Chapter VI: Part 6

As he went to push back the anvil he stepped on the little bit of rolled-up paper and idly picking it up, turned it between his fingers, but with his mind wholly filled with the making of the magic bullets. It was too late to melt the pewter now; he would have to wait until Monday afternoon. How could he ever eat two more breakfasts, dinners, and suppers with the precious stuff in his possession?

As his hands worked, the stout oiled paper between his fingers unrolled by their warmth, as a leaf unfolds in the heat, and showed something green inside.

Lammy looked, and his heart almost stopped beating, while the sun, moon, and stars seemed to be floating past, trailing cloud petticoats and dancing, for the green stuff was money,--clean, crisp banknotes rolled as hard as a pencil!

Lammy sank down all in a heap on a pile of straw, his eyes closed and his fist clutching the little bundle like a vice. It was several minutes before he could steady himself sufficiently to part the tightly twisted roll and count his treasure, which was so compact that he had to use great care. Fortunately the oil paper had kept the money dry in spite of the bath in the river, in addition to a bit of cork that had been rammed tightly into the spout, but which Lammy had not noticed as it dropped out at the first chop.

At last a bill peeled from the roll. Lammy smoothed it out, and rubbed his eyes. Could it be? He had never seen a bank bill for a larger sum than twenty dollars before, but five hundred was printed on this. Then he fell to work in earnest, and after many stops to moisten his fingers, twelve of the green, damp-smelling bits of paper lay spread upon the barn floor, while Lammy was saying over to himself, "Twelve times five are sixty--sixty hundred dollars--ten into sixty six times--six thousand dollars! Oh, mother--Bird--the fruit farm!" he fairly shouted. This then was what Aunt Jimmy's will had meant, after all.

Gathering the bills into his grimy handkerchief, blackened by polishing the tea-pot, he buttoned them inside his shirt and rushed into the house at the moment his mother was getting out of the chaise and bringing in the week's supply of groceries, for which she had traded her eggs.

His father having come home from the wood lot, took the horse to the barn, fed and bedded him immediately,--for old Graylocks never went fast enough to become heated,--and then came to the kitchen sink to make his toilet for supper.

Lammy sat waiting his time by the stove with his feet in the oven door, trying to suppress the shivers that ran through him. Would his mother ever put the things away and stop bustling? They could not have supper until late that night, for the shop where his brothers worked was running over time, and they would not be home before seven.

Mrs. Lane put the potatoes on to fry, arranged the steak in the broiler (she was the only woman in Laurelville who did not fry her meat), and then sat down to rest, keeping one eye upon the clock. Presently she caught sight of Lammy's face, and promptly jumped up again to grab one of his hands and ask anxiously: "Be you feelin' sick, Lammy Lane? Your hands is frogs and your cheeks hot coals. I do hope and pray it ain't goin' to be a fever spell o' any kind."

"Spell be blowed!" said Joshua, who was now seated by the lamp, enjoying his weekly paper. "He's been a-traipsin' round all day among them soggy marshes that fairly belches chills in fall o' the year, on a snack o' cold food. What he needs is a lining o' hot vittles; likewise do I."

But Lammy had left the stove and stood by the table, his hands clasped tightly, and such a strange expression on his face that both his parents were startled.

"I ain't sick--that is, not much," he began, "though I'm awfully hungry, but I've got something to tell out first."

Then he began slowly, and told about his visit to Old Lucky and his search for bullet material.

Here his father interrupted him with, "Shucks, Lammy Lane, ain't you got better sense than to throw away dollars?" but his mother gave Joshua a look, and said: "Don't you shet him off the track until he's through. I knew he wasn't working in his mind like he's done lately for nothing."

When he told of chopping up the tea-pot, his father chuckled, but his mother shivered and broke in with, "How could you ever set an axe in it? It seems to me 'bout as bad as cuttin' up poor Aunt Jimmy for sausages!"

