on! What do you mean by that? Why shouldn't I
+go into that house if I want to? Why shouldn't I?”
+
+“I don't know; all I know is that you don't seem to want to. I can't say
+why you don't want to, but--”
+
+“But what?”
+
+“But, maybe, if someone that's dead and gone was here--he could.”
+
+“He--he--who? What? Hi! Where you goin'?”
+
+“I'm goin' home.”
+
+“No, you ain't--not until you tell me what you mean by--by somebody
+that's dead and gone. What kind of talk is that? What do you mean?”
+
+“Maybe I don't know what I mean, Solomon; but I think you do. If you
+don't then your looks belie you, that's all.”
+
+She went out of the “henhouse.” As she drove away she saw Mr. Cobb
+peering at her through the window. He was “weeding” with both hands and
+he looked agitated and--yes, frightened. Thankful was more than ever
+certain that his mysterious behavior was in some way connected with his
+past dealings with her Uncle Abner, but, not knowing what those dealings
+might have been, the certainty was not likely to help her. And he had
+not said that he would renew the mortgage.
+
+Georgie was the first to meet her when she drove into the yard. He had
+been spending the day with Captain Obed and had coaxed the latter into
+telling him stories of Santa Claus. Georgie's mind was now filled with
+anticipations of Christmas and Christmas presents, and his faith in
+Santa, which had been somewhat shaken during his year at kindergarten in
+South Middleboro, was reviving again. The captain and Imogene and Mrs.
+Barnes all helped in the revival. “Christmas loses three-quarters of its
+fun when old Santa's took out of it,” declared Captain Obed. “I know,
+'count of havin' been a young one myself a thousand year ago or
+such matter. This'll probably be the second mate's last Santa Claus
+Christmas, so let's keep this one the real thing for the boy.”
+
+So he and Imogene and Thankful--yes, even Kenelm--discussed Santa for
+Georgie's benefit and Georgie believed, although his belief was not as
+absolute and unquestioning as it had once been. He asked a great many
+questions, some of which his elders found hard to answer. His dearest
+wish was for an air-gun, but somehow Mrs. Barnes did not seem to think
+the wish would be gratified. She had a strong presentiment that the
+combination of Georgie and an air-gun and the chickens might not be a
+desirable one, especially for the chickens.
+
+“But why won't he bring it, Auntie?” demanded Georgie. “You say he
+brings good boys what they want. I've been a good boy, ain't I?”
+
+“'Deed you have. I wouldn't ask for a better one.”
+
+“Then why won't Santa bring me the gun?”
+
+“Perhaps he'll think a gun isn't nice for such a little boy to have.”
+
+“But it is nice. It's nicer'n anything. If I'm good and I want it I
+don't see why I can't have it. I think Santa's mean if he don't bring
+it.”
+
+“Oh no, he isn't mean. Just think how good he is! He comes to every boy
+and girl--”
+
+“No, he don't.”
+
+“Why yes, he does. To every good little boy and girl.”
+
+“He never came to Patsy Leary that lived up on the lots in Middleboro.
+Patsy said he didn't; he said there wasn't any Santa Claus, Patsy did.”
+
+“Hum! Perhaps Patsy wasn't good.”
+
+“Gee! Yes, he was. He can play baseball better'n any boy I know. And he
+can lick any kid his size; he told me he could.”
+
+This crushing proof of young Leary's goodness was a staggerer for
+Thankful. Before she could think of a reply Georgie asked another
+question.
+
+“You say he'll come down the chimney?” he queried.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“The livin'-room chimney?”
+
+“Yes, probably.”
+
+“No, he won't.”
+
+“Georgie!”
+
+“How can he? He's so fat; he's ever so fat in the pictures. How can he
+get through the stovepipe?”
+
+Mrs. Barnes' answer was evasive and Georgie noticed the evasion.
+However, his trust in his Aunt Thankful was absolute and if she said
+a fat man could get through a stovepipe he probably could. But the
+performance promised to be an interesting one. Georgie wished he might
+see it. He thought a great deal about it and, little by little, a plan
+began forming in his mind.
+
+Three days before Christmas Emily Howes arrived at the High Cliff House.
+She was received with rejoicings. The young lady looked thinner than
+when she went away and seemed more grave and careworn. But when Thankful
+commented upon her appearance Emily only laughed and declared herself
+quite well and perfectly happy. She and her cousin discussed all topics
+of common interest except one, that one was John Kendrick. Once or twice
+Thankful mentioned the young man's name, but invariably Emily changed
+the subject. It was evident that she did not wish to speak of John;
+also it was, to Mrs. Barnes, just as evident that she thought of him.
+Thankful believed that those thoughts were responsible for the change in
+her relative's look and manner.
+
+Christmas was to be, as Thanksgiving had been, a day free from boarders
+at the High Cliff House. Caleb was again “asked out,” and Mr. Daniels,
+so he said, “called away.” He had spent little time in East Wellmouth of
+late, though no one seemed to know exactly where he had been or why.
+
+The day before Christmas was cold and threatening. Late in the afternoon
+it began to rain and the wind to blow. By supper time a fairly able
+storm had developed and promised to develop still more. Captain Obed,
+his arms filled with packages, all carefully wrapped and all mysterious
+and not to be opened till the next day, came in just after supper.
+
+“Where's that second mate of mine?” whispered the captain, anxiously.
+When told that Georgie was in the kitchen with Imogene he sighed in
+relief.
+
+“Good!” he said. “Hide those things as quick as ever you can, afore he
+lays eyes on 'em. He's sharper'n a sail needle, that young one is, and
+if he can't see through brown paper he can GUESS through it, I bet you.
+Take em away and put 'em out of sight--quick.”
+
+Emily hurried upstairs with the packages. Captain Obed turned to
+Thankful.
+
+“How is she these days?” he asked, with a jerk of the head in the
+direction taken by Miss Howes.
+
+“She's pretty well, or she says she is. I ain't so sure myself. I'm
+afraid she thinks about--about HIM more than she makes believe. I'm
+afraid matters between them two had gone farther'n we guessed.”
+
+Captain Obed nodded. “Shouldn't wonder,” he said. “John looks pretty
+peaked, too. I saw him just now.”
+
+“You did? John Kendrick? He's been out of town for a week or two, so I
+heard. Where did you see him?”
+
+“At the Centre depot. I was up to the Centre--er--buyin' a few things
+and he got off the noon train.”
+
+“Did you speak to him?”
+
+“Yes, or he spoke to me. He and I ain't said much to each other--what
+little we've seen of each other lately--but that's been his fault more'n
+'twas mine. He sung out to me this time, though, and I went over to the
+platform. Say,” after a moment's hesitation, “there's another thing
+I want to ask you. How's Heman Daniels actin' since Emily come? Seems
+more'n extry happy, does he?”
+
+“Why--why, no. He's been away, too, a good deal; on business, he said.”
+
+“Humph! He and--er--Emily haven't been extra thick, then?”
+
+“No. Come to think of it they've hardly seen each other. Emily has acted
+sort of--sort of queer about him, too. She didn't seem to want to talk
+about him more'n she has about John.”
+
+“Humph! That's funny. I can't make it out. You see Heman got on that
+same train John got off. He was comin' along the depot platform just as
+I got to it. And the depot-master sung out to him.”
+
+“The depot-master? Eben Foster, you mean?”
+
+“Yup. He sung out, 'Congratulations, Heman,' says he.”
+
+“'What you congratulatin' him for?' says I.
+
+“'Ain't you heard?' says he. 'He's engaged to be married'.”
+
+Thankful uttered an exclamation.
+
+“Engaged!” she repeated. “Mr. Daniels engaged--to be married?”
+
+“So Eben said. I wanted to ask a million questions, of course, but John
+Kendrick was right alongside me and I couldn't. John must have heard it,
+too, and it did seem to me that he looked pretty well shook up, but he
+wa'n't any more shook than I was. I thought--Well, you see, I thought--”
+
+Thankful knew what he had thought. She also was “shaken up.”
+
+“I don't believe it,” she cried. “If--if--it can't he HER. Why, she
+would have told me, I'm sure. Obed, you don't think--”
+
+“I don't know what to think. Heman's been writin' her pretty reg'lar,
+I know that, 'cause Chris Badger told me so a week after she'd gone. I
+don't know, Thankful; one thing's sartin, Heman's kept his engagement
+mighty quiet. How Eben learned of it I don't know, but nobody in East
+Wellmouth knows, for I've been soundin' ever since I struck here.”
+
+Thankful was greatly troubled. “I HOPE it ain't true,” she cried. “I
+suppose he's all right, but--but I didn't want Emily to marry him.”
+
+“Neither did I. Perhaps she ain't goin' to. Perhaps it's just a
+round-the-stove lie, like a shipload of others that's set afloat every
+day. But, from somethin' John Kendrick said to me on that platform I
+knew he heard what Eben said.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“'Cause he as much as told me so. 'Is it true?' says he.
+
+“'I don't know,' says I. 'First I'd heard of it, if 'tis.'
+
+“He just nodded his head and seemed to be thinkin'. When he did speak
+'twas more to himself than to me. 'Well,' says he, 'then that settles
+it. I can do it now with a clear conscience.'
+
+“'Do what?' I asked him.
+
+“'Oh, nothin',' he says. 'Cap'n Obed, are you goin' to be busy all day
+tomorrow? I know it's Christmas, of course; but are you?'
+
+“'Not so busy it'll wreck my nerves keepin' up with my dates,' says I.
+'Why?'
+
+“'Can you spare a half-hour or so to come 'round to my office at--well,
+say two tomorrow afternoon? I've got a little business of my own and I'd
+like to have you there. Will you come?'
+
+“'Sartin,' I told him.
+
+“'Of course, if you're afraid of the moral leprosy--'
+
+“'I ain't.'
+
+“'Then I'll look for you,' says he, and off he went. I ain't seen him
+since. He come down along of Winnie S. and I had one of Chris Badger's
+teams. Now WHAT do you cal'late it all means?”
+
+“I don't know. I don't know. But I can't think Emily--Hush! she's
+comin'.”
+
+Emily entered the room and Captain Obed began philosophically concerning
+the storm, which he declared was “liable to be a hooter.”
+
+He went away soon after. At the door, when he and Mrs. Barnes were
+alone, he whispered, “Ain't changed your mind, have you, Thankful?
+About--about what I said to you that day?”
+
+“Obed, please! You said you wouldn't.”
+
+“All right, all right. Well, good night. I'll be around tomorrow to
+wish you and Emily and the second mate a merry Christmas. Good night,
+Thankful.”
+
+After he had gone Thankful and Emily assisted Georgie in hanging up his
+stocking and preparing for bed. The boy seemed willing to retire, a most
+unusual willingness for him. His only worry appeared to be concerning
+Santa Claus, whom he feared might be delayed in his rounds by the storm.
+
+“He'll be soaked, soppin' wet, won't he?” he asked anxiously.
+
+“Oh, he won't mind. Santa Claus don't mind this kind of weather. He
+lives up at the North Pole, so folks say.”
+
+“Yes. Won't the chimney soot all stick to him when he's wet? He'll be a
+sight, won't he?”
+
+“Perhaps so, but he won't mind that, either. Now, you go to bed,
+Georgie, like a good boy.”
+
+“I'm a-goin'. Say, Aunt Thankful, will the soot come all off on my
+presents?”
+
+They got him into bed at last and descended to the living-room. The
+storm was worse than ever. The wind howled and the rain beat. Emily
+shivered.
+
+“Mercy! What a night!” she exclaimed. “It reminds me of our first night
+in this house, Auntie.”
+
+“Does; that's a fact. Well, I hope there's nobody prowlin' around
+lookin' for a place to put their head in, the way we were then.
+I--what's that?”
+
+“What? What, Auntie? I didn't hear anything.”
+
+“I thought I did. Sounded as if somebody was--and they are! Listen!”
+
+Emily listened. From without, above the noise of the wind and rain and
+surf, came a shout.
+
+“Hi!” screamed a high-pitched voice. “Hi! Let me in. I--I'm drownin'.”
+
+Thankful rushed to the door and, exerting all her strength, pushed it
+open against the raging storm.
+
+“There's nobody here,” she faltered.
+
+“But--but there is, Auntie. I heard someone. I--”
+
+She stopped, for, out of the drenched darkness staggered a figure, the
+figure of a man. He plunged across the threshold, tripped over the mat
+and fell in a heap upon the floor.
+
+Emily shrieked. Mrs. Barnes pulled the door shut and ran to the
+prostrate figure.
+
+“Who is it?” she asked. “Who IS it? Are you hurt?”
+
+The figure raised its head.
+
+“Hurt!” it panted. “It's a wonder I ain't dead. What's the matter with
+ye? Didn't you hear me yellin' for you to open that door?”
+
+Thankful drew a long breath.
+
+“For mercy sakes!” she cried. “Solomon Cobb! WHAT are you doin' over
+here a night like this?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Mr. Cobb slowly raised his head. He looked about him in a bewildered
+way, and then his gaze fixed itself upon Mrs. Barnes.
+
+“What--why--YOU!” he gasped.
+
+“Eh?” stammered Thankful, whose surprise and bewilderment were almost as
+great as his. “Eh? What?”
+
+“You?” repeated Solomon. “What--what are you doin' here?”
+
+“What am I doin' here? What am I doin'?”
+
+“Yes.” Then, after another stare about the room, he added: “This ain't
+Kenelm Parker's house? Whose house is it?”
+
+“It's my house, of course. Emily, go and fetch some--some water or
+somethin'. He's out of his head.”
+
+Emily hurried to the kitchen, Thankful hastened to help the unexpected
+visitor to his feet. But the visitor declined to be helped.
+
+“Let me alone,” he roared. “Let me be. I--I want to know whose house
+this is?”
+
+“It's my house, I tell you. You ought to know whose house it is. Land
+sakes! You and I have had talk enough about it lately. Don't you know
+where you are? What are you sittin' there on the floor for? Are you
+hurt?”
+
+Slowly Mr. Cobb rose to his feet.
+
+“Do you mean to tell me,” he demanded, “that this is--is Abner's place?
+How'd I get here?”
+
+“I don't know. I ain't hardly had time to make sure you are here yet.
+And I'm sartin YOU ain't sure. That was an awful tumble you got. Seems
+as if you must have hurt yourself. And you're soppin' wet through! What
+in the WORLD?”
+
+She moved toward him again, but he waved her away.
+
+“Let me alone!” he ordered. “I was headin' for Kenelm Parker's. How'd I
+get here?”
+
+“I tell you I don't know. I suppose you lost your way. No wonder, such a
+night's this. Set down. Let me get you somethin' hot to drink. Come out
+in the kitchen by the cookstove. Don't--”
+
+“Hush up! Let me think. I never see such a woman to talk. I--I don't see
+how I done it. I left Chris Badger's and came across the fields and--”
+
+“And you took the wrong path, I guess, likely. Did you WALK from Chris
+Badger's? Where's your horse and team? You didn't walk from the Centre,
+did you?”
+
+“'Course I didn't. Think I'm a dum fool? My horse fell down and hurt his
+knee and I left him in Badger's barn. I cal'lated to go to Kenelm's and
+put up over night. I--”
+
+He was interrupted by Emily, who entered with a glass in her hand.
+
+“Here's the water, Auntie,” she said. “Is he better now?”
+
+“Better?” snorted Solomon. “What's the matter with you? I ain't sick.
+What you got in that tumbler? Water! What in time do I want of any more
+water? Don't I look as if I'd had water enough to last me one spell?
+I'm--consarn it all, I'm a reg'lar sponge! How far off is Kenelm's from
+here? How long will it take me to get there?”
+
+Thankful answered, and her answer was decisive.
+
+“I don't know,” she said, “but I do know you ain't goin' to try to get
+anywhere 'till mornin'. You and I ain't been any too lovin', Solomon
+Cobb, but I shan't take the responsibility of your dyin' of pneumonia.
+You'll stay right here, and the first thing I'll do is head off that
+chill you've got this very minute.”
+
+There was no doubt about the chill. Solomon's face and hands were
+blue and he was shaking from head to foot. But his determination was
+unshaken. He strode to the door.
+
+“How do I get to Parker's?” he demanded.
+
+“I tell you you mustn't go to Parker's or anywhere else. You're riskin'
+your life.”
+
+Mr. Cobb did not answer. He lifted the latch and pulled the door open. A
+howling gust of wind-driven rain beat in upon him, drenching the carpet
+and causing the lamp to flicker and smoke. For a moment Solomon gazed
+out into the storm; then he relinquished his hold and staggered back.
+
+“I--I can't do it!” he groaned. “I've GOT to stay here! I've GOT to!”
+
+Thankful, exerting all her strength, closed the door and locked it.
+“Indeed you've got to,” she declared. “Now go out into the kitchen and
+set by the stove while I heat a kettle and make you some ginger tea or
+somethin'.”
+
+Solomon hesitated.
+
+“He must, Aunt Thankful,” urged Emily; “he really must.”
+
+The visitor turned to stare at her.
+
+“Who are you?” he demanded, ungraciously. Then, as another chill racked
+him from head to foot, he added: “I don't care. Take me somewheres and
+give me somethin'--ginger tea or--or kerosene or anything else, so it's
+hot. I--I'm--sho--oo--ook all to--pi--ic--ces.”
+
+They led him to the kitchen, where Thankful prepared the ginger tea.
+During its preparation she managed to inform Emily concerning the
+identity of their unexpected lodger. Solomon, introduced to Miss Howes,
+merely grunted and admitted that he had “heard tell” of her. His manner
+might have led a disinterested person to infer that what he had heard
+was not flattering. He drank his tea, and as he grew warmer inside and
+out his behavior became more natural, which does not mean that it was
+either gracious or grateful.
+
+At length he asked what time it was. Thankful told him.
+
+“I think you'd better be gettin' to bed, Solomon,” she suggested.
+“I'll hunt up one of Mr. Caleb Hammond's nightshirts, and while you're
+sleepin' your wet clothes can be dryin' here by the cookstove.”
+
+Solomon grunted, but he was, apparently, willing to retire. Then came
+the question as to where he should sleep. Emily offered a suggestion.
+
+“Why don't you put him in the back room, Auntie,” she said. “The one
+Miss Timpson used to have. That isn't occupied now and the bed is
+ready.”
+
+Thankful hesitated. “I don't know's he'd better have that room, Emily,”
+ she said.
+
+“Why not? I'm sure it's a very nice room.”
+
+“Yes, I know it is, but--”
+
+“But what?”
+
+Mr. Cobb had a remark to make.
+
+“Well, come on, come on,” he said, testily. “Put me somewheres and do
+it quick. Long's I've GOT to sleep in this house I might's well be doin'
+it. Where is this room you're talkin' about? Let's see it.”
+
+Emily took the lamp and led the way up the back stairs. Solomon followed
+her and Thankful brought up the rear. She felt a curious hesitancy
+in putting even her disagreeable relative in that room on this night.
+Around the gables and upon the roof the storm whined and roared as
+it had the night when she first explored that upper floor. And she
+remembered, now, that it had stormed, though not as hard, the night
+when Miss Timpson received her “warning.” If there were such things as
+ghosts, and if the little back bedroom WAS haunted, a night like this
+was the time for spectral visitations. She had half a mind to give Mr.
+Cobb another room.
+
+But, before she could decide what to do, before the struggle between her
+common-sense and what she knew were silly forebodings was at an end,
+the question was decided for her. Solomon had entered the large room and
+expressed his approval of it.
+
+“This'll do first rate,” he said. “Why didn't you want to put me in
+here? Suppose you thought 'twas too good for me, eh? Well, it might be
+for some folks, but not for me. What's that, a closet?”
+
+He was pointing to the closed door of the little room, the one which
+Miss Timpson had intended using as a study. Thankful had, after her last
+night of fruitless spook hunting, closed the door and locked it.
+
+“What's this door locked for?” asked Mr. Cobb, who had walked over and
+was trying the knob.
+
+“Oh, nothing; it's just another empty room, that's all. There's nothin'
+in it.”
+
+“Humph! Is that so? What do you lock up a room with nothin' in it for?”
+ He turned the key and flung the door open. “Ugh!” he grunted, in evident
+disappointment. “'Tis empty, ain't it? Well, good night.”
+
+Emily, whose face expressed a decided opinion concerning the visitor,
+walked out into the hall. Thankful remained.
+
+“Solomon,” she said, in a whisper, “tell me. Have you made up your mind
+about that mortgage?”
+
+“Um? No, I ain't. Part of what I came over here today for was to find
+out a little more about this property and about Holliday Kendrick's
+offer for it. I may have a talk with him afore I decide about renewin'
+that mortgage. It looks to me as if 'twould be pretty good business to
+dicker with him. He's got money, and if I can get some of it, so much
+the better for me.”
+
+“Solomon, you don't mean--”
+
+“I don't know what I mean yet, I tell ye. But I do tell you this: I'm
+a business man and I know the value of money. I worked hard for what I
+got; 'twa'n't left me by nobody, like some folks's I hear of. Don't
+ask me no more questions. I'll see old Kendrick tomorrow, maybe; he's
+expected down.”
+
+“He is? Mr. Holliday Kendrick? How do you know?”
+
+“I know 'cause I found out, same as I usually find out things. Chris
+Badger got a telegram through his office from Holliday to John Kendrick
+sayin' he'd come on the noon train.”
+
+“But why should he come? And on Christmas day?”
+
+“I don't know. Probably he ain't so silly about Christmas as the average
+run of idiots. He's a business man, too. There! Good night, good night.
+Leave me alone so's I can say my prayers and turn in. I'm pretty nigh
+beat out.”
+
+“And you won't tell me about that mortgage?”
+
+“No. I'll tell you when my mind's made up; that ain't yet.”
+
+Thankful turned to go. At the threshold she spoke once more.
+
+“I wonder what you say in those prayers of yours, Solomon,” she
+observed. “I should imagine the Lord might find 'em interestin'.”
+
+“I'm glad I said it, Emily,” she told her cousin, who was awaiting her
+in her bedroom. “I presume likely it'll do more harm than good, but it
+did ME good while I was sayin' it. The mean, stingy old hypocrite! Now
+let's go downstairs and fill Georgie's stockin'.”
+
+But that ceremony, it appeared, must be deferred. Georgie was still
+wide-awake. He called to Emily to ask if the man who had come was Santa
+Claus.
+
+“The little rascal,” chuckled Thankful. “Well,” with a sigh, “he'll
+never make a worse guess if he lives to be as old as Methuselah's
+grandmarm. Emily, you sneak down and fetch the stockin' and the presents
+up here to my room. We'll do the fillin' here and hang up the stockin'
+in the mornin' afore he gets up.”
+
+While they were filling the stocking and tying the packages containing
+gifts too bulky to be put in it Miss Howes cross-questioned her cousin.
+Emily had been most unfavorably impressed with Mr. Cobb during this,
+her first, meeting with him, and her suspicions concerning Thankful's
+financial affairs, already aroused by the lady's reticence, were now
+active. She questioned and, after a time, Thankful told her, first a
+little and then all the truth.
+
+“I didn't mean to tell you, Emily,” she said, tearfully. “I didn't mean
+to tell a soul, but I--I just couldn't keep it to myself any longer. If
+he doesn't renew that mortgage--and goodness knows what he'll do after
+he talks with Mr. Holliday Kendrick--I--I don't see how I can help
+losin' everything. It's either that or sell out, and I don't want to
+sell--Oh, I don't! I know I can make a go of this place of mine if I
+have another year of it. I KNOW I can.”
+
+Emily was very much excited and fiercely indignant.
+
+“The beast!” she cried, referring to the pious occupant of the back
+bedroom; “the mean, wicked, miserable old miser! To think of his being
+a relative of yours, Aunt Thankful, and treating you so! And accepting
+your hospitality at the very time when he is considering taking your
+home away from you!”
+
+Thankful smiled ruefully. “As to that, Emily,” she said, “I ain't
+greatly surprised. Judgin' by what I've seen of Sol Cobb, I should say
+'twas a part of his gospel to accept anything he can get for nothin'.
+But how he can have the face to pray while he's doin' it I don't see.
+What kind of a God does he think he's prayin' to? I should think he'd
+be scared to get down on his knees for fear he'd never be let up
+again. Well, if there IS a ghost in that room I should say this was its
+chance.”
+
+“A ghost? What are you talking about, Auntie?”
+
+“Eh? Oh, nothin', nothin'. Did I say 'ghost'? I didn't realize what I
+said, I guess.”
+
+“Then why did you say it?”
+
+“Oh, I don't know. . . . There, there, don't let's get any more foolish
+than we can help. Let's go to bed. We'll have to turn out awful early
+in the mornin' to get Georgie's stockin' hung up and his presents ready.
+Now trot off to bed, Emily.”
+
+“Aunt Thankful, you're hiding something from me. I know you are.”
+
+“Now, Emily, you know I wouldn't--”
+
+“Yes, you would. At least, you have. All this time you have been
+deceiving me about that mortgage. And now I think there is something
+else. What did you mean by a ghost in that room?”
+
+“I didn't mean anything. There ain't any ghost in that room--the one
+Solomon's in.”
+
+“In THAT room? Is there one in another room?”
+
+“Now, Emily--”
+
+“Aunt Thankful, there is something strange in some room; don't deny it.
+You aren't accustomed to deceiving people, and you can't deceive me now.
+Tell me the truth.”
+
+“Well, Emily, it's all such perfect foolishness. You don't believe in
+ghosts, do you?”
+
+“Of course I don't.”
+
+“Neither do I. Whatever it is that snores and groans in that little back
+room ain't--”
+
+“AUNTIE! What DO you mean?”
+
+Thankful was cornered. Her attempts at evasion were useless and, little
+by little, Emily drew from her the story of the little back bedroom, of
+her own experience there the night of their first visit, of what Winnie
+S. had said concerning the haunting of the “Cap'n Abner place,” and of
+Miss Timpson's “warning.” She told it in a low tone, so as not to awaken
+Georgie, and, as she spoke, the wind shrieked and wailed and groaned,
+the blinds creaked, the water dripped and gurgled in the gutters, and
+the shadows outside the circle of light from the little hand lamp were
+black and threatening. Emily, as she listened, felt the cold shivers
+running up and down her spine. It is one thing to scoff at superstition
+in the bright sunlight; it is quite another to listen to a tale like
+this on a night like this in a house a hundred years old. Miss Howes
+scoffed, it is true, but the scoffing was not convincing.
+
+“Nonsense!” she said, stoutly. “A ghost that snores? Who ever heard of
+such a thing?”
+
+“Nobody ever did, I guess,” Thankful admitted. “It's all too silly for
+anything, of course. I KNOW it's silly; but, Emily, there's SOMETHIN'
+queer about that room. I told you what I heard; somethin' or somebody
+said, 'Oh, Lord!' as plain as ever I heard it said. And somethin' or
+somebody snored when Miss Timpson was there. And, of course, when they
+tell me how old Mr. Eldredge snored in that very room when he was dyin',
+and how Miss Timpson's sister snored when SHE was sick, it--it--”
+
+“Oh, stop, Auntie! You will have ME believing in--in things, if you keep
+on. It's nonsense and you and I will prove it so before I go back to
+Middleboro. Now you must go to bed.”
+
+“Yes, I'm goin'. Well, if there is a ghost in that room it'll have its
+hands full with Sol Cobb. He's a tough old critter, if ever there was
+one. Good night, Emily.”
+
+“Good night, Aunt Thankful. Don't worry about the--ha! ha!--ghost, will
+you?”
+
+“No, I've got enough to worry about this side of the grave. . . . Mercy!
+what's the matter?”
+
+“Nothing! I--I thought I heard a noise in--in the hall. I didn't
+though.”
+
+“No, course you didn't. Shall I go to your room with you?”
+
+“No indeed! I--I should be ashamed to have you. Where is Imogene?”
+
+“She's up in her room. She went to bed early. Goodness! Hear that wind.
+It cries like--like somethin' human.”
+
+“It's dreadful. It is enough to make anyone think. . . . There! If you
+and I talk any longer we shall both be behaving like children. Good
+night.”
+
+“Good night, Emily. Is Georgie asleep at last?”
+
+“I think so. I haven't heard a sound from him. Call me early, Auntie.”
+
+Thankful lit her own lamp; Emily took the one already lighted and
+hastened down the hall. Thankful shut the door and prepared for bed.
+The din of the storm was terrific. The old house shook as if it
+were trembling with fright and screaming in the agony of approaching
+dissolution. It was a long time before Thankful fell asleep, but at last
+she did.
+
+She was awakened by a hand upon her arm and a voice whispering in her
+ear.
+
+“Auntie!” whispered Emily. “Auntie, wake up! Oh, DO wake up!”
+
+Thankful was broad awake in a moment. She sat up in bed. The room was in
+black darkness, and she felt rather than saw Miss Howes standing beside
+her.
+
+“What is it, Emily?” she cried. “What is the matter?”
+
+“Hush, hush! Don't speak so loud. Get up! Get up and light the lamp.”
+
+Thankful sprang out of bed and hunted for the matchbox. She found it
+after a time and the lamp was lighted. Emily, wearing a wrapper over her
+night clothes, was standing by the door, apparently listening. Her face
+was white and she was trembling.
+
+“What IS it?” whispered Thankful.
+
+“Hush! I don't know what it is. Listen!”
+
+Thankful listened. All she heard were the noises of the storm.
+
+“I don't hear anything,” she said.
+
+“No--no, you can't hear it from here. Come out into the hall.”
+
+Cautiously and on tiptoe she led the way to the hall and toward the head
+of the front stairs. There she seized her cousin's arm and whispered in
+her ear.
+
+“Listen--!” she breathed.
+
+Thankful listened.
+
+“Why--why,” she whispered, “there's somebody down in the livin'-room!
+Who is it?”
+
+“I don't know. There are more than one, for I heard them talking. Who
+CAN it be?”
+
+Thankful listened again.
+
+“Where's Georgie?” she whispered, after a moment.
+
+“In his room, I suppose. . . . What? You don't think--”
+
+Thankful had tiptoed back to her own room and was returning with the
+lamp. Together they entered Georgie's bed chamber. But bed and room were
+empty. Georgie was not there.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Georgie had gone to bed that Christmas Eve with a well-defined plan in
+his small head. He knew what he intended doing and how he meant to do
+it. The execution of this plan depended, first of all, upon his not
+falling asleep, and, as he was much too excited to be in the least
+sleepy, he found no great difficulty in carrying out this part of his
+scheme.
+
+He had heard the conversation accompanying Mr. Cobb's unexpected
+entrance and had waited anxiously to ask concerning the visitor's
+identity. When assured by his sister that Santa had not arrived ahead
+of time he settled down again to wait, as patiently as he could, for the
+“grown-ups” to retire.
+
+So he waited and waited. The clock struck ten and then eleven. Georgie
+rose, tiptoed to his door and listened. There were no sounds except
+those of the storm. Then, still on tiptoe, the boy crept along the hall
+to the front stairs, down these stairs and into the living-room. The
+fire in the “airtight” stove showed red behind the isinglass panes, and
+the room was warm and comfortable.
+
+Georgie did not hesitate; his plan was complete to the minutest details.
+By the light from the stove he found his way to the sofa which stood
+against the wall on the side of the room opposite the windows. There was
+a heavy fringe on the sofa which hung almost to the floor. The youngster
+lay flat upon the floor and crept under the fringe and beneath the sofa.
+There he lay still. Aunt Thankful and Captain Obed and Imogene had said
+there was a Santa Claus; the boy in South Middleboro had said there was
+none; Georgie meant to settle the question for himself this very night.
+This was his plan: to hide in that living-room and wait until Santa
+came--if he came at all.
+
+It was lonely and dark and stuffy under the sofa and the beat of the
+rain and the howling gale outside were scary sounds for a youngster no
+older than he. But Georgie was plucky and determined beyond his years.
+He was tempted to give up and scamper upstairs again, but he fought down
+the temptation. If no Santa Claus came then he should know the Leary boy
+was right. If he did come then--well then, his only care must be not to
+be caught watching.
+
+Twelve o'clock struck; Georgie's eyes were closing. He blinked owl-like
+under the fringe at the red glow behind the isinglass. His head,
+pillowed upon his outstretched arms, felt heavy and drowsy. He must keep
+awake, he MUST. So, in order to achieve this result, he began to count
+the ticks of the big clock in the corner. One--two--three--and so on up
+to twenty-two. He lost count then; his eyes closed, opened, and closed
+again. His thoughts drifted away from the clock, drifted to--to . . .
+
+His eyes opened again. There was a sound in the room, a strange, new
+sound. No, it was not in the room, it was in the dining-room. He heard
+it again. Someone in that dining-room was moving cautiously. The door
+between the rooms was open and he could hear the sound of careful
+footsteps.
+
+Georgie was frightened, very much frightened. He was seized with a panic
+desire to scream and rush up-stairs. He did not scream, but he thrust
+one bare foot from beneath the sofa. Then he hastily drew it in again,
+for the person in the dining-room, whoever he or she might be, was
+coming toward the door.
+
+A moment later there was a scratching sound and the living-room was
+dimly illumined by the flare of a match. The small and trembling watcher
+beneath the sofa shut his eyes in fright. When he opened them the lamp
+upon the center table was lighted and Santa Claus himself was standing
+by the table peering anxiously about.
+
+It was Santa--Georgie made up his mind to that immediately. There was
+the pack, the pack which the pictured Santa Claus always carried, to
+prove it, although in this instance the pack was but a small and rather
+dirty bundle. There were other points of difference between the real
+Santa and the pictures; for instance, instead of being clothed entirely
+in furs, this one's apparel seemed to be, for the most part, rags, and
+soaked and dripping rags at that. But he did wear a fur cap, a mangy one
+which looked like a drowned cat, and his beard, though ragged like his
+garments, was all that might be desired. Yes, it was Santa Claus who had
+come, just as they said he would, although--and Georgie's doubts were so
+far justified--he had NOT come down the living-room chimney.
+
+Santa was cold, it seemed, for his first move was to go to the stove and
+stand by it, shivering and warming his hands. During this operation he
+kept looking fearfully about him and, apparently, listening. Then, to
+Georgie's chagrin and disappointment, he took up the lamp and tiptoed
+into the dining-room again. However, he had not gone for good, for his
+pack was still upon the floor where he had dropped it. And a few minutes
+later he reappeared, his pockets bulging and in his free hand the
+remains of half a ham, which Georgie himself had seen Aunt Thankful put
+away in the pantry.
+
+He replaced the lamp on the table and from his pockets extracted the end
+of a loaf of bread, several doughnuts and a half-dozen molasses cookies.
+Then he seated himself in a chair by the stove and proceeded to eat,
+hungrily, voraciously, first the ham and bread and then the doughnuts
+and cookies. And as he ate he looked and listened, occasionally starting
+as if in alarm.
+
+At last, when he had eaten everything but the ham bone, he rose to his
+feet and turned his attention to the pack upon the floor. This was what
+Georgie had been waiting for, and as Santa fumbled with the pack, his
+back to the sofa, the boy parted the fringe and peered at him with eager
+expectation.
+
+The pack, according to every story Georgie had been told, should have
+been bulging with presents; but if the latter were there they were under
+more old clothes, even worse than those the Christmas saint was wearing.
+Santa Claus hurriedly pawed over the upper layer and then took out a
+little package wrapped in tissue paper. Untying the string, he exposed a
+small pasteboard box and from this box he lifted some cotton and then--a
+ring.
+
+It was a magnificent ring, so Georgie thought. It had a big green stone
+in the center and the rest was gold, or what looked like gold. Santa
+seemed to think well of it, too, for he held it to the lamplight and
+moved it back and forth, watching the shine of the green stone. Then
+he put the ring down, tore a corner from the piece of tissue paper,
+rummaged the stump of a pencil out of his rags, and, humping himself
+over the table, seemed to be writing.
+
+It took him a long time and was plainly hard work, for he groaned
+occasionally and kept putting the point of the pencil into his mouth.