When he came to the end, and pulling out his handkerchief, spread the contents before his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Lane stood grasping the table edge and staring white and wide eyed, until Joshua broke the silence with "Jehosophat! Nancy Hanks! but I'm kneesprung dumbfounded!"

"And you'd better be!" snapped Lauretta Ann, as nearly as she _could_ snap at her husband; "after all you've said against the memory of sainted Aunt Jimmy, and sneered and snipped at her will and meanings! Don't you see now how she fixed things so's I'd get the farm by biddin' it in fair without bein' hashed over in public for gettin' more'n my equal share? _She_ trusted me to fetch that pot home and, by usin' it daily, find it wouldn't pour out, as I would have did and diskiver the money. Oh, Joshua, Joshua, let this be a lesson to you an' all husbands not to browbeat their trustin' wives, as women's allers the furthest seein' sect."

"Fur seein', shucks!" snorted Joshua, who had enjoyed his recent authority too well to part with it; "between you and Aunt Jimmy yer'd made a fine mess o' it, and it took a male, though not a full-grown one, to pull yer out of it, for yer allowed yer'd only stick up the pot for a moniment an' not use it on account o' its taste tainting the tea. It sartinly took us men folks to dig yer out o' it; didn't it, Lammy?

"Now as we know Aunt Jimmy's intentions was that this be kept close, close it'll be kept, and we'd better pack up them bills until we can bank 'em Monday, in case Mis'is Slocum should be drawd to look in the winder to see if we are havin' a hot or cold supper, and real or crust coffee."

"But mother," said Lammy, as soon as he could be heard, "when shall we get Bird back? Need we wait until the auction?"

"Sakes alive, child, I'll write as soon as I get my head, but there's two letters unanswered now, and I'm afeared they've moved again. Somehow, with all we've got to face just now, I think 'twould be better waitin' until everything's settled up certain and we've got the place safe and sound. Then pa and me and you could kind er celebrate, and take a trip to N'York and get her. I ain't never been there but onct in my life, an' that was to a funeral when it wasn't seemin' fer me to look about to see things, and it rained and I spoiled my best bunnit. I reckon, now we can afford it, 'twould set us all up to go on a good lively errand o' mercy, and maybe see a circus too if there's any there, and eat a dinner bought ready made. Seems to me I should relish some vittles I hadn't cooked, and to step off without washing the dishes."

"Say, Lauretta Ann," drawled Joshua, presently, when Lammy, hugging Twinkle and telling him the news, had gone upstairs to look at Bird's paint-box, and sit in the dark and think of the bliss of going to New York and surprising her his very self, "who do you calkerlate owns them _six thousand dollars_?" rolling the words about in his mouth like a dainty morsel.

"Why, me,--that is we, of course!" she gasped. "You don't think there's anything wrong in takin' it? Ah, Joshua, you _don't_ think there's any wrong in takin' it?"

"Yes and no, not that egzactly; but as the Squire gave Lammy the law about things that's been throwed out, it 'pears to me the find is hisn."

"Well, if it is, I'm glad, and it's the Lord's doin' anyway. We can put the deed in Lammy's name, and earn him good schoolin' out o' it along o' little Bird, for nobody knows how I've missed that youngster a runnin' in and out these last months and feeling her head on my shoulder times when she was lonesome, and I mothered her in the rocker before the fire. What with the high school, and the painting school, and the female college over at Northboro, there's all the eddication she'll need for years close handy, and it's no wrong to the others, for there's this place for them to divide, and they're strong and likely."

"Remember the auction ain't took place yet, Lauretta Ann, and don't set too sure."

"Joshua, the Lord has planned this out; it can't go astray now."

"Amen," said Joshua; "but how about Old Lucky's spell? and supposin' Mr. Clarke takes a fancy to bid on the fruit farm. I hear he's been for land hereabout."

"Father, I'm _shocked_ at you, and you nephew-in-law to a deacon!"

Mrs. Lane went upstairs to look for Lammy and found him lying across his bed in an uneasy sleep, with Twinkle keeping guard by him, while his fatigue and the soaked boots in the corner told the cause for the illness that was creeping over him.