+Georgie's curiosity grew stronger each second. Unconscious of what he
+was doing, he parted the fringe still more and thrust out his head for a
+better view. The top of his head struck the edge of the sofa with a dull
+thump.
+
+Santa Claus jumped as if someone had stuck a pin into him and turned.
+That portion of his face not covered by the scraggly beard was as white
+as mud and dirt would permit.
+
+“Who--who be YOU?” he demanded in a frightened whisper.
+
+Georgie was white and frightened also, but he manfully crept out from
+beneath the sofa.
+
+“Who be you?” repeated Santa.
+
+“I--I'm Georgie,” stammered the boy.
+
+“Georgie! Georgie who?”
+
+“Georgie Hobbs. The--the boy that lives here.”
+
+“Lives--lives HERE?”
+
+“Yes.” It seemed strange that the person reputed to know all the
+children in the world did not recognize him at sight.
+
+Apparently he did not, however, for after an instant of silent and shaky
+inspection he said:
+
+“You mean to say you live here--in this house? Who do you live with?”
+
+“Mrs. Barnes, her that owns the house.”
+
+Santa gasped audibly. “You--you live with HER?” he demanded. “Good Lord!
+She--she ain't married again, is she?”
+
+“Married! No--no, sir, she ain't married.”
+
+“Then--then--See here, boy; what's your name--your whole name?”
+
+“George Ellis Hobbs. I'm Mr. Hobbs's boy, up to South Middleboro, you
+know. I'm down here stayin' with Aunt Thankful. She--”
+
+“Sshh! sshh! Don't talk so loud. So you're Mr. Hobbs's boy, eh?
+What--eh? Oh, yes, yes. You're ma was--was Sarah Cahoon, wa'n't she?”
+
+“Yes, sir. I--I hope you won't be cross because I hid under the sofa.
+They said you were coming, but I wasn't sure, and I--I thought I'd hide
+and see if you did. Please--” the tears rushed to Georgie's eyes at the
+dreadful thought--“please don't be cross and go away without leaving me
+anything. I'll never do so again; honest, I won't.”
+
+Santa seemed to have heard only the first part of this plea for
+forgiveness. He put a hand to his forehead.
+
+“They said I was comin'!” he repeated. “They said--WHO said so?”
+
+“Why, everybody. Aunt Thankful and Emily and Imogene and Cap'n Bangs and
+Mr. Parker and--all of 'em. They knew you was comin' tonight, but I--”
+
+“They knew it! Boy, are you crazy?”
+
+Georgie shook his head.
+
+“No, sir.” Then, as Santa Claus sat staring blankly with open mouth and
+fingers plucking nervously at what seemed to be the only button on his
+coat, he added, “Please, sir, did you bring the air-gun?”
+
+“Hey?”
+
+“Did you bring the air-gun I wanted? They said you probably wouldn't,
+but I do want it like everything. I won't shoot the hens, honest I
+won't.”
+
+Santa Claus picked at the button.
+
+“Say, boy,” he asked, slowly. “Who am I?”
+
+Georgie was surprised.
+
+“Why, Santa Claus,” he replied. “You are Santa Claus, ain't you?”
+
+“Eh? San . . . Oh, yes, yes! I'm Santa Claus, that's who I be.” He
+seemed relieved, but still anxious. After fidgeting a moment he added,
+“Well, I cal'late I'll have to be goin' now.”
+
+Georgie turned pale.
+
+“But--but where are the presents?” he wailed. “I--I thought you wasn't
+goin' to be cross with me. I'm awfully sorry I stayed up to watch for
+you. I won't ever do it again. PLEASE don't go away and not leave me any
+presents. Please, Mr. Santa Claus!”
+
+Santa started. “Sshh!” he commanded in an agonized whisper. “Hush up!
+Somebody'll hear. . . . Eh? What's that?”
+
+The front stairs creaked ominously. Georgie did not answer; he made a
+headlong dive for his hiding-place beneath the sofa. Santa seemed to be
+even more alarmed than the youngster. He glanced wildly about the room
+and, as another creak came from the stairs, darted into the dining-room.
+
+For a minute or more nothing happened. Then the door leading to the
+front hall, the door which had been standing ajar, opened cautiously and
+Mrs. Barnes' head protruded beyond its edge. She looked about the room;
+then she entered. Emily Howes followed. Both ladies wore wrappers now,
+and Thankful's hand clutched an umbrella, the only weapon available,
+which she had snatched from the hall rack as she passed it. She advanced
+to the center table.
+
+“Who's here?” she demanded firmly. “Who lit this lamp? Georgie! Georgie
+Hobbs, we know you're here somewhere, for we heard you. Show yourself
+this instant.”
+
+Silence--then Emily seized her cousin's arm and pointed. A small bare
+foot protruded from beneath the sofa fringe. Thankful marched to the
+sofa and, stooping, grasped the ankle above the foot.
+
+“Georgie Hobbs,” she ordered, “come out from under this sofa.”
+
+Georgie came, partly of his own volition, partly because of the
+persuasive tug at his ankle.
+
+“Now, then,” ordered Thankful; “what are you doin' down here? Answer
+me.”
+
+Georgie did not answer. He marked a circle on the floor with his toe.
+
+“What are you doin' down here?” repeated Mrs. Barnes. “Did you light
+that lamp?”
+
+“No'm,” replied Georgie.
+
+“Of course he didn't, Auntie,” whispered Emily. “There was someone here
+with him. I heard them talking.”
+
+“Who did light it?”
+
+Georgie marked another circle. “Santa Claus,” he muttered faintly.
+
+Thankful stared, first at the boy and then at her cousin.
+
+“Mercy on us!” she exclaimed. “The child's gone crazy. Christmas has
+struck to his head!”
+
+But Emily's fears were not concerning her small brother's sanity. “Hush,
+Auntie,” she whispered. “Hush! He was talking to someone. We both heard
+another voice. WHO did you say it was, Georgie?”
+
+“Santa Claus. Oh, Emmie, please don't be mad. I--I wanted to see him
+so--and--and when he came I--I--”
+
+“There, there, Georgie; don't cry, dear. We're not cross. You were
+talking to someone you thought was Santa. Where is he?”
+
+“He WAS Santa Claus. He SAID he was. He went away when you came--into
+the dinin'-room.”
+
+“The dining-room? . . . Auntie, WHAT are you doing? Don't!”
+
+But Thankful had seized the lamp and was already at the threshold of the
+dining-room. Holding the light aloft she peered into that apartment.
+
+“If there's anybody here,” she ordered, “they'd better come out because.
+. . . Here! I see you under that table. I--”
+
+She stopped, gasped, and staggered back. Emily, running to her side, was
+just in time to prevent the lamp falling to the floor.
+
+“Oh, Auntie,” cried the young lady. “Auntie, what IS it?”
+
+Thankful did not answer. Her face was white and she moved her hands
+helplessly. And there in the doorway of the dining-room appeared Santa
+Claus; and if ever Santa Claus looked scared and apprehensive he did at
+that moment.
+
+Emily stared at him. Mrs. Barnes uttered a groan. Santa Claus smiled
+feebly.
+
+“Hello, Thankful,” he said. “I--I cal'late you're surprised to see me,
+ain't you?”
+
+Thankful's lips moved.
+
+“Are--are you livin' or--or dead?” she gasped.
+
+“Me--Oh, I'm alive, but that's about all. Hey? It's Emily, ain't it?
+Why--why, Emily, don't you know me?”
+
+Miss Howes put the lamp down upon the table. Then she leaned heavily
+upon a chair back.
+
+“Cousin Jedediah!” she exclaimed. “It can't be--it--Auntie--”
+
+But Thankful interrupted. She turned to Georgie.
+
+“Is--is THIS your Santa Claus?” she faltered.
+
+“Yes'm,” answered Georgie.
+
+“Jedediah Cahoon!” cried Thankful. “Jedediah Cahoon!”
+
+For Georgie's “Santa Claus” was her brother, the brother who had run
+away from her home so long ago to seek his fortune in the Klondike;
+whose letter, written in San Francisco and posted in Omaha, had reached
+her the month before; whom the police of several cities were looking for
+at her behest.
+
+“Auntie!” cried Emily again.
+
+Thankful shook her head. “Help me to a chair, Emily,” she begged weakly.
+“This--this is--my soul and body! Jedediah come alive again!”
+
+The returned gold-hunter swallowed several times.
+
+“Thankful,” he faltered, “I know you must feel pretty hard agin me,
+but--but, you see--”
+
+“Hush! hush! Don't speak to me for a minute. Let me get my bearin's, for
+mercy sakes, if I can. . . . Jedediah--HERE!”
+
+“Yes--yes, I'm here. I am, honest. I--”
+
+“Sshh! You're here now, but--but where have you been all this time? For
+a man that is, I presume likely, loaded down with money--I presume you
+must be loaded down with it; you remember you'd said you'd never come
+back until you was--for that kind of a man I must say you look pretty
+down at the heel.”
+
+“Thankful--”
+
+“Have you worn out your clothes luggin' the money around?”
+
+“Auntie, don't. Look at him. Think!”
+
+“Hush, Emily! I am lookin' at him and I'm thinkin', too. I'm thinkin'
+of how much I put up with afore he run off and left me, and how I've
+worried and laid awake nights thinkin' he was dead. Where have you been
+all this time? Why haven't you written?”
+
+“I did write.”
+
+“You wrote when you was without a cent and wanted to get money from me.
+You didn't write before. Let me be, Emily; you don't know what I've gone
+through on account of him and now he comes sneakin' into my house in the
+middle of the night, without a word that he was comin', sneakin' in like
+a thief and frightenin' us half to death and--”
+
+Jedediah interrupted. “Sneakin' in!” he repeated, with a desperate move
+of his hands. “I had to sneak in. I was scairt to come in when you
+was up and awake. I knew you'd be down on me like a thousand of brick.
+I--I--Oh, you don't know what I've been through, Thankful, or you'd
+pity me, 'stead of pitchin' into me like this. I've been a reg'lar
+tramp--that's what I've been, a tramp. Freezin' and starvin' and workin'
+in bar-rooms! Why, I beat my way on a freight train all the way here
+from New Bedford, and I've been hidin' out back of the house waitin' for
+you to go to bed, so's I'd dare come in.”
+
+“So's you'd dare come in! What did you want to come in for if I wa'n't
+here?”
+
+“I wanted to leave a note for you, that's why. I wanted to leave a note
+and--and that.”
+
+He pointed to the ring and the bit of tissue paper on the table.
+Thankful took up the paper first and read aloud what was written upon
+it.
+
+
+“For Thankful, with a larst merry Christmas from brother Jed. I am going
+away and if you want me I will be at New Bedford for two weeks, care the
+bark Finback.”
+
+
+“'I am goin' away',” repeated Thankful. “Goin' away? Are you goin' away
+AGAIN?”
+
+“I--I was cal'latin' to. I'm goin' cook on a whaler.”
+
+“Cook! You a cook! And,” she took up the ring and stared at it, “for the
+land sakes, what's this?”
+
+“It's a present I bought for you. Took my last two dollar bill, it did.
+I wanted you to have somethin' to remember me by.”
+
+Thankful held the gaudy ring at arm's length and stared at it
+helplessly. There was a curious expression on her face, half-way between
+laughing and crying.
+
+“You bought this--this thing for me,” she repeated. “And did you think
+I'd wear it.”
+
+“I hoped you would. Oh, Thankful, if you only knew what I've been
+through. Why, I was next door to starvin' when I got in here tonight.
+If I hadn't eat somethin' I found in the buttry I would have starved, I
+guess. And I'm soaked, soppin' through and--”
+
+“There, there. Hush! hush! Jedediah, you're gold-diggin' ain't changed
+you much, I guess. You're just as helpless as ever you was. Well, you're
+here and I'm grateful for so much. Now you come with me out into the
+kitchen and we'll see what can be done about gettin' you dry. Emily, if
+you'll just put that child to bed.”
+
+But Georgie had something to say. He had listened to this long dialogue
+with astonishment and growing dismay. Now the dismay and conviction of a
+great disappointment overcame him.
+
+“I don't want to go to bed,” he wailed. “Ain't he Santa Claus? He SAID
+he was Santa Claus. Where are my presents? Where's my air-gun? I want my
+presents. Oh--Oh--Oh!”
+
+He went out crying. Emily ran to him.
+
+“Hush, hush, Georgie, dear,” she begged. “Come upstairs with
+sister--come. If you don't you may be here when the real Santa comes and
+you will frighten him away. Come with me; that's a good boy. Auntie, I
+will be down by and by.”
+
+She led the disappointed and still sobbing boy from the room. Thankful
+turned to her brother.
+
+“Now you march out into that kitchen,” she commanded. “I'll get you warm
+first and then I'll see about a bed for you. You'll have to sleep up on
+the third floor tonight. After that I'll see about a better room to put
+you in.”
+
+Jedediah stared at her.
+
+“What--what,” he faltered. “Do you mean--Thankful, do you mean you're
+goin' to let me stay here for--for good?”
+
+“Yes, of course I do. You don't think I'll let you get out of my sight
+again, do you? That is, unless you're real set on goin' gold-huntin'.
+I'm sure you shan't go cook on any whaler; I've got too much regard for
+sailors' digestions to let you do that.”
+
+“Thankful, I--I'll work my hands off for you. I'll--”
+
+“All right, all right. Now trot along and warm those hands or you won't
+have any left to work off; they'll be SHOOK off with the shivers. Come,
+Jed, I forgive you; after all, you're my brother, though you did run
+away and leave me.”
+
+“Then--then you're glad I came back?”
+
+“Glad!” Thankful shook her head with a tearful smile. “Glad!” she
+repeated. “I've been workin' heavens and earth to get you back ever
+since I got that pitiful letter of yours. You poor thing! You MUST have
+had a hard time of it. Well, you can tell me all about it by and by. Now
+you march into that kitchen.”
+
+Another hour had passed before Mrs. Barnes reentered the living-room.
+There, to her astonishment, she found Emily awaiting her.
+
+“Why, for goodness sakes!” cried Thankful. “What are you doin' here? I
+thought you'd gone to bed long ago.”
+
+Emily's reply was given in an odd tone. She did not look at her cousin
+when she spoke.
+
+“No, no,” she said, quickly. “I--I haven't gone to bed.”
+
+“I see you haven't, but why?”
+
+“I didn't want to. I--I'm not sleepy.”
+
+“Not sleepy! At two o'clock in the mornin'? Well,” with a sigh, “I
+suppose 'tain't to be wondered at. What's happened this night is enough
+to keep anybody awake. I can't believe it even yet. To think of his
+comin' back after I've given him up for dead twice over. It's like a
+story-book.”
+
+“Where is he?”
+
+“Up in bed, in one of the attic rooms. If he hasn't got his death of
+cold it'll be a wonder. And SUCH yarns as he's been spinnin' to me.
+I--Emily, what's the matter with you? What makes you act so queer?”
+
+Emily did not answer. Mrs. Barnes walked across the room and, stooping,
+peered into her face.
+
+“You're white as a sheet!” she cried, in alarm. “And you're tremblin'
+all over. What in the world IS the matter?”
+
+Emily tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt.
+
+“Nothing, nothing, Auntie,” she said. “That is, I--I'm sure it can't be
+anything to be afraid of.”
+
+“But you are afraid, just the same. What is it? Tell me this minute.”
+
+For the first time Emily looked her cousin in the face.
+
+“Auntie,” she whispered, “I am--I have been frightened. Something I
+heard upstairs frightened me.”
+
+“Somethin' you heard upstairs? Where? Has Georgie--”
+
+“No, Georgie is asleep in his room. I locked the door. It wasn't
+Georgie; it was something else.”
+
+“Somethin'--Emily Howes, do you want to scare me to DEATH? What IS it?”
+
+“I don't know what it is. I heard it first when I came out of Georgie's
+room a few minutes ago. Then I went down the hall to his door and
+listened. Aunt Thankful, he--he is in there talking--talking to
+someone.”
+
+“He? Talkin'? Who?”
+
+“Mr. Cobb. It was dreadful. He was talking to--to--I don't know WHAT he
+was talking to, but it was awful to hear.”
+
+“Talkin'? Solomon Cobb was talkin'? In his sleep, do you mean?”
+
+“No, he wasn't asleep. He was talking to someone, or some THING, in that
+room. And that wasn't all. I heard--I heard--Oh, I DID hear it! I know I
+did! And yet it couldn't be! It couldn't!”
+
+“Emily Howes, if you keep on I'll--WHAT did you hear?”
+
+“I don't know. . . . Aunt Thankful, where are you going?”
+
+Thankful did not answer. She was on her way to the front hall and the
+stairs. Emily rushed after her and would have detained her if she could,
+but Thankful would not be detained. Up the stairs they went together and
+along the narrow dark hall. At the end of the hall was the door of the
+back bedroom, or the larger room adjoining it. The door was closed,
+but from beneath it shone lamplight in sharp, yellow streaks. And from
+behind it came faintly the sound of a deep groan, the groan of a soul in
+agony.
+
+“He's sick,” whispered Thankful. “The man's sick. I'm goin' to him.”
+
+“He isn't sick. It--it's something else. I tell you I heard--”
+
+Thankful did not wait to learn what her cousin had heard. She tiptoed
+down the hall and Emily followed. The two women crouched beside
+the closed door of Mr. Cobb's room. And within that room they heard
+Solomon's voice, now rising almost to a shriek, now sinking to a groan,
+as its owner raved on and on, talking, pleading, praying.
+
+“Oh, don't--don't, Abner!” cried Mr. Cobb. “Don't, no more! PLEASE
+don't! I know what you mean. I know it all. I'm sorry. I know I ain't
+done right. But I'll MAKE it right; I swear to the Almighty I will! I
+know I've broke my word to you and acted wicked and mean, but I give you
+my solemn word I'll make everything right. Only just quit and go away,
+that's all I ask. Just quit that--Oh, there you GO again! QUIT! PLEASE
+quit!”
+
+It was dreadful to hear, but this was not the most dreadful. Between the
+agonized sentences and whenever the wind lulled, the listeners at the
+door heard another sound, a long-drawn gasp and groan, a series of gasps
+and groans, as of something fighting for breath, the unmistakable sound
+of snoring.
+
+Emily grasped her cousin's arm. “Come, come away!” she whispered. “I--I
+believe I'm going to faint.”
+
+Mrs. Barnes did not wait to be urged. She put her arm about the young
+lady's waist and together they tiptoed back to Thankful's bedroom.
+There, Mrs. Barnes's first move was to light the lamp, the second to
+close and lock the door. Then the pair sat down, one upon the bed and
+the other on a chair, and gazed into each other's pale faces.
+
+Emily was the first to speak.
+
+“I--I don't believe it!” she declared, shakily. “I KNOW it isn't real!”
+
+“So--so do I.”
+
+“But--but we heard it. We both heard it.”
+
+“Well--well, I give in I--I heard somethin', somethin' that. . . . My
+soul! Am I goin' CRAZY to finish off this night with?”
+
+“I don't know. If you are, then I must be going with you. What can it
+be, Auntie?”
+
+“I don't know.”
+
+“There is no other door to that room, is there?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then what CAN it be?”
+
+“I don't know. Imogene's in her own room; I looked in and saw her when
+I took Jedediah up attic. And Georgie's in his with the door locked.
+And you and I are here. There can't be a livin' soul in that room with
+Solomon, not a livin' soul.”
+
+“But we heard--we both heard--”
+
+“I know; I know. And I heard somethin' there before. And so did Miss
+Timpson. Emily, did--did you hear him call--call it 'Abner'?”
+
+“Yes,” with a shudder. “I heard. Who could help hearing!”
+
+“And Cap'n Abner was my uncle; and he used to live here. . . . There!”
+ with sudden determination. “That's enough of this. We'll both be stark,
+ravin' distracted if we keep on this way. My soul! Hear that wind! I
+said once that all the big things in my life had happened durin' a storm
+and so they have. Jedediah went away in a storm and he's come back in
+a storm. And now if UNCLE ABNER'S comin' back. . . . There I go again!
+Emily, do you feel like goin' to bed?”
+
+“To BED! After THAT? Auntie, how can you!”
+
+“All right, then we'll set up till mornin'. Turn that lamp as high as
+you can and we'll set by it and wait for daylight. By that time we may
+have some of our sense back again and not behave like two feeble-minded
+fools. Turn that wick up--WAY up, Emily Howes! And talk--talk just as
+hard as you can--about somethin' or somebody that's ALIVE.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Emily obeyed orders as far as turning up the wick was concerned, and she
+did her best to talk. It was hard work; both she and her cousin found
+themselves breaking off a sentence in the middle to listen and draw
+closer together as the wild gusts whistled about the windows and the
+water poured from the sashes and gurgled upon the sills. Occasionally
+Thankful went to the door to look down the dark hall in the direction
+of Mr. Cobb's room, or to unlock Georgie's door and peer in to make sure
+that the boy was safe and sleeping.
+
+From the third of these excursions Mrs. Barnes returned with a bit of
+reassuring news.
+
+“I went almost there this time,” she whispered. “My conscience has been
+tormenting me to think of--of Solomon's bein' alone in there with--with
+THAT, and I almost made up my mind to sing out and ask if he was all
+right. But I didn't have to, thank goodness. His light's still lit and I
+heard him movin' around, so he ain't been scared clean to death, at any
+rate. For the rest of it I don't care so much; a good hard scarin' may
+do him good. He needs one. If ever a stingy old reprobate needed to have
+a warnin' from the hereafter that man does.”
+
+“Did you hear anything--anything else?” whispered Emily, fearfully.
+
+“No, I didn't, and I didn't wait for fear I MIGHT hear it. Did I lock
+the door when I came in? Emily, I guess you think I'm the silliest old
+coward that ever was. I am--and I know it. Tomorrow we'll both be brave
+enough, and we'll both KNOW there ain't any spirits here, or anywhere
+else this side of the grave; but tonight--well, tonight's different.
+. . . Ouch! what was that? There, there! don't mind my jumpin'. I feel
+as if I'd been stuffed with springs, like a sofa. Did you ever know a
+night as long as this? Won't mornin' EVER come?”
+
+At five o'clock, while it was still pitch dark, Thankful announced her
+intention of going downstairs. “Might as well be in the kitchen as up
+here,” she said, “and I can keep busy till Imogene comes down. And,
+besides, we'd better be puttin' Georgie's stockin' and his presents in
+the livin'-room. The poor little shaver's got to have his Christmas,
+even though his Santa Claus did turn out to be a walkin' rag-bag.”
+
+Emily started. “Why, it is Christmas, isn't it!” she exclaimed.
+“Between returned brothers and,” with a little shiver, “ghosts, I forgot
+entirely.”
+
+She kissed her cousin's cheek.
+
+“A merry Christmas, Aunt Thankful,” she said.
+
+Thankful returned the kiss. “Same to you, dearie, and many of 'em,” she
+replied. “Well, here's another Christmas day come to me. A year ago I
+didn't think I'd be here. I wonder where I'll be next Christmas. Will
+I have a home of my own or will what I've thought was my home belong to
+Sol Cobb or Holliday Kendrick?”
+
+“Hush, Auntie, hush! Your home won't be taken from you. It would be too
+mean, too dreadful! God won't permit such a thing.”
+
+“I sartin' hope he won't, but it seems sometimes as if he permitted some
+mighty mean things, 'cordin' to our way of lookin' at 'em. That light's
+still burnin',” she added, peering out into the hall. “Well, I suppose I
+ought to pity Solomon, but I don't when I think how he's treated me.
+If the ghost--or whatever 'tis in there--weeded out the rest of his
+whiskers for him I don't know's I'd care. 'Twould serve him right, I
+guess.”
+
+They rehung Georgie's stocking--bulging and knobby it was now--and
+arranged his more bulky presents beneath it on the floor. Then Thankful
+went into the kitchen and Emily accompanied her. The morning broke,
+pale and gray. The wind had subsided and it no longer rained. With the
+returning daylight Emily's courage began to revive.
+
+“I can't understand,” she said, “how you and I could have been so
+childish last night. We should have insisted on calling to Mr. Cobb and
+then we should have found out what it was that frightened him and us. I
+mean to go over every inch of those two rooms before dinner time.”
+
+Thankful nodded. “I'll do it with you,” she said. “But I've been over
+'em so many times that I'm pretty skeptical. The time to go over 'em is
+in the night when that--that snorin' is goin' on. A ghost that snores
+ought, by rights, to be one that's asleep, and a sound-asleep ghost
+ought to be easy to locate. Oh, yes! I can make fun NOW. I told you I
+was as brave as a lion--in the daytime.”
+
+It was easy to talk now, and they drifted into a discussion of many
+things. Thankful retold the story of her struggle to keep the High Cliff
+House afloat, told it all, her hopes, her fears and her discouragements.
+They spoke of Captain Bangs, of his advice and help and friendship.
+Emily brought the captain into the conversation and kept him there.
+Thankful said little concerning him, and of the one surprising, intimate
+interview between Captain Obed and herself she said not a word. She
+it was who first mentioned John Kendrick's name. Emily was at first
+disinclined to speak of the young lawyer, but, little by little, as her
+cousin hinted and questioned, she said more and more. Thankful learned
+what she wished to learn, and it was what she had suspected. She learned
+something else, too, something which concerned another citizen of East
+Wellmouth.
+
+“I knew it!” she cried. “I didn't believe 'twas so, and I as much as
+told Cap'n Obed 'twasn't this very day--no, yesterday, I mean. When a
+body don't go to bed at all the days kind of run into one another.”
+
+“What did you know?” asked Emily. “What were you and Captain Obed
+talking of that concerned me?”
+
+“Nothin', nothin', dear. It didn't concern you one bit, and 'twasn't
+important. . . . Hi hum!” rising and looking out of the window.
+“It's gettin' brighter fast now. Looks as if we might have a pleasant
+Christmas, after all. Wonder how poor Jedediah'll feel when he wakes up.
+I hope he slept warm anyhow. I piled on comforters and quilts enough to
+smother him.”
+
+Her attempt at changing the subject was successful. Emily's next
+question concerned Jedediah.
+
+“What are you goin' to do with him, Auntie?” she asked. “He must stay
+here, mustn't he?”
+
+“Course he must. I'll never trust him out of my sight again. He ain't
+competent to take care of himself and so I'll have to take care of him.
+Well,” with a sigh, “it'll only be natural, that's all. I've been used
+to takin' care of somebody all my days. I wonder how 'twould seem to
+have somebody take care of me for a change? Not that there's liable to
+be anybody doin' it,” she added hastily.
+
+“Jedediah might be useful to work about the place here,” said Emily.
+“You will always need a hired man, you know.”
+
+“Yes, but I don't need two, and I couldn't discharge Kenelm on Imogene's
+account. What that girl ever got engaged to that old image for is more'n
+I can make out or ever shall.”
+
+Emily smiled. “I shouldn't worry about Imogene,” she said. “I think she
+knows perfectly well what she is about.”
+
+“Maybe so, but if she does, then her kind of knowledge is different from
+mine. If I was goin' to marry anybody in that family 'twould be Hannah;
+she's the most man of the two.”
+
+Imogene herself came down a few minutes later. She was much surprised
+to find her mistress and Miss Howes dressed and in the kitchen. Also she
+was very curious.
+
+“Who's that man,” she asked; “the one in the next room to mine, up
+attic? Is he a new boarder? He must have come awful late. I heard you
+and him talkin' in the middle of the night. Who is he?”
+
+When told the story of Jedediah's return she was greatly excited.
+
+“Why, it's just like somethin' in a story!” she cried. “Long-lost folks
+are always comin' back in stories. And comin' Christmas Eve makes it all
+the better. Lordy--There, I ain't said that for weeks and weeks! Excuse
+me, Mrs. Thankful. I WON'T say it again. But--but what are we goin' to
+do with him? Is he goin' to stay here for good?”
+
+Thankful answered that she supposed he was, he had no other place to
+stay.
+
+“Is he rich? He ought to be. Folks in stories always come home rich
+after they've run off.”
+
+“Well, this one didn't. He missed connections, somehow. Rich! No,”
+ drily, “he ain't rich.”
+
+“Well, what will he do? Will we have to take care of him--free, I mean?
+Excuse me for buttin' in, ma'am, but it does seem as if we had enough on
+our hands without takin' another free boarder.”
+
+Thankful went into the dining-room. Emily, when the question was
+repeated to her, suggested that, possibly, Jedediah might work about
+the place, take care of the live-stock and of the garden, when there was
+one.
+
+Imogene reflected. “Hum!” she mused. “We don't need two hired hands,
+that's a sure thing. You mean he'll take Kenelm's job?”
+
+“That isn't settled, so you mustn't speak of it. I know my cousin will
+be very sorry to let Kenelm go, largely on your account, Imogene.”
+
+“On my account?”
+
+“Why, yes. You and he are engaged to be married and of course you like
+to have him here.”
+
+Imogene burst out laughing. “Don't you worry about that, Miss Emily,”
+ she said. “I shan't, and I don't think Kenelm will, either.”
+
+Breakfast was ready at last and they were just sitting down to the
+table--it had been decided not to call Jedediah or Mr. Cobb--when
+Georgie appeared. The boy had crept downstairs, his small head filled
+with forebodings; but the sight of the knobby stocking and the heap of
+presents sent his fears flying and he burst into the room with a
+shriek of joy. One by one the packages were unwrapped and, with each
+unwrapping, the youngster's excitement rose.
+
+“Gee!” he cried, as he sat in the middle of the heap of toys and
+brown paper and looked about him. “Gee! They're all here; everything I
+wanted--but that air-gun. I don't care, though. Maybe I'll get that next
+Christmas. Or maybe Cap'n Bangs'll give it to me, anyhow. He gives me
+most anything, if I tease for it.”
+
+Thankful shook her head. “You see, Georgie,” she said, “it pays to be
+a good boy. If Santa had caught you hidin' under that sofa and watchin'
+for him last night you might not have got any of these nice things.”
+
+Georgie did not answer immediately. When he did it was in a rather
+doubtful tone.
+
+“There ain't any soot on 'em, anyhow,” he observed. “And they ain't wet,
+either.”
+
+Imogene clapped her hand to her mouth and hurried from the room. “You
+can't fool that kid much,” she whispered to Emily afterward. “He's the
+smartest kid ever I saw. I'll keep out of his way for a while; I don't
+want to have to answer his questions.”
+
+There were other presents besides those given to Georgie; presents for
+Emily from Thankful, and for Thankful from Emily, and for Imogene from
+both. There was nothing costly, of course, but no one cared for that.
+
+As they were beginning breakfast Jedediah appeared. His garments, which
+had been drying by the kitchen stove all night and which Imogene had
+deposited in a heap at his bedroom door, were wrinkled, but his face
+shone from the vigorous application of soap and water and, as his sister
+said afterward, “You could see his complexion without diggin' for it,
+and that was somethin'.”
+
+His manner was subdued and he was very, very polite and anxious to
+please, but his appetite was in good order. Introduced to Imogene he
+expressed himself as pleased to meet her. Georgie he greeted with some
+hesitation; evidently the memory of his midnight encounter with the boy
+embarrassed him. But Georgie, when he learned that the shabby person
+whom he was told to call “Uncle Jed” was, although only an imitation
+Santa Claus, a genuine gold-hunter and traveler who had seen real
+Esquimaux and polar bears, warmed to his new relative immediately.
+
+When the meal was over Jedediah made what was, for him, an amazing
+suggestion.
+
+“Now,” he said, “I cal'late I'd better be gettin' to work, hadn't I?
+What'll I do first, Thankful?”
+
+Mrs. Barnes stared at him. “Work?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean I want to be doin' somethin'--somethin' to help, you know. I
+don't cal'late to stay around here and loaf. No, SIR!”
+
+Thankful drew a long breath. “All right, Jed,” she said. “You can go
+out in the barn and feed the horse if you want to. Kenelm--Mr.
+Parker--generally does it, but he probably won't be here for quite a
+spell yet. Go ahead. Imogene'll show you what to do. . . . But, say,
+hold on,” she added, with emphasis. “Don't you go off the premises, and
+if you see anybody comin', keep out of sight. I don't want anybody to
+see a brother of mine in THOSE clothes. Soon's ever I can I'll go up
+to the village and buy you somethin' to wear, if it's only an 'ilskin
+jacket and a pair of overalls. They'll cover up the rags, anyhow. As
+you are now, you look like one of Georgie's picture-puzzles partly put
+together.”
+
+When the eager applicant for employment had gone, under Imogene's
+guidance, Emily spoke her mind.
+
+“Auntie,” she said, “are you going to make him work--now; after what
+he's been through, and on Christmas day, too?”
+
+Thankful was still staring after her brother.
+
+“Sshh! sshh!” she commanded. “Don't speak to me for a minute; you may
+wake me up. Jedediah Cahoon ASKIN' to go to work! All the miracles in
+Scriptur' are nothin' to this.”
+
+“But, Auntie, he did ask. And do you think he is strong enough?”
+
+“Hush, Emily, hush! You don't know Jedediah. Strong enough! I'm the one
+that needs strength, if I'm goin' to have shocks like this one sprung on
+me.”
+
+Emily said no more, but she noticed that her cousin was wearing the
+two-dollar ring, the wanderer's “farewell” gift, so she judged that
+brother Jed would not be worked beyond the bounds of moderation.
+
+Left alone in the dining-room--Georgie had returned to the living-room
+and his presents--the two women looked at each other. Neither had eaten
+a breakfast worth mentioning and the same thought was in the mind of
+each.
+
+“Auntie,” whispered Emily, voicing that thought, “don't you think we
+ought to go up and--and see if he is--all right.”
+
+Thankful nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I suppose we had. He's alive, I know
+that much, for I had Imogene knock on his door just now and he answered.
+But I guess maybe we'd better--”
+
+She did not finish the sentence for at that moment the subject of the
+conversation entered the room. It was Solomon Cobb who entered, but,
+except for his clothes, he was a changed man. His truculent arrogance
+was gone, he came in slowly and almost as if he were walking in his
+sleep. His collar was unbuttoned, his hair had not been combed, and the
+face between the thin bunches of whiskers was white and drawn. He did
+not speak to either Emily or Thankful, but, dragging one foot after the
+other, crossed the room and sat down in a chair by the window.
+
+Thankful spoke to him.
+
+“Are you sick, Solomon?” she asked.
+
+Mr. Cobb shook his head.
+
+“Eh?” he grunted. “No, no, I ain't sick. I guess I ain't; I don't know.”
+
+“Breakfast is all ready, Mr. Cobb,” suggested Emily.
+
+Solomon turned a weary eye in her direction. He looked old, very old.
+
+“Breakfast!” he repeated feebly. “Don't talk about breakfast to me! I'll
+never eat again in this world.”
+
+Thankful pitied him; she could not help it.
+
+“Oh, yes, you will,” she said, heartily. “Just try one of those clam
+fritters of Imogene's and you'll eat a whole lot. If you don't you'll be
+the first one.”
+
+He shook his head. “Thankful,” he said, slowly, “I--I want to talk to
+you. I've got to talk to you--alone.”
+
+“Alone! Why, Emily's just the same as one of the family. There's no
+secrets between us, Solomon.”
+
+“I don't care. I wan't to talk to you. It's you I've got to talk to.”
+
+Thankful would have protested once more, but Emily put a hand on her
+arm.
+
+“I'll go into the living-room with Georgie, Auntie,” she whispered.
+“Yes, I shall.”
+
+She went and closed the door behind her. Thankful sat down in a chair,
+wondering what was coming next. Solomon did not look at her, but, after
+a moment, he spoke.
+
+“Thankful Cahoon,” he said, calling her by her maiden name. “I--I've
+been a bad man. I'm goin' to hell.”
+
+Thankful jumped. “Mercy on us!” she cried. “What kind of talk--”
+
+“I'm goin' to hell,” repeated Solomon. “When a man does the way I've
+done that's where he goes. I'm goin there and I'm goin' pretty soon.
+I've had my notice.”
+
+Thankful stood up. She was convinced that her visitor had been driven
+crazy by his experience in the back bedroom.