"Pa," called Mrs. Lane down the backstairs, in a husky whisper, "do you go for Dr. Jedd without waiting for the boys to come in. Lammy's chilled and fevered and sweatin' all to onct, and I can't read nothing out of such crossway sinktoms. Dear me suz, it does never rain but it pours! Say, Joshua, you'd best fetch that money up here to be put in the iron maple-sugar pot afore you go."

By the time Dr. Jedd arrived Lammy was in a heavy sleep, from which he roused at the physician's firm touch on his pulse, and began to talk wildly.

At first he seemed to think that Dr. Jedd was Old Lucky, for he cried, "I gave you the silver dollar and I made the bullets, but when I went to shoot them, they turned into polliwogs and went downstream." Then raising himself, he shook his pillow violently, saying, "You were a bad man to tell me lies. How could I shoot the shadow of a Christmas tree on a dark night? Cause when it's dark there are'nt any shadows."

Next he seemed to imagine that he was tramping over the hills with the surveyors, and he had an argument with himself, as to whether feet made rods or rods feet, and then mumbled something about _a_ + _b_ that they could not understand for they did not know that one of his new friends had started him in Algebra.

"He is tired out," said Dr. Jedd, presently, "and in his mind more than his body. The professor over at the camp told me that he had a great head for mathematics, and was always asking questions and working out sums and things on every scrap of paper he came across, and that when paper gave out he'd smooth a place in the dirt and scratch away on that with a nail. Said that it was a pity that he couldn't go to the Institute at Northboro and be fitted for the School of Mines in New York. Told me if he ever did, he could put him in the way of free tuition at least."

"The pewter tea-pot! Take Bird out of the pewter tea-pot; she's stuck in the spout, and when you chop it off, it will kill her!" shrieked Lammy, jumping out of bed.

Dr. Jedd gave him some quieting medicine, and he soon sank back among the pillows, with a burning red spot of fever on each cheek.

"Is it typhoid?" asked Mrs. Lane, her face white and drawn; "Janey died of that."

"It is a fever, but I cannot be quite sure of exactly which one," said the doctor, opening a little case he carried and taking out a fine needlelike instrument and a bottle of alcohol. "If I wait to know until it develops, we shall be losing time; if I prick his finger and send a drop of blood to Dr. Devlin in Northboro, who makes a study of such things, he will look at it through his microscope and tell me in the morning exactly where we stand." So after washing a spot clean with alcohol he took the little red drop that tells so much to the really wise physician and prevents all the mistakes of guess-work, and then began to prepare some medicines and write his directions for the night.

"Is there any one you would like me to send up to stay with you, Mrs. Lane?" the doctor asked as he prepared to leave. "This may be a tedious illness, and it won't do for you to wear yourself out in the beginning."

"Byme-by, perhaps," Mrs. Lane replied "but not jest now while he talks so wild. You know, doctor, how the best of folks will repeat and spy. Joshua ain't overbusy, and he'll help me out."

"What is that thing hanging round Lammy's neck by a string under his shirt that he has such a tight hold of?"

"It's the key of the lower one of his chest of drawers; he keeps odds and ends in it that he sets store by, and I guess he's lost it so many times that he's took to hanging it on safe by a string."

The next afternoon when Dr. Jedd came, the smile on his face reassured Mrs. Lane even before he said: "No, it isn't typhoid--merely plain malaria, and his worrying so much about Bird has made him light-headed. What has become of the child? Tired as she was in the spring, I would not answer for her little wild-wood ladyship after a hot summer in the city."

Then Mrs. Lane told sadly of the frequent invitations and the unanswered letters.

"I'm going to town for a little vacation after the holidays, and I will look her up myself," said the doctor, cheerily.