+
+“Now, now, now,” she faltered. “Don't talk so wicked, Solomon Cobb.
+You've been a church man for years, and a professor of religion. You
+told me so, yourself. How can you set there and say--”
+
+Mr. Cobb waved his hand.
+
+“Don't make no difference,” he moaned. “Or, if it does, it only makes it
+worse. I know where I'm goin', but--but I'll go with a clean manifest,
+anyhow. I'll tell you the whole thing. I promised the dead I would and
+I will. Thankful Cahoon, I've been a bad man to you. I swore my solemn
+oath as a Christian to one that was my best friend, and I broke it.
+
+“Years ago I swore by all that was good and great I'd look out for you
+and see that you was comf'table and happy long's you lived. And instead
+of that, when I come here last night--LED here, I know now that I
+was--my mind was about made up to take your home away from you, if I
+could. Yes, sir, I was cal'latin' to foreclose on you and sell this
+place to Kendrick. I thought I was mighty smart and was doin' a good
+stroke of business. No mortal man could have made me think diff'rent;
+BUT AN IMMORTAL ONE DID!”
+
+He groaned and wiped his forehead. Thankful did not speak; her surprise
+and curiosity were too great for speech.
+
+“'Twas your Uncle Abner Barnes,” went on Solomon, “that was the makin'
+of me. I sailed fust mate for him fourteen year. And he always treated
+me fine, raised my wages right along, and the like of that. 'Twas him
+that put me in the way of investin' my money in them sugar stocks and
+the rest. He made me rich, or headed me that way. And when he lost all
+he had except this place here and was dyin' aboard the old schooner, he
+calls me to him and he says:
+
+“'Sol,' he says, 'Sol, I've done consider'ble for you, and you've said
+you was grateful. Well, I'm goin' to ask a favor of you. I ain't got a
+cent of my own left, and my niece by marriage, Thankful Cahoon that was,
+that I love same as if she was my own child, may, sometime or other,
+be pretty hard put to it to get along. I want you to look after her. If
+ever the time comes that she needs money or help I want you to do for
+her what I'd do if I was here. If you don't,' he says, risin' on one
+elbow in the bunk, 'I'll come back and ha'nt you. Promise on your solemn
+oath.' And I promised. And you know how I've kept that promise. And last
+night he come back. Yes, sir, he come back!”
+
+Still Thankful said nothing. He groaned again and went on:
+
+“Last night,” he said, “up in that bedroom, I woke up and, as sure as
+I'm settin' here this minute, I heard Cap'n Abner Barnes snorin' just
+as he snored afore his death aboard the schooner, T. I. Smalley, in the
+stateroom next to mine. I knew it in a minute, but I got up and went all
+round my room and the empty one alongside. There was nothin' there, of
+course. Nothin' but the snorin'. And I got down on my knees and swore to
+set things right this very day. Give me a pen and ink and some paper.”
+
+“Eh? What?”
+
+“Give me a pen and some ink and paper. Don't sit there starin'! Hurry
+up! Can't you see I want to get this thing off my chest afore I die!
+And--and I--I wouldn't be surprised if I died any minute. Hurry UP!”
+
+Thankful went into the living-room in search of the writing materials.
+Emily, who was sitting on the floor with Georgie and the presents,
+turned to ask a question.
+
+“What is it, Auntie?” she whispered, eagerly. “Is it anything
+important?”
+
+Her cousin made an excited gesture.
+
+“I--I don't know,” she whispered in reply. “Either he's been driven
+looney by what happened last night, or else--or else somethin's goin' to
+happen that I don't dast to believe. Emily, you stand right here by the
+door. I may want you.”
+
+“Where's that pen and things?” queried Solomon from the next room.
+“Ain't you ever comin'?”
+
+When the writing materials were brought and placed upon the dining-room
+table he drew his chair to that table and scrawled a few lines.
+
+“Somebody ought to witness this,” he cried, nervously. “Some
+disinterested person ought to witness this. Then 'twill hold in law.
+Where's that--that Howes girl? Oh, here you be! Here! you sign that as a
+witness.”
+
+Emily, who had entered at the mention of her name, took the paper from
+his trembling fingers. She read what was written upon it.
+
+“Why--why, Auntie!” she cried, excitedly. “Aunt Thankful, have you seen
+this? He--”
+
+“Stop your talk!” shouted Solomon. “Can't you women do nothin' BUT talk?
+Sign your name alongside of mine as a witness.”
+
+Emily took the pen and signed as directed. Mr. Cobb snatched the paper
+from her, glanced at it and then handed it to Thankful.
+
+“There!” he cried. “That's done, anyhow. I've done so much. Now--now
+don't say a word to me for a spell. I--I'm all in; that's what I am, all
+in.”
+
+Thankful did not say a word; she couldn't have said it at that moment.
+Upon the paper which she held in her hand was written a cancellation of
+the fifteen-hundred-dollar mortgage and a receipt in full for the loan
+itself, signed by Solomon Cobb.
+
+Dimly and uncomprehendingly she heard Emily trying to thank their
+visitor. But thanks he would not listen to.
+
+“No, no, no!” he shouted. “Go away and let me alone. I'm a wicked,
+condemned critter. Nobody's ever cared a durn for me, nobody but one,
+and I broke my word to him. Friendless I've lived since Abner went and
+friendless I'll die. Serve me right. I ain't got a livin' soul of my own
+blood in the world.”
+
+But Thankful was in a measure herself again.
+
+“Don't talk so, Solomon,” she cried. “You have got somebody of your own
+blood. I'm a relation of yours, even if 'tis a far-off relation. I--I
+don't know how to thank you for this. I--”
+
+He interrupted again.
+
+“Yes,” he wailed, “you're my relation. I know it. Think that makes it
+any better? Look how I've treated you. No, no; I'm goin' to die and
+go--”
+
+“You're goin' to have breakfast, that's what you're goin' to have. And
+it shan't be warmed up fried clams either. Emily, you stay with him. I'm
+goin' to the kitchen.”
+
+She fled to the kitchen, where, between fits of crying and laughing,
+which would have alarmed Imogene had she been there, she tried to
+prepare a breakfast which might tempt the repentant money-lender. Emily
+joined her after a short interval.
+
+“He won't listen to anything,” said the young lady. “He has been
+frightened almost to death, that's certain. He is praying now. I came
+away and left him praying. Oh, Auntie, isn't it wonderful! Isn't it
+splendid!”
+
+Thankful sighed. “It's so wonderful I can scarcely believe it,” she
+said. “To think of his givin' up money--givin' it away of his own
+accord! I said last night that Jedediah's comin' home was a miracle.
+This one beats that all to pieces. I don't know what to do about takin'
+that thousand from him,” she added. “I declare I don't. 'Course I shan't
+take it in the long run; I'll pay it back soon as ever I can. But should
+I pretend to take it now? That's what troubles me.”
+
+“Of course you should. He is rich and he doesn't need it. What have you
+done with that receipt? Put it away somewhere and in a safe place. He
+is frightened; that--that something, whatever it was, last
+night--frightened him so that he will give away anything now. But, by
+and by, when his fright is over he may change his mind. Lock up that
+paper, Aunt Thankful. If you don't, I will.”
+
+“But what was it that frightened him, Emily? I declare I'm gettin'
+afraid to stay in this house myself. What was it he heard--and we
+heard?”
+
+“I don't know, but I mean to find out. I'm a sensible person this
+morning, not an idiot, and I intend to lay that ghost.”
+
+When they went back into the dining-room they were surprised at what
+they saw. Solomon was still sitting by the window, but Georgie was
+sitting in a chair beside him, exhibiting the pictures in one of
+his Christmas books and apparently on the best of terms with his new
+acquaintance.
+
+“I'm showin' him my 'Swiss Family Robinson,'” said the boy. “Here's
+where they built a house in a tree, Mr. Cobb. Emmie told me about their
+doin' it.”
+
+Solomon groaned.
+
+“You better take this child away from me,” he said. “He came to me of
+his own accord, but he hadn't ought to stay. A man like me ain't fit to
+have children around him.”
+
+Thankful had an inspiration.
+
+“It's a sign,” she cried, clapping her hands. “It's a sign sent to you,
+Solomon. It means you're forgiven. That's what it means. Now you eat
+your breakfast.”
+
+He was eating, or trying to eat, when someone knocked at the door.
+Winnie S. Holt was standing on the step.
+
+“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Barnes,” he hailed. “Ain't drowned out after the
+gale, be you? Judas priest! Our place is afloat. Dad says he cal'lates
+we'll have to build a raft to get to the henhouse on. Here; here's
+somethin' Mr. Kendrick sent to you. Wanted me to give it to you,
+yourself, and nobody else.”
+
+The something was a long envelope with “Mrs. Barnes, Personal,” written
+upon it. Thankful read the inscription.
+
+“From Mr. Kendrick?” she repeated. “Which Mr. Kendrick?”
+
+“Mr. John, the young one. Mr. Holliday's comin', though. He telephoned
+from Bayport this mornin'. Came down on the cars far's there last night,
+but he didn't dast to come no further 'count of bein' afraid to drive
+from the Centre in the storm. He's hired an automobile and is comin'
+right over, he says. The message was for John Kendrick, but Dad took it.
+What's in the envelope, Mrs. Barnes?”
+
+Thankful slowly tore the end from the envelope. Emily stood at her
+elbow.
+
+“What can it be, Auntie?” she asked, fearfully.
+
+“I don't know. I'm afraid to look. Oh, dear! It's somethin' bad, I know.
+Somethin' to do with that Holliday Kendrick; it must be or he wouldn't
+have come to East Wellmouth today. I--I--well, I must look, of course.
+Oh, Emily, and we thought this was goin' to be a merry Christmas, after
+all.”
+
+The enclosure was a long, legal-looking document. Thankful unfolded it,
+read a few lines and then stopped reading.
+
+“Why--why--” she stammered.
+
+“What is it, Auntie?” pleaded Emily.
+
+“It--I can't make out. I MUST be crazy, or--or somebody is. It looks
+like--Read it, Emily; read it out loud.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Captain Obed Bangs rose at his usual hour that Christmas morning, and
+the hour was an early one. When he looked from his bedroom window the
+clouds were breaking and a glance at his barometer, hung on the wall
+just beside that window, showed the glass to be rising and confirmed
+the promise of a fair day. He dressed and came downstairs. Hannah Parker
+came down soon afterward. The captain wished her a merry Christmas.
+
+Miss Parker shook her head; she seemed to be in a pessimistic mood.
+
+“I'm much obliged to you, Cap'n Bangs,” she said, “and I'm sure I wish
+you the same. But I don't know; don't seem as if I was liable to have
+many more merry Christmases in this life. No, merry Christmases ain't
+for me. I'm a second fiddle nowadays and I cal'late that's what I'm
+foreordinated to be from now on.”
+
+The captain didn't understand.
+
+“Second fiddle,” he repeated. “What have you got to do with fiddlin',
+for goodness' sakes?”
+
+“Nothin', of course. I don't mean a real fiddle. I mean I shan't never
+be my own mistress any more. I've been layin' awake thinkin' about it
+and shiverin', 'twas so damp and chilly up in my room. There's a loose
+shingle right over a knot hole that's abreast a crack in my bedroom
+wall, and it lets in the dampness like a sieve. I've asked Kenelm to fix
+it MORE times; but no, all he cares to do is look out for himself and
+that inmate. If SHE had a loose shingle he'd fix it quick enough. All
+I could do this mornin' was lay to bed there and shiver and pull up the
+quilt and think and think. It kept comin' over me more and more.”
+
+“The quilt, you mean? That's what you wanted it to do, wasn't it?”
+
+“Not the quilt. The thought of the lonesome old age that's comin' to me
+when Kenelm's married. I've had him to look after for so long. I've been
+my own boss, as they say.”
+
+She might have added, “And Kenelm's, too,” but Captain Obed added it for
+her, in his mind. He laughed.
+
+“That's all right, Hannah,” he observed, by way of consolation. “Kenelm
+ain't married yet. When he is you can help his wife look out for him.
+Either that or get married. Why don't you get married, Hannah?”
+
+“Humph! Don't be silly, Obed Bangs.”
+
+“That ain't silliness, that's sense. All you need to do is just h'ist
+the signal, 'Consort wanted,' and you'd have one alongside in no time.
+There's Caleb Hammond, for instance; he's a widower and--eh! look out!”
+
+Miss Parker had dropped the plate she was just putting down upon the
+table. Fortunately it fell only a few inches and did not break.
+
+“What do you mean by that?” she demanded sharply.
+
+“I meant the plate. Little more and you'd have sent it to glory.”
+
+“Never you mind the plate. I can look out for my own crockery. 'Twas
+cracked anyhow. And I guess you're cracked, too,” she added. “Talkin'
+about my--my marryin' Caleb Hammond. What put that in your head?”
+
+“I don't know. I just--”
+
+“Well, don't be silly. When I marry Caleb Hammond,” she added with
+emphasis, “'twill be after THIS.”
+
+“So I cal'lated. I didn't think you'd married him afore this. There now,
+you missed a chance, Hannah. You and he ought to have got married that
+time when you went away together.”
+
+Miss Parker turned pale. “When we went--away--TOGETHER!” she faltered.
+“WHAT are you talkin' about?”
+
+“When you went over to the Cattle Show that time.”
+
+“Is that what you meant?”
+
+“Sartin. What are you glarin' at me that way for? You ain't been away
+together any other time, have you? No, Hannah, that was your chance. You
+and Caleb might have been married in the balloon, like the couples we
+read about in the papers. Ho! ho! Think of the advertisin' you'd have
+had! 'A high church weddin'.' 'Bride and groom up in the air.' Can't you
+see those headlines?”
+
+Hannah appeared more relieved than annoyed.
+
+“Humph!” she sniffed. “Well, I should say YOU was up in the air, Obed
+Bangs. What's the matter with you this mornin'? Has the rain soaked into
+your head? It seems to be softenin' up pretty fast. If you're so set on
+somebody gettin' married why don't you get married yourself? You've been
+what the minister calls 'unattackted' all your life.”
+
+The minister had said “unattached,” but Captain Obed did not offer
+to correct the quotation. He joked no more and, during breakfast, was
+silent and absent-minded.
+
+After breakfast he went out for a walk. The storm had gullied the hills
+and flooded the hollows. There were pools of water everywhere, shining
+cold and steely in the winter sunshine. The captain remembered the low
+ground in which the barn and outbuildings upon the “Cap'n Abner place”
+ stood, and judged that he and Kenelm might have to do some rescue work
+among the poultry later on. He went back to the house to suggest that
+work to Mr. Parker himself.
+
+Kenelm and his sister were evidently in the midst of a dispute. The
+former was seated at the breakfast table and Hannah was standing by the
+kitchen door looking at him.
+
+“Goin' off to work Christmas Day!” she said, as the captain entered. “I
+should think you might stay home with me THAT day, if no other. 'Tain't
+the work you're so anxious to get to. It's that precious inmate of
+yours.”
+
+Kenelm's answer was as surprising as it was emphatic.
+
+“Darn the inmate!” he shouted. “I wish to thunder I'd never seen her!”
+
+Captain Obed whistled. Miss Parker staggered, but she recovered
+promptly.
+
+“Oh,” she said, “that's how you feel, is it? Well, if I felt that way
+toward anybody I don't think I'd be plannin' to marry 'em.”
+
+“Ugh! What's the use of talkin' rubbish? I've GOT to marry her, ain't
+I? She's got that paper I was fool enough to sign. Oh, let me alone,
+Hannah! I won't go over there till I have to. I'd ruther stay to home
+enough sight.”
+
+Hannah put her arms about his neck. “There, there, Kenelm, dearie,” she
+said soothingly, “you eat your breakfast like a nice brother. I'LL be
+good to you, if nobody else ain't. And I didn't have to sign any paper
+afore I'd do it either.”
+
+Kenelm grunted ungraciously.
+
+“'Twas your fault, anyhow,” he muttered. “If you hadn't bossed me and
+driven me into workin' for Thankful Barnes 'twouldn't have happened. I
+wouldn't have thought of gettin' engaged to be married.”
+
+“Never mind, dearie. You ain't married yet. Perhaps you won't be. And,
+anyhow, you know I'LL never boss you any more.”
+
+Kenelm looked at her. There was an odd expression in his eyes.
+
+“You bet you won't!” he said, slowly. “I'll see to that.”
+
+“Why, Kenelm, what do you mean?”
+
+“I don't mean nothin'--maybe. Give me some more coffee.”
+
+Captain Obed decided that the present was not the time to suggest a trip
+to the High Cliff House. He went out again, to walk along the path and
+think over what he had just heard. It was interesting, as showing the
+attitude of one of the contracting parties toward the “engagement,” the
+announcement of which had been such a staggering finish to the “big day”
+ of the County Fair.
+
+Winnie S. came whistling up the path from the village.
+
+“Hi, Cap'n Bangs!” he shouted. “I was just goin' to stop at Hannah's to
+tell you somethin'.”
+
+“You was, eh?”
+
+“Yup. Then I was goin' on to the High Cliff. I've got somethin' to take
+to Mrs. Thankful. What do you suppose 'tis?”
+
+He exhibited the long envelope.
+
+“John Kendrick sent it to her,” he said. “I don't know what's in it. And
+he wants you to come to his office right off, Cap'n Obed. That's what
+I was goin' to tell you. He says not to wait till afternoon, same as he
+said, but to come now. It's important, he says.”
+
+John was seated at the desk in his office when the captain opened the
+door. He bowed gravely.
+
+“Take off your hat and coat, Captain,” he said. “Sit down. I'm glad you
+got my message and came early. I am expecting the other party at any
+moment.”
+
+Captain Obed was puzzled.
+
+“The other party?” he repeated. “What other party?”
+
+“My--er--well, we'll call him my client. He is on his way here and I may
+need you--as a witness.”
+
+“Witness? What to?”
+
+“You will see. Now, Captain, if you'll excuse me, I have some papers
+to arrange. Make yourself as comfortable as you can. I'm sure you won't
+have to wait long.”
+
+Fifteen minutes later the rasping, arrogant “honk” of a motor horn came
+from the road outside. Heavy, important steps sounded upon the office
+platform. The door opened and in came Mr. E. Holliday Kendnick.
+
+Captain Obed had known of the great man's expected arrival, but he
+had not expected it so early in the day. E. Holliday wore a luxurious
+fur-lined coat and looked as prosperous and important as ever, but
+also--so it seemed to the captain--he looked disturbed and puzzled and
+angry.
+
+The captain rose to his feet and said, “Good morning,” but except for
+a nod of recognition, his greeting was unanswered. Mr. Kendrick slammed
+the door behind him, stalked across the office, took a letter from his
+pocket and threw it down upon his attorney's desk.
+
+“What's the meaning of that?” he demanded.
+
+John was perfectly calm. “Sit down, Mr. Kendrick,” he said.
+
+“No, I won't sit down. What the devil do you mean by sending me that
+thing? You expected me, didn't you? You got my wire saying I was
+coming.”
+
+“Yes, I got it. Sit down. I have a good deal to say and it may take some
+time. Throw off your coat.”
+
+E. Holliday threw the fur coat open, but he did not remove it. He jerked
+a chair forward and seated himself upon it.
+
+“Now what does that thing mean?” he demanded, pointing to the envelope
+he had tossed on the desk.
+
+John picked up the envelope and opened it. A letter and a bank check
+fell out.
+
+“I will explain,” he said quietly. “Mr. Kendrick, you know Captain Obed
+Bangs, I think. Oh, it is all right. The captain is here at my request.
+I asked him to be here. I wanted a reliable witness and he is reliable.
+This,” he went on, taking up the letter, “is a note I wrote you, Mr.
+Kendrick. It states that I am resigning my position as your attorney.
+And this,” picking up the other paper, “is my check for five hundred
+dollars, the amount of your retainer, which I am returning to you. . . .
+You understand this so far, Captain?”
+
+E. Holliday did not wait to hear whether the captain understood or not.
+His big face flamed red.
+
+“But what the devil?” he demanded.
+
+John held up his hand.
+
+“One moment, please,” he said. “Captain Bangs, I want to explain a few
+things. As you know, I have been acting as Mr. Kendrick's attorney in
+the matter of the property occupied by Mrs. Barnes. He wished me to find
+a means of forcing her to sell that property to him. Now, when a person
+owning property does not wish to sell, that person cannot be forced into
+giving up the property unless it is discovered that the property doesn't
+belong to that particular person. That's plain, isn't it?”
+
+He was speaking to Captain Obed, and the captain answered.
+
+“But it does belong to her,” he declared. “Her Uncle Abner Barnes willed
+it to her. Course it belongs to her!”
+
+“I know. But sometimes there are such things as flaws in a title. That
+is to say, somewhere and at some time there has been a transfer of that
+property that was illegal. In such a case the property belongs to the
+previous holder, no matter in how many instances it has changed hands
+since. In the present case it was perfectly plain that Mrs. Barnes
+thought she owned that land, having inherited it from her uncle.
+Therefore she could not be forced to sell unless it was discovered that
+there was a flaw in the title--that she did not own it legally at all. I
+told my client--Mr. Kendrick, here--that, and he ordered me to have the
+title searched or to search it myself. I have spent a good deal of
+time at the recorder's office in Ostable doing that very thing. And I
+discovered that there was such a flaw; that Mrs. Barnes did not legally
+own that land upon which her house stands. And, as the land was not
+hers, the house was not hers either.”
+
+Holliday Kendrick struck the desk a thump with his fist.
+
+“Good!” he cried. “Good enough! I told 'em I generally got what I
+wanted! Now I'll get it this time. Kendrick--”
+
+“Wait,” said John. “Captain Obed, you understand me so far?”
+
+The captain's outraged feelings burst forth.
+
+“I understand it's durn mean business!” he shouted. “I'm ashamed of you,
+John Kendrick!”
+
+“All right! all right! The shame can wait. And I want YOU to wait,
+too--until I've finished. There was a flaw in that title, as I said.
+Captain Bangs, as you know, the house in which Mrs. Barnes is now living
+originally stood, not where it now stands, but upon land two or three
+hundred yards to the north, upon a portion of the property which
+afterward became the Colfax estate and which now belongs to Mr. Kendrick
+here. You know that?”
+
+Captain Obed nodded. “Course I know it,” he said. “Cap'n Abner could
+have bought the house and the land it stood on, but he didn't want to.
+He liked the view better from where it stands now. So he bought the
+strip nigher this way and moved the old house over. But he DID buy it
+and he paid cash for it. I know he did, because--”
+
+“All right. I know he bought it and all the particulars of the purchase
+perhaps better than you do. A good deal of my time of late has been
+given to investigating the history of that second strip of land.
+Captain Abner Barnes, Mrs. Barnes' uncle, bought the land upon which
+he contemplated moving, and later, did move the house, of Isaiah Holt,
+Darius Holt's father, then living. Mr. Holt bought of a man named David
+Snow, who, in turn, bought of--”
+
+Holliday Kendrick interrupted. “Snow bought of me,” he growled. “Worse
+luck! I was a fool to sell, or so I think now; but it was years ago; I
+had no idea at that time of coming here to live; and shore land was of
+no value then, anyhow. The strip came to me as a part of my father's
+estate. I thought myself lucky to get anything for it. But what's all
+this ancient history got to do with it now? And what do you mean by
+sending me this letter and that check?”
+
+“I'll explain. I am trying to explain. The peculiar point comes in just
+here. You, Mr. Kendrick, never owned that land.”
+
+E. Holliday bounced in his chair.
+
+“Didn't own it!” he roared. “What nonsense are you talking? The land
+belonged to my father, Samuel Kendrick, and I inherited it from him.”
+
+“No, you didn't.”
+
+“I tell you I did. He left everything he had to me.”
+
+“Yes, so he did. But he didn't own that land. He owned it at one time,
+probably he owned it when he made his will, but he didn't own it at the
+time of his death. Your father, Mr. Kendrick, was in financial straits
+at various times during his residence here in Orham and he borrowed a
+good deal of money. The most of these were loans, pure and simple, but
+one at least wasn't. At one time--needing money badly, I presume--he
+sold this strip of land. The purchaser thought it was worth nothing,
+no doubt, and never mentioned owning it--at least, until just before
+he died. He simply had the deed recorded and forgot it. Everyone
+else forgot it, too. But the heirs, or the heir, of that purchaser, I
+discovered, was the legal owner of that land.”
+
+Captain Obed uttered an exclamation.
+
+“Why, John Kendrick!” he shouted. “Do you mean--”
+
+“Hush, Captain! Mr. Kendrick,” addressing the red-faced and furious
+gentleman at his left, “have I made myself clear so far? Do you follow
+me?”
+
+“Follow you? I don't believe it! I--I--don't believe it! Who was he? Who
+did my father sell that land to?”
+
+“He sold it to his brother, Bailey Kendrick, and Bailey Kendrick was my
+father. Under my father's will what little property he had came to me.
+If anything is sure in this world, it is that that land occupied by Mrs.
+Barnes belonged, legally, to me.”
+
+Neither of his hearers spoke immediately. Then E. Holliday sprang to his
+feet.
+
+“It belongs to you, does it!” he shouted. “It belongs to you? All right,
+so much the better. I can buy of you as well as anybody else. That's why
+you sent me back your retainer, was it? So you and I could trade man to
+man. All right! I don't believe it yet, but I'll listen to you. What's
+your proposition?”
+
+John shook his head.
+
+“No,” he said. “You're wrong there. I sent you the retainer because I
+wished to be absolutely free to do as I pleased with what was mine. I
+couldn't remain in your employ and act contrary to your interests--or,
+according to my way of thinking, I couldn't. As I saw it I did not own
+that land--morally, at least. So, having resigned my employment with
+you I--well, I gave the land to the person who, by all that is right
+and--and HONEST, should own it. I had the deed made out in her name and
+I sent it to her an hour ago.”
+
+Captain Obed had guessed it. Now HE sprang from his chair.
+
+“John Kendrick,” he shouted, in huge delight, “you gave that land to
+Thankful Barnes. The deed was in that big envelope Winnie S. Holt was
+takin' to her this very mornin'!”
+
+The happenings of the next few minutes were noisy and profane. E.
+Holliday Kendrick was responsible for most of the noise and all of the
+profanity. He stormed up and down the office, calling his cousin every
+uncomplimentary name that occurred to him, vowing the whole story to
+be a lie, and that the land should be his anyway; threatening suit and
+personal vengeance. His last words, as he strode to the door, were:
+
+“And--and you're the fellow, the poor relation, that I gave my business
+to just from kindness! All right! I haven't finished with you yet.”
+
+John's answer was calm, but emphatic.
+
+“Very well,” he said. “But this you must understand: I consider myself
+under no obligation whatever to you, Mr. Kendrick. In the very beginning
+of our business relationship you and I had a plain talk. I told you when
+I consented to act as your attorney that I did so purely as a matter of
+business and that philanthropy and kinship were to have no part in it.
+And when you first mentioned your intention of forcing Mrs. Barnes to
+give up her home I told you what I thought of that, too.”
+
+East Wellmouth's wealthiest summer resident expressed an opinion.
+
+“You're a fool!” he snarled. “A d--d impractical fool!”
+
+The door slammed behind him. John laughed quietly.
+
+“As a judge of character, Captain Bangs,” he observed, “my respected
+cousin should rank high.”
+
+Captain Obed's first act after E. Holliday's departure was to rush
+over, seize the young man's hand with one of his own, and thump him
+enthusiastically upon the back with the other.
+
+“I said it!” he crowed. “I knew it! I knew you was all right and square
+as a brick all the time, John Kendrick! NOW let me meet some of those
+folks that have been talkin' against you! You never did a better day's
+work in your life. HE'S down on you, but every decent man in Ostable
+County'll be for you through thick and thin after this. Hooray for our
+side! John, shake hands with me again.”
+
+They shook, heartily. The captain was so excited and jubilant that he
+was incoherent. At last, however, he managed to recover sufficiently to
+ask a question.
+
+“But how did you do it,” he demanded. “How did you get on the track of
+it? You must have had some suspicions.”
+
+John smiled. His friend's joy evidently pleased him, but he, himself,
+was rather sober and not in the least triumphant.
+
+“I did have a suspicion, Captain,” he said. “In fact, I had been told
+that I had a claim to a piece of land somewhere along the shore here
+in East Wellmouth. My father told me years ago, when he was in his last
+sickness. He said that he owned a strip of land here, but that it was
+probably worth little or nothing. When I came here I intended looking
+into the matter, but I did not do so. Where the original deed may be, I
+don't know even now. It may be among some of my father's papers, which
+are stored in New York. But the record of the transfers I found
+in Ostable; and that is sufficient. My claim may not be quite as
+impregnable as I gave my late client to understand, but it will be hard
+to upset. I am the only possible claimant and I have transferred
+my claim to Mrs. Barnes. The land belongs to her now; she can't be
+dispossessed.”
+
+“But--but, John, why didn't you say so sooner? What made you let
+everyone think--what they did think?”
+
+Before John could reply there came an interruption. The door opened and
+Thankful Barnes entered. She paid no attention to Captain Obed, but,
+walking straight to the desk, laid upon it the long envelope which
+Winnie S. had brought to her house that morning.
+
+“Will you tell me,” she asked, sharply, “what that means?”
+
+John rose. “Yes,” he said, “I will tell you, Mrs. Barnes. It is a rather
+long story. Sit down, please.”
+
+Thankful sank into the chair he indicated. He took up the envelope.
+
+“I will tell you, Mrs. Barnes,” he said, “why I sent you this deed.
+Don't go, Captain Bangs, you know already and I should like to have you
+stay. Here is the story, Mrs. Barnes.”
+
+He told it briefly, without superfluous words, but so clearly that there
+could be no possibility of a misunderstanding. When he began Thankful's
+attitude was cold and unbelieving. When he finished she was white and
+trembling.
+
+“Mrs. Barnes,” he said, in conclusion, “I'm a peculiar fellow, I'm
+afraid. I have rather--well, suppose we call them impractical ideas
+concerning the ethics of my profession, duty to a client, and that sort
+of thing. I have always been particular in taking a case, but when
+I have taken it I have tried to carry it through. I--as you know, I
+hesitated before accepting my cousin's retaining fee and the implied
+obligation. However, I did accept.”
+
+He might have given his reasons for accepting but he did not. He went
+on.
+
+“When this matter of your property came up,” he said, “I at first had no
+idea that the thing was serious. You owned the property, as I supposed,
+and that was sufficient. I had told my cousin that and meant to tell
+you. I meant to tell you a portion of what I have just told the captain
+here, but I--well, I didn't. Mr. Daniels' remarks irritated me and
+I--well, he put the case as a test of legal skill between himself and
+me, and--and I have my share of pride, I suppose. So I determined to
+beat him if I could. It was wrong, as I see it now, and I beg your
+pardon.”
+
+Thankful put a hand to her forehead.
+
+“But you did--beat him, didn't you?” she stammered. “You found I didn't
+own the land.”
+
+“Yes. I found I owned it myself, legally. If I had found it belonged to
+anyone else, I--well, I scarcely know what I should have done. You see,”
+ with a half smile, “I'm trying to be perfectly frank. Finding that I was
+the owner made it easy.”
+
+She did not understand. “It made it easy,” she repeated slowly. “But you
+gave it to ME!”
+
+He leaned forward. “Please don't misunderstand me,” he said earnestly.
+“As I see it, that land belonged to you by all that is right and fair.
+Legally, perhaps, it didn't, but legal honesty isn't always moral
+honesty. I've found that out even in my limited practice.”
+
+Captain Obed tried to put in a word. “Don't you see, Thankful?” he said.
+“John knew you thought you owned the land and so--”
+
+“Hush! Please don't. I--I don't see. Mr. Kendrick, you--you have prided
+yourself on bein' honest with your clients, and Mr. Holliday Kendrick
+WAS your client.”
+
+John smiled. “I compromised there,” he answered. “I returned his money
+and resigned as his attorney before I sent you the deed. It was a
+compromise, I admit, but I had to choose between him and--well, my
+honor, if you like; although that sounds theatrical. I chose to be
+honest with myself--that's all. The land is yours, Mrs. Barnes.”
+
+He handed her the envelope containing the deed. She took it and sat
+there turning it over and over in her fingers, not looking at it, but
+thinking, or trying to think.
+
+“You give it to me,” she said. “It was yours and you give it to me. Why
+should you? Do--do you think I can TAKE it from you?”
+
+“Certainly, you must take it.”
+
+“But I can't! I can't!”
+
+“Certainly you can. Why not?”
+
+“Why NOT? After the things I've thought about you? And after the way
+I've treated you? And--and after Emily--”
+
+“She didn't know either,” broke in Captain Obed. “She didn't understand.
+She--”
+
+“That's enough, Captain,” interrupted John. “Mrs. Barnes, you
+mustn't misunderstand me again. Neither you nor--nor Miss Howes must
+misunderstand my motives. I give this to you because I honestly believe
+it belongs to you, not because I expect anything in return. I--I confess
+I did hesitate a little. I feared--I feared she--”
+
+“He means Emily,” broke in the irrepressible captain. “You mean Emily,
+don't you, John?”
+
+“Yes,” with some embarrassment. “Yes, I do mean Miss Howes. She and I
+had been--friends, and I feared she might misinterpret my reasons.
+It was not until yesterday afternoon, when I learned of the--of the
+engagement, that I felt certain neither you nor she could misunderstand.
+Then I felt perfectly free to send you the deed.”
+
+Captain Obed, who had grasped his meaning, would have spoken, but
+Thankful spoke first. She, evidently, was quite at sea.
+
+“The engagement?” she repeated. “What engagement?”
+
+“Miss Howes' engagement to Mr. Daniels. They were congratulating him
+on his engagement yesterday at the station. I overheard the
+congratulations. I had not known of it before.”
+
+At last Thankful understood. She looked at the speaker, then at Captain
+Obed, and the color rushed to her face.
+
+“And even though Emily--Hush, Obed Bangs! you keep still--and even
+though you knew Emily was engaged to Heman Daniels, you could still give
+me and her--this?”
+
+“Now, Mrs. Barnes, do you think--”
+
+“Think! John Kendrick, I think I ought to get down on my knees and
+beg your pardon for what I've thought these last two months. But I'm
+thinkin' right now and you ain't. Heman Daniels ain't engaged to Emily
+Howes at all; he's engaged to that Bayport woman, the one he's been so
+attentive to for a year or more. Oh, it's true! Winnie S. told me so
+just now. The news had just come to town and he was full of it. Heman's
+over to Bayport spendin' Christmas with her this very minute.”
+
+Even Captain Obed had not a word to say. He was looking at John Kendrick
+and John's face was white.
+
+“And I'll tell you somethin' else,” went on Thankful, “somethin' that
+Emily herself told me last night. She might have been engaged to Heman
+Daniels; he asked her to be. But she wouldn't have him; she told him
+no.”
+
+John stepped from behind the desk. “She--she told him no,” he repeated.
+“She . . . Why?”
+
+Thankful laughed aloud. “That,” she cried, “I SHAN'T tell you. If you
+don't know yourself then I ain't the one to tell you.”
+
+Obed was at her side. “That's enough,” he ordered, taking her by the
+arm. “That's enough, Thankful Barnes. You come right along with me and
+fetch that deed with you. This young feller here has got some thinkin'
+to do, I cal'late. His mind needs overhaulin'. You come with me.”
+
+
+He led her out to the sidewalk and on until they reached the postoffice.
+Then, still grasping her arm, he led her into that building. The office
+was open for a few hours, even though the day was Christmas.
+
+“Here!” he whispered, eagerly. “Stand here by the window where we can
+see whether he comes out or not.”
+
+“But, Obed, what are you doin'?”
+
+“Doin'! I'm waitin' to see whether that boy is a permanent fool or just
+a temporary one. Wait now; wait and watch.”
+
+The wait was but momentary. The door of John Kendrick's office opened
+and John himself came out. He shut the door, but he did not wait to lock
+it. They saw him cross the road and stride off down the lane toward the
+shore.
+
+Captain Obed laughed aloud.
+
+“No,” he cried, exultantly, “'twas only temporary. He's got his senses
+now. Thankful, let's you and me go for a walk. We shan't be needed at
+the High Cliff House for a spell--and we won't be WANTED there, either.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+The walk was a long one. It took them a good way from the more populous
+section of East Wellmouth, over the hills and, at last, along the beach
+at the foot of the bluff. It was an odd season of the year for a stroll
+by the seaside, but neither Thankful nor the captain cared for that. In
+fact it is doubtful if either could have told afterward just where
+they had been. There were so many and such wonderful things to tell, to
+speculate upon, and to discuss.
+
+Thankful told of her brother's return, of Mr. Cobb's miraculous
+generosity, and, for the first time, of the ghostly haunting of the
+little back bedroom. In the latter story Captain Obed seemed to find
+much amusement. He was skeptical.
+
+“I've heard of a good many ghosts in my time,” he said, “but I never
+heard of one that could stand daylight or common-sense. The idea of your
+bein' troubled all this time by that snorin' business or whatever 'tis.
+Why didn't you tell me about it? I'd have had that spook out of that
+bedroom afore this, I bet you.”
+
+“It seemed so silly,” confessed Thankful, “that I was ashamed to tell
+anybody. But there's SOMETHIN' there. I heard it the first night I came,
+and Rebecca Timpson heard it later on, and then Emily and I and Solomon
+heard it all together.”
+
+“Yes. Well, then, let's see WHEN you heard it. Every time 'twas when
+there was a storm; rain and wind and the like of that, eh?”
+
+“Yes. I've slept in that room myself a good many times, but never when
+there was a gale of wind or rain. That's so; 'twas always in a storm
+that it came.”
+
+“Um-hum. And it always snored. Ho! ho! that IS funny! A ghost with a
+snore. Must have a cold in its head, I cal'late.”
+
+“You wouldn't laugh if you'd heard it last night. And it didn't snore
+the first time. It said 'Oh, Lord,' then.”
+
+“Humph! so you said. Well, that does complicate things, I will give in.
+The wind in a water-pipe might snore, but it couldn't say 'Oh, Lord!'
+not very plain. You heard that the first night, afore Kenelm and I got
+there.”
+
+“Yes. And there wasn't another person in that house except Emily and me;
+I know that.”
+
+“I wonder if you do know it. . . . Well, I'll have a whack at that room
+myself and if a spook starts snorin when I'm there I'll--I'll put a
+clothespin on its nose, after I've thanked it for scarin' old Sol into
+repentance and decency. It took a spirit to do that. No livin' human
+could have worked THAT miracle.”
+
+“I agree with you. Well, now I know why he acted the way he did whenever
+Uncle Abner's name was mentioned. I have a feelin'--at least I imagine
+there may have been somethin' else, somethin' we don't know and never
+will know, between Solomon and my uncle. There may be some paper, some
+agreement, hid around somewheres that is legally bindin' on the old
+sinner. I can't hardly believe just breakin' a promise would make him
+give anybody fifteen hundred dollars.”
+
+“Maybe, but I don't know; he's always been superstitious and a great
+feller for Spiritu'list camp-meetin's and so on. And he was always
+regular at prayer-meetin'. Sometimes that sort of a swab, knowin' how
+mean he actually is, tries to square his meanness with the Almighty by
+bein' prominent in the church. There may be the kind of paper you say,
+but I shouldn't wonder if 'twas just scare and a bad conscience.”
+
+“Well, I'm grateful to him, anyhow. And, as for John's kindness, I--I
+don't know what to say. Last night I thought this might be the blackest
+Christmas ever I had; but now it looks as if it might be one of the
+brightest. And it's all so strange, so strange it should have come on
+Christmas. It seems as if the Lord had planned it so.”
+
+“Maybe He did. But it ain't so strange when you come to think of
+it. Your brother came home on Christmas Eve because he thought--or I
+shouldn't wonder if he did--that you'd be more likely to forgive him
+and take him in then. Solomon came over when he did on account of his
+hearin' that Holliday Kendrick was comin'. All days, Christmas or any
+other, are alike to Sol when there's a dollar to be sighted with a
+spyglass. And as for John's givin' you the deed today, I presume likely
+that was a sort of Christmas present; probably he meant to give it to
+you for that. So the Christmas part ain't so wonderful, after all.”
+
+“Yes, it is. It's all wonderful. I ought to be a very, very happy woman.
+If John and Emily only come together again I shall be, sure and sartin'.
+Of course, though,” she added, with emphasis, “I shan't let him give me
+that land. I'll make some arrangement to pay him for it, a little at a
+time, if no other way.”
+
+The captain opened his mouth to protest, but there was an air of
+finality in Thankful's tone which caused him to defer the protest until
+another time.
+
+“Well--well, all right,” he said. “That can be talked about later
+on. But how about yourself? I suppose you'll keep right on with the
+boardin'-house now?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“It'll be pretty hard work for you alone, won't it? Especially if Emily
+and John should take a notion to get married.”
+
+“Oh, well! I'm used to bein' alone. I shan't mind--much. Why! here we
+are right at the foot of our path. I've been talkin' so fast I didn't
+realize we'd got here already. Do you suppose it's safe to go up to the
+house now, Obed?”
+
+“I guess so. We can go in the kitchen way and I'll make noise enough
+to warn all hands that we're comin'. Who's that by the back door; John,
+ain't it? No, it ain't; it's Kenelm.”
+
+Kenelm and Imogene were standing at the kitchen door. When the
+captain and Mrs. Barnes drew near they saw that they were in danger of
+interrupting what seemed to be a serious conversation. Neither of the
+parties to that conversation noticed them until they were close at hand.
+Imogene had a slip of paper in her hand.
+
+Captain Obed, whose mind was occupied with but one thought just then,
+asked a question.
+
+“Imogene,” he asked in a loud whisper, “where's Miss Emily?”
+
+Imogene started and turned. Kenelm also started. He looked embarrassed.
+
+“Eh!” cried Imogene. “Oh, it's you, Mrs. Thankful. I was wonderin'
+where you was. I've been havin' a little talk with Kenelm here. It's all
+right, Mrs. Thankful.”
+
+“What's all right?” asked Thankful.
+
+“About your brother workin' here in Kenelm's place. He don't mind. You
+don't, do you, Kenelm?”
+
+Mr. Parker, who had been standing upon one foot and pawing like a
+restless horse with the other, shifted his position.
+
+“No-o,” he drawled. “I--I don't know's I do.”
+
+Thankful was disturbed. “I'm sorry you said anything yet awhile,
+Imogene,” she said. “My plans about Jedediah are hardly made yet. I do
+hate to make you lose your place, Kenelm. If I could see my way clear to
+keepin' two men I'd do it, but I declare I can't see it.”
+
+“That's all right, ma'am,” said Kenelm. “I ain't partic'lar.”
+
+“He don't mind a bit, Mrs. Thankful,” put in Imogene. “Honest, he don't.
+He don't have to work unless he's obliged to--not much anyhow. Kenelm's
+got money, you know.”
+
+“I know; at least I've heard he had some money. But 'tain't because he
+needs the money that I feel bad; it's because of his engagement to you,
+Imogene. I suppose you're plannin' to be married some time or other
+and--”
+
+“Oh, that's all right, too,” interrupted Imogene eagerly. “You needn't
+worry about our engagement. She needn't worry about that, need she,
+Kenelm?”
+
+“No,” said Kenelm shortly.
+
+Captain Obed thought it time to repeat his first question.
+
+“Where's Miss Emily?” he asked.
+
+“She's in the livin'-room.”
+
+“Is--is anybody with her?”
+
+Imogene nodded. “Um-hum,” she said gleefully, “he's there, too.”
+
+“Who?” The captain and Thankful spoke in concert.
+
+“Mr. John Kendrick. I let him in and I didn't tell her who it was at
+all. She didn't know till she went in herself and found him. Then I
+came right out and shut the door. Oh,” with another nod, “I've got some
+sense, even if I did come from the Orphans' Home.”
+
+Captain Obed and Thankful looked at each other.
+
+“Then he did come here,” exclaimed Thankful.
+
+“Course he did. I told you he wa'n't quite a fool. Been there some time,
+has he?”
+
+“Yes. Shall I tell 'em you've come? I'll knock first.”
+
+“No, no.” Thankful's reply was emphatic. “Where's the rest of the
+folks?” she asked.
+
+“Georgie and Mr. Cahoon--your brother, I mean--have gone up to the
+village with the other one, the Cobb man.”
+
+“What have they gone to the village for?”
+
+“To help Mr. Cobb get his horse and team at Chris Badger's. He's gone,
+you know.”
+
+“Who's gone?”
+
+“Why, the Cobb one. He's gone home again. I tried to get him to stay for
+dinner; so did Miss Emily. We knew you'd want him to. But he wouldn't
+stay. Said he was goin' home. Seemed to me he wanted to get out of the
+house quick as ever he could. He gave Georgie a dollar for Christmas.”
+
+“WHAT!” Captain Obed leaned against the corner of the house. “A dollar!”
+ he groaned. “Sol Cobb gave somebody a dollar for Christmas! Don't pinch
+me, anybody; I don't want to wake up. Let me enjoy my dream long as I
+can. Thankful, did you say Sol looked sick?”
+
+“I said he looked pretty nearly sick when he came down this mornin'.”
+
+“I believe it. It must have been a mighty serious attack. Did Georgie
+take the dollar with him?”
+
+“No. He left it with Miss Emily.”
+
+“That's a mercy. The outdoor air may make Sol feel more rational and
+soon's he came to his senses, he'd want that dollar back. Tut! tut! tut!
+Don't talk to ME! I shall believe in ghosts pretty soon.”
+
+Thankful looked troubled and annoyed.
+
+“I'm awful sorry he went,” she said. “The poor old thing! He was so
+miserable I did pity him. I must drive over and see him tomorrow, sure.
+But what makes me feel the worst,” she added, “is to think of Jedediah's
+cruisin' up to the village dressed in the rags he was wearin'. He looked
+like--like somethin' the cat brought in. And everybody'll want to know
+who he is; and when they find he's my brother! And on Christmas Day,
+too!”
+
+“Imogene!” it was Emily's voice. “Imogene, where are you?”
+
+Captain Obed roared a greeting.
+
+“Merry Christmas, all hands,” he shouted. “Hey, you, John Kendrick; are
+you there?”
+
+There was no answer. Thankful did not wait for one; she rushed into the
+house. John Kendrick was alone in the living-room when she reached it.
+Emily had fled. Thankful looked at Mr. Kendrick and the look gave her
+the information she wanted.
+
+“Oh, Mr. Kendrick--John,” she cried. “I shall call you John now; I can,
+can't I--where is she?”
+
+John smiled. He looked ready to smile at all creation. “I think she is
+upstairs,” he said. “At least she ran in that direction when she heard
+the captain call.”
+
+Thankful started for the hall and the stairs. At the door she turned.
+
+“Don't you go away, John,” she ordered. “Don't you dare go away from
+this house. You're goin' to have dinner here THIS day, if you never do
+again.”
+
+John, apparently, had no intention of going away. He smiled once
+more and walked toward the dining-room. Captain Obed met him at the
+threshold.
+
+“Well?” shouted the captain. “Well? What have you got to say for
+yourself now, eh?”
+
+John laughed. “Not much, Captain,” he answered, “not much, except that
+I've been an idiot.”
+
+“Yup. All right. But that ain't what I want to know. I want to know--”
+ he stopped and gazed keenly at his friend's face. “I don't know's I do
+want to know, either,” he added. “I cal'late I know it already. When a
+young feller stands around looking as sheepish as if he'd been caught
+stealin' hens' eggs and grinnin' at the same time as if he was proud of
+it, then--then there's just one thing happened to him. I cal'late you've
+found out why she wouldn't marry Heman Daniels, eh? My, but I'm glad!
+You don't deserve it, but I'm glad just the same. Let's shake hands
+again.”
+
+They were still shaking and the captain was crowing like a triumphant
+rooster over his friend's good fortune and the humiliation in store for
+the “tattle-tales and character-naggers” among his fellow-townsmen when
+Imogene appeared.
+
+“Is Mrs. Thankful here?” she asked. “Well, never mind. You'll do,
+Cap'n Bangs. Will you and Mr. Kendrick come out here to the back door a
+minute? I'd like to have you witness somethin'.”
+
+Captain Obed's forehead wrinkled in surprise.
+
+“Witness somethin'?” he repeated. Then, with a glance at John, who was
+as puzzled as he, “Humph! I witnessed somethin' this mornin' and now I'm
+to witness somethin' else. I'll begin to be an expert pretty soon, won't
+I? Humph! What--well, heave ahead, Imogene. I'll come.”
+
+Imogene conducted them to the kitchen door where Mr. Parker still
+stood, looking remarkably foolish. Imogene's manner, however, was very
+business-like.
+
+“Now then,” she said, addressing the two “witnesses,” “you see this
+piece of paper. Perhaps you'd better read it first.”
+
+She handed the paper to Captain Obed, who looked at it and passed it
+over to John. It was the statement, signed by Kenelm, in which he agreed
+to marry Imogene whenever she asked him to do so.
+
+“You see what 'tis, don't you?” asked Imogene. “Yes. Well, now you watch
+and see what I do with it.”
+
+She tore the agreement into small pieces. Stepping into the kitchen she
+put the pieces in the stove.
+
+“There!” she exclaimed, returning to the door. “That ends that. He and
+I,” pointing to Kenelm, “ain't engaged any longer, and he don't have to
+work here any longer. Is it all plain to both of you?”
+
+It was not altogether plain even yet. The expression on the faces of the
+witnesses proved that.
+
+“Now, Kenelm,” said Imogene cheerfully, “you can leave if you want to.
+And,” with a mischievous chuckle, “when you get there you can give your
+sister my love, the inmate's love, you know. Lordy! Won't she enjoy
+gettin' it!”
+
+When Kenelm had gone, which he did immediately and without a word,
+Imogene vouchsafed an explanation.
+
+“I never did want to marry him,” she said. “When I get ready to marry
+anybody it'll be somebody with more get-up-and-git than he's got, I
+hope. But I was ready to do anything to help Mrs. Thankful from frettin'
+and when he talked about quittin' his job right in the busy season I had
+to keep him here somehow, I just HAD to. He was kind of--of mushy and
+soft about me first along--I guess guys of his kind are likely to be
+about any woman that'll listen to 'em--and when his sister got jealous
+and put him up to leavin' I thought up my plan. I got him to ask
+me--he'd as much as asked me afore--and then I made him sign that paper.
+Ugh! the silliness I had to go through afore he would sign it! Don't ask
+me about it or I shan't eat any dinner. But he did sign it and I knew I
+had him under my thumb. He's scared of that sister of his, but he's more
+scared of losin' his money. And she's just as scared of that as he is.
+THEY didn't want any breachin' of promises--No sir-ee! Ho! ho!”
+
+She stopped to laugh in gleeful triumph. John laughed too. Captain Obed
+scratched his head.
+
+“But, hold on there; heave to, Imogene!” he ordered. “I don't seem to
+get the whole of this yet. You did agree to marry him. Suppose he'd said
+you'd got to marry him, what then?”
+
+“He wouldn't. He didn't want to marry me--not after I'd took my time at
+bossin' him around a while. And if he had--well, if he had, and I'd had
+to do it, I would, I suppose. I'd do anything for Mrs. Thankful,
+after what's she's done for me. Miss Emily and me had a talk about
+self-sacrifice and I see my duty plain. I told Miss Emily why I did
+it that night when you all came home from the Fair. She understood the
+whole thing.”
+
+The captain burst into a roar of laughter.
+
+“Ho! ho!” he shouted. “Well, Imogene, I said you beat all my goin' to
+sea, and you do--you sartin do. Now, I'd like to be on hand and see how
+Hannah takes it. If I know her, now that that engagement ain't hangin'
+over her, she'll even up with her brother for all she's had to put up
+with. Ho! ho! Poor old Kenelm's in for a warm Christmas.”
+
+And yet Kenelm's Christmas was not so “warm” after all. He told Hannah
+of his broken engagement, wasting no words--which, for him, was very
+remarkable--and expressing no regret whatever. Hannah listened, at first
+with joy, and then, when Imogene's “love” was conveyed to her, with
+growing anger.
+
+“The idea!” she cried. “And you bring me over a message like that. From
+her--from an Orphans' Home inmate to your own sister! And you let her
+walk over you, chuck you out as if you was a wornout doormat she'd wiped
+her boots on, and never said a word. Well, I'll say it for you. I'll
+tell her what I think of her. And she was cal'latin' to sue YOU for
+breaches of promise, was she? Humph! Two can play at that game. I don't
+know's I shan't have you sue her.”
+
+“I don't want to. I told you this mornin' I didn't care nothin' about
+marryin' her. And you didn't want me to yourself. Now that it's all over
+you ought to be happy, I should think. I don't see what you're growlin'
+about.”
+
+“No, I suppose you don't. You--you,” with withering contempt, “you
+haven't got the self-respect of--of a woodtick. I'm--I declare I'm
+perfectly prospected with shame at havin' such a brother in my family.
+And after cruisin' around with her and takin' her to the Cattle Show--”
+
+“You went to the Cattle Show yourself.”
+
+“I don't care if I did. Now you march yourself upstairs and change your
+clothes.”
+
+“Aw, now, Hannah. These clothes are good enough.”
+
+“Good enough! For Christmas Day! I should think you'd be ashamed. Oh,
+you make me so provoked! If folks knew what I know about you--”
+
+Kenelm interrupted, a most unusual thing for him.
+
+“S'posin' they knew what I know about you,” he observed.
+
+“What? What do you mean by that? What have I done to be ashamed of?”
+
+“I don't know. I don't know what you did. I don't even know where you
+went. But when a person crawls down a ladder in the middle of the night
+and goes off somewhere with--with somebody else and don't get home until
+'most mornin', then--well, then I cal'late folks might be interested if
+they knew, that's all.”
+
+Hannah's face was a picture, a picture to be studied. For the first time
+in her life she was at a loss for words.
+
+“I ain't askin' no questions,” went on Kenelm calmly. “I ain't told
+nobody and I shan't unless--unless somebody keeps naggin' and makes me
+mad. But I shan't change my clothes this day; and I shan't do nothin'
+else unless I feel like it, either.”
+
+His sister stared at him blankly for a moment. Then she fled from the
+room. Kenelm took his pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it, and
+smoked, smiling between puffs at the ceiling. The future looked serene
+and rosy--to Kenelm.
+
+
+Christmas dinner at the High Cliff House was a joyful affair,
+notwithstanding that the promise of fair weather had come to naught and
+it was raining once more. John stayed for that dinner, so did Captain
+Obed. The former and Miss Emily said very little and their appetites
+were not robust, but they appeared to be very happy indeed. Georgie
+certainly was happy and Jedediah's appetite was all that might have been
+expected of an appetite fed upon the cheapest of cheap food for days and
+compelled to go without any food for others. Thankful was happy, too, or
+pretended to be, and Captain Obed laughed and joked with everyone. Yet
+he seemed to have something on his mind, and his happiness was not as
+complete as it might have been.
+
+Everyone helped Imogene wash the dishes; then John and Emily left the
+kitchen bound upon some mysterious errand. Captain Obed and Georgie
+donned what the captain called “dirty weather rigs” and went out to
+give George Washington and Patrick Henry and the poultry their Christmas
+dinner.
+
+The storm had flooded the low land behind the barn. The hen yard was in
+the center of a miniature island. The walls of the pigsty which Thankful
+had had built rose from a lake.
+
+“It's a mercy Pat moved to drier quarters, eh, second mate!” chuckled
+the captain. “He'd have had to sleep with a life-preserver on if he
+stayed here.”
+
+They fed the hens and gave George Washington a liberal measure of oats
+and a big forkful of hay.
+
+“Don't want him to go hungry Christmas Day,” said Captain Obed. “Now
+let's cruise around and see if Patrick Henry is singin' out for liberty
+or death.”
+
+The pig was not, apparently, “singing out” for anything. When they
+reached the wall of the pen by the washshed he was not in sight.
+But they heard him, somewhere back in the darkness beneath the shed,
+breathing stertorously, apparently sound asleep.
+
+Georgie laughed. “Hear him,” he said. “He's so fat he always makes that
+noise when he's asleep. And he's awful smart. When it's warm and nice
+weather he sleeps out here in the sun. When it rains and is cold, same
+as now, he always goes way back in there. Hear him! Don't he make a
+funny noise.”
+
+Emily came hurrying around the corner of the house.
+
+“Captain Bangs,” she whispered. “Captain Bangs!”
+
+The captain looked at her. He was about to ask why she whispered instead
+of speaking aloud, but the expression on her face caused him to change
+his question to “What's the matter?”
+
+Emily looked at Georgie before replying.
+
+“I--I want to see you,” she answered. “I want you to come with me. Come
+quick. Georgie, you must stay in the kitchen with Imogene.”
+
+Georgie did not want to stay in the kitchen, but when he found Jedediah
+there he was more complacent. The ex-gold seeker and his tales of
+adventure had a tremendous fascination for Georgie.
+
+Emily led the way toward the front stairs and Captain Obed followed.
+
+“What's up?” he whispered. “What's all the mystery about?”
+
+“We don't know--yet. But we want you to help us find out. John and I
+have been up to look at the haunted room and--and IT'S THERE.”
+
+“There! What?”
+
+“The--the ghost, or whatever it is. We heard it. Come!”
+
+At the door of the rooms which were the scene of Mr. Cobb's recent
+supernatural experience and of Miss Timpson's “warning” they found
+Thankful and John standing, listening. Thankful looked rather
+frightened. John was eager and interested.
+
+“You found him, Emily,” he whispered. “Good. Captain, you and I are
+commissioned to lay the ghost. And the ghost is in. Listen!”
+
+They listened. Above the patter and rattle of the rain on the roof
+they heard a sound, the sound which two or three members had heard the
+previous night, the sound of snoring.
+
+“I should have gone in before,” whispered John, “but they wanted me to
+wait for you. Come on, Captain.”
+
+They opened the door of the larger room and entered on tiptoe. The
+snoring was plainly heard now and it seemed, as they expected, to come
+from the little room adjoining. Into that room the party proceeded, the
+men in the lead. There was no one there save themselves and nothing out
+of the ordinary to be seen. But the snoring kept on, plainer than ever.
+
+John looked behind the furniture and under the bed.
+
+“It's no use doin' that,” whispered Thankful. “I've done that myself
+fifty times.”
+
+Captain Obed was walking about the room, his ear close to the wall,
+listening. At a point in the center of the rear wall, that at the back
+of the house, he stopped and listened more intently than ever.
+
+“John,” he whispered eagerly, “come here.”
+
+John came.
+
+“Listen,” whispered the captain. “It's plainer here than anywhere else,
+ain't it?”
+
+“Yes. Yes, I think it is. But where does it come from?”
+
+“Somewhere overhead, seems to me. Give me that chair.”
+
+Cautiously and silently he placed the chair close to the wall, stood
+upon it, and, with his ear against the wallpaper, moved his head
+backward and forward and up and down. Then he stopped moving and
+reaching up felt along the wall with his hands.
+
+“I've got it,” he whispered. “Here's the place.”
+
+His fingers described a circle on the wall. He tapped gently in the
+middle of the circle.
+
+“Hark!” he said. “All solid out here, but here--hollow as a drum.
+It's--it's a stovepipe hole, that's what 'tis. There was a stove here
+one time or 'nother and the pipe hole was papered over.”
+
+“But--but what of it?” whispered Thankful. “I don't care about stovepipe
+holes. It's that dreadful noise I want to locate. I hear it now, just as
+plain as ever.”
+
+“Where could a stovepipe go to from here?” mused the captain. “Not into
+the kitchen; the kitchen chimney's way over t'other side. Maybe there
+was a chimney here afore the house was moved.”
+
+“But the snoring?” faltered Emily. “Don't you hear it?”
+
+Captain Obed put his ear against the covered stovepipe hole. He listened
+and as he listened his face took on a new expression, an expression of
+sudden suspicion, then of growing certainty, and, a moment later, of
+huge amusement.
+
+He stepped down from the chair.
+
+“Stay right where you are,” he ordered. “Don't move and don't make any
+noise. I'll be right back.”
+
+He hurried out. They waited. The snoring kept on and on. Suddenly it
+ceased. Then, in that very room, or so it seemed, sounded a grunt and a
+frightened squeal. And then a voice, a hollow voice which cried:
+
+“Ahoy, all hands! I'm the ghost of Nebuchadnezzar's first wife and I
+want to know what you folks mean by wakin' me up.”
+
+The three in the back bedroom looked at each other.
+
+“It's Captain Bangs!” cried Emily.
+
+“It's Obed!” exclaimed Thankful.
+
+“He's found it,” shouted Kendrick. “Come on.”
+
+The captain was not in the kitchen when they got there. He had gone out
+of doors, so Imogene said. Unmindful of the rain they rushed out and
+around the corner, behind and below the washshed. Patrick Henry was
+running about his pen, apparently much disturbed, but Captain Obed was
+not in sight.
+
+“Where is he?” demanded Thankful. “Where's he gone to?”
+
+“Hello there, John!” cried a voice from the darkness at the rear of the
+pigsty under the kitchen. “Come in here. Never mind your clothes. Come
+in.”
+
+John vaulted over the rail of the pen and disappeared. A few moments
+later he came out again in company with the captain. Both were laughing
+heartily.
+
+“We've got the answer,” puffed Captain Obed, who was out of breath.
+“We've laid the ghost. You remember I told you that day when we first
+explored this place that old Laban Eldredge had this pigpen built. Afore
+that 'twas all potato cellar, and at one time afore the house was made
+over there must have been a stove in that back bedroom. There's no
+chimney, but there's cracks between the boards at the back of that
+pigpen and any noise down here goes straight up between the walls and
+out of that stovepipe hole like a speakin' tube. You heard me when I
+spoke to you just now, didn't you?”
+
+“Yes--yes,” answered Emily. “We heard you, but--but what was it that
+snored? What was the ghost?”
+
+Captain Obed burst into a shout of laughter. “There he is,” he said,
+pointing.
+
+Thankful and Emily looked.
+
+“What?” cried the latter.
+
+“The PIG?” exclaimed Thankful.
+
+“That's what. Georgie gave me a hint when he and I was out here just
+now. Old Pat was asleep way in back there and snorin' like a steam
+engine. And Georgie said he never slept there unless 'twas a storm,
+rainin' same as 'tis now. And every time you heard the--ho! ho!--the
+ghost, 'twas on a stormy night. It stormed the night you got here, and
+when Becky Timpson had her warnin', and last night when Sol Cobb got
+his. Ho! ho! ho! Patrick Henry's the ghost. Well, he's a healthy old
+spirit.”
+
+Emily laughed until the tears came into her eyes.
+
+“The pig!” she cried. “Oh, Aunt Thankful! You and I were frightened
+almost to death last night--and of that creature there. Oh, dear me!”
+
+Thankful laughed, too, but she was not fully convinced.
+
+“Maybe 'twas the pig that snored,” she admitted. “And of course whatever
+we heard came up that pipe hole. But there was no pig there on that
+first night; I didn't buy the pig until long afterwards. And, besides,
+what I heard THAT night talked; it said, 'Oh, Lord!' Patrick Henry may
+be a smart pig, but he can't talk.”
+
+This was something of a staggerer, but the captain was still certain he
+was on the right track.
+
+“Then somethin' else was there,” he declared. “Somebody was down under
+the house here, that's sartin. Who could it have been? Never mind; I'll
+find out. We'll clear up the whole of this ghost business, now we've got
+started. Maybe we can find some hint in there now. John, go up and fetch
+a lantern, there's a good fellow, and we'll have a look.”
+
+John brought the lantern and by its light the two men explored the
+recesses of Patrick Henry's bed chamber. When they emerged, covered with
+dust and cobwebs, the captain held something in his hand.
+
+“I don't know what 'tis,” he said. “Maybe nothin' of any account, but
+'twas trod down in the corner close to the wall. Humph? Eh? Why, it's a
+mitten, ain't it?”
+
+It was a mitten, a much worn one, and on the inside of the wrist-hand
+were worked three letters.
+
+“K. I. P.” read Captain Obed. “What's 'K. I. P.' stand for?”
+
+Imogene, who had joined the group, clapped her hands.
+
+“I know,” she cried. “Kenelm Issachar Parker.”
+
+Thankful nodded. “That's it,” she agreed. “And--and--why, now I come to
+think of it, I remember hearin' Hannah pitchin' into Kenelm that first
+mornin' after our night at her house, for losin' his umbrella and a
+mitten.”
+
+“Right you are!” Captain Obed slapped his knee. “And Kenelm was out
+somewheres that night afore he and I came over here. He found his
+umbrella and he brought it home whole a week or so later. But it wa'n't
+whole all that time, because Seth Ellis told me Kenelm brought an
+umbrella in for him to fix. All turned inside out it was. Eh? Yes, sir!
+We're gettin' nigher port all the time. Kenelm came by this house that
+night, because 'twas him that saw your light in the window. I'll bet you
+he smashed his new umbrella on the way down from the club and crawled
+in here out of the wet to fix it. He couldn't fix it, so he left it
+here and came back after it the next day. And 'twas then he dropped this
+mitten.”
+
+Emily offered a suggestion.
+
+“You said you saw someone hiding behind the henhouse that next morning,
+Captain,” she said.
+
+“So I did. And I thought 'twas one of Solon Taylor's boys. I'll bet
+'twas Kenelm; he'd sneaked over to get the umbrella. It was him that
+said, 'Oh, Lord' that night; I'll bet high on it. When he thought of
+what Hannah'd say to his smashin' the umbrella she gave him it's a
+wonder he didn't say more than that. That's the answer--the whole
+answer--and I'll prove it next time I see Kenelm.”
+
+Which, by the way, he did.
+
+Later in the afternoon John and Emily walked up to the village together.
+They asked Thankful and Captain Obed to accompany them, but the
+invitation was declined. However, as John had suddenly remembered that
+he had left his office door unlocked, he felt that he should go and
+Emily went with him.
+
+“I presume likely,” observed the captain, as he looked after them, “that
+I ought to feel conscience-struck for not sayin' yes when they asked
+me to come along, but somehow I don't. I have a sneakin' feelin' that
+they'll get on first-rate without our company, Thankful.”
+
+Thankful was silent. She was sitting by the window. The pair were alone
+together in the living-room now. Imogene and Jedediah and Georgie were
+in the kitchen making molasses candy.
+
+“Well,” observed Captain Obed, “that's so, ain't it? Don't you agree
+with me?”
+
+Still there was no answer and, turning, the captain was surprised to see
+his companion wiping her eyes with her handkerchief.
+
+“For thunder sakes!” he exclaimed, in dismay. “What's happened now? Are
+you cryin'?”
+
+Thankful tried to smile. “No,” she said. “I'm not cryin'. At least, I
+hadn't ought to cry. I ought to be awful happy and I am. Seein' those
+two go off together that way made me think that pretty soon they'd be
+goin' away for good. And I--I was a little lonesome, I guess.”
+
+“Sho! sho! You mustn't be lonesome. They won't get married yet awhile, I
+cal'late.”
+
+“No. I suppose not. But Emily will have to go next week back to her
+school, and she'll take Georgie with her. I'll miss 'em both terribly.”
+
+“Yes, so you will. But you've got your brother now. He'll be some
+company.”
+
+“Yes. But, unless he's changed more than I'm afraid he has, he'll be
+more responsibility than comfort. He means well enough, poor Jed, but he
+ain't what you'd call a capable person.”
+
+“Well, Imogene's capable enough, and she'll be here.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Silence for a time. Then Captain Obed spoke.
+
+“Thankful,” he said, earnestly, “I know what's worryin' you. It's just
+what you said, the responsibility of it all. It's too much for you, the
+responsibility of handlin' this big house and a houseful of boarders
+when they come. You hadn't ought to do it alone. You ought to have
+somebody to help.”
+
+“Perhaps I had, but I don't know who 'twill be. I can't afford to hire
+the kind of help I need.”
+
+“Why don't you take a partner?”
+
+“A partner? Who, for goodness sakes?”
+
+“Well--me. I've got some money of my own. I'll go in partners with you
+here. . . . Oh, now, now!” he added hastily. “Don't think there's any
+charity in this. There ain't at all. As I see it, this boardin' house
+is mighty good business and a safe investment. Suppose you and I go in
+partners on it, Thankful.”
+
+Thankful shook her head.
+
+“You're awfully good,” she said.
+
+“No, I ain't.”
+
+“Yes, you are. But I couldn't do it, Obed.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“You know why not. For the same reason I couldn't say yes to what you
+asked me a while ago. I can't let you help me out of pity.”
+
+“Pity!” He turned and stared at her. “Pity!” he repeated.
+
+“Yes, pity. I know you're sorry for me. You said you were. And I know
+you'd do anything to help me, even--even--”
+
+He interrupted.
+
+“Thankful Barnes,” he said, “did you think I asked you what I asked that
+time out of PITY?”
+
+“Now, Obed--”
+
+“Stop! Answer me. Did you think such a fool thing as THAT? You stay
+right where you are! I want you to look me in the face.”
+
+“Don't, Obed! Don't! Let me be. Don't!”
+
+He paid not the slightest attention. He was bending over her, his hand
+beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.
+
+“Don't, Obed!” she begged.
+
+“Thankful, you tell me. Did you think I asked you to marry me just
+because I pitied you. Just because I was sorry for you? Did you?”
+
+“Obed, please!”
+
+“Thankful, I've come to care for you more'n anything else in the world.
+I don't pity you. I've been pityin' myself for the last month because I
+couldn't have you--just you. I want you, Thankful Barnes, and if you'll
+marry me I'll be the happiest critter that walks.”
+
+“Oh, Obed, don't make it so hard for me. You said you wouldn't. And--and
+you can't care--really.”
+
+“I can't! Do you care for me? That's what I want to know.”
+
+“Obed, you and I ain't young folks. We're gettin' on towards old age.
+What would folks say if--”
+
+He threw his arms about her and literally lifted her from the chair.
+
+“I don't care a durn WHAT they say,” he shouted, exultantly. “You've
+said what I was waitin' for. Or you've looked it, anyhow. Now then, WHEN
+shall we be married? That's the next thing for you to say, my girl.”
+
+
+They sat there in the gathering dusk and talked. The captain was
+uproariously gay. He could scarcely keep still, but whistled and drummed
+tunes upon the chair arm with his fingers. Thankful was more subdued and
+quiet, but she was happy, completely happy at last.
+
+“This'll be some boardin'-house, this one of ours,” declared the
+captain. “We'll build the addition you wanted and we'll make the city
+folks sit up and take notice. And,” with a gleeful chuckle, “we won't
+have any ghost snorin' warnin's, either.”
+
+Thankful laughed. “No, we won't,” she said. “And yet I'm awfully
+grateful to that--that--that pig ghost. If it hadn't been for him that
+mortgage would still be hangin' over us. And Solomon would never have
+been scared into doin' what he promised Uncle Abner he would do. Perhaps
+he'll be a better man, a more generous man to some of his other poor
+victims after this. I hope he will.”
+
+“So do I, but I have my doubts.”
+
+“Well, we'll never kill old Patrick Henry, will we? That would be TOO
+ungrateful.”
+
+Captain Obed slapped his knee.
+
+“Kill him!” he repeated: “I should say not! Why, he's your Uncle Abner
+and Rebecca Timpson's sister Medora and old Laban Eldredge and I don't
+know how many more. Killin' him would be a double back-action massacre.
+No indeed, we won't kill him! Come on, let's go out and have a look at
+him now. I'd like to shake his hand, if he had one.”
+
+“But, Obed, it's rainin'.”
+
+“What of it? We don't care for rain. It's goin' to be all sunshine for
+you after this, my lady. I'm the weather prophet and I tell you so. God
+bless you, Thankful Barnes.”
+
+Thankful smiled.
+
+“He has blessed me already, Obed,” she said.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Thankful's Inheritance, by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
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