* * * * *

It was many weeks after the night that Lammy chopped up the pewter tea-pot and made his wonderful discovery before the fever left him, and then he felt so limp and weak that after sitting up a few minutes he was glad to crawl into bed again. His mind had only wandered during the first two or three days, but frequently he would wake up with a start from troubled sleep and ask his mother anxiously if it was really true about the tea-pot or only a dream. He was bitterly disappointed when the night before the auction came and the doctor told him that he must not go, even though his big brother Nellis had offered to put the great arm-chair in the cart and take him down in that way, all wrapped in comfortables. For the doctor said the excitement of thinking of the matter was enough without being there.

On his way out, Dr. Jedd spent a few moments before he went home, chatting to Joshua in the kitchen.

"To-morrow the tug of war is coming, Joshua," said the doctor; "all of your neighbours wish you well and set great store by your wife, and we hate to think of seeing strangers in the fruit farm. If you can think up any way that we could accommodate or help you out to buy it, why, just speak out. If the two thousand dollars Miss Jemima left my wife would make any difference to you, she bid me say that, as she knows your dread of mortgages, she would loan it on your note of hand," at the same time holding out his own toward Joshua as if it already held the proffered money.

Joshua's honest face flushed with pleasure at the implied trust, yet he could hardly keep the smile from his lips and a mysterious twinkle from his eyes as he shook the doctor's hand heartily and answered: "We're much obleeged, and we'll never forget that you and Mis'is Jedd held us well enough in esteem to make the offer, but I reckon the only way we could come to own the fruit farm would be by buying it out fair and square. I don't say but I'd be downhearted to see it go by me, especially to 'Biram Slocum, for they've been days, doc, when I've even kind o' pictured out the two farms, ourn and it, joined fast by your sellin' me that wood bluff that runs in between from the highway. But you know the sayin', doc, 'Man proposes, woman disposes,' and all that."

This time the doctor caught the wink that Joshua's near eye gave in spite of itself, but thought that it referred to Aunt Jimmy's peculiarities.

"Well," said the doctor, deliberately, a genial smile spreading over his features, "one thing I'll do to help out your picturing, as you call it. If luck should turn so that you buy the fruit farm, I'll sell you the wood knoll for what I gave for it, and that's the first time I ever considered parting with it, though I've had no end of good offers."

"Here's the boys jest come home in time to witness that there remark o' yourn. Ain't yer gettin' kind er rash 'n' hasty, doc?"

"No, Joshua, the more witnesses, the better," and the two men went out the door, toward the fence where the doctor's chaise was tied, laughing heartily.

As to the boys, they were completely bewildered, for not a word did they know, or would until after the auction, and they had not the remotest idea that their father even dreamed of bidding on the fruit farm.

XII

THE TUG OF WAR

The strain that Lammy had been under ever since the reading of Aunt Jimmy's will had told on him in a way that only his mother understood, and after the stubborn malarial fever itself was routed, he felt, as he said, "like the bones in my legs is willer whistles," so Dinah Lucky was engaged to stay with him on the morning of the long talked of auction sale. He would have preferred some one else, for Dinah was a great talker, and his head still felt tired, but she was the only trustworthy person in the entire neighbourhood who for either friendship or money would consent to miss the auction.

According to the terms of the notice that had appeared in the local papers and been posted in a ten-mile circuit from Milltown to Northboro, the sale conducted by Joel Hill, auctioneer, was to be held on the fruit farm itself at ten o'clock on the morning of Thursday, December the ninth, "by order of Joshua Lane, Executor."

When the day came, it was bitterly cold, though clear; a two-days old snow-storm followed by sleet had crusted well, and the walking and sleighing were both good, yet Joshua Lane was surprised when he went down to the fruit farm at nine o'clock in the morning to sweep off the porch and light a fire in the kitchen stove, which still remained on the premises for cooking chickens' food, to see many teams already hitched to the fence, the horses well muffled in blankets. People afoot were also going toward the barn, where a Hungarian, who was retained to tend the stock and act as watchman, had a room and fire which, together with what information they could extract from him, was what they sought.

As the man said, "Yah! ha!" equally loud to every question, Joshua thought no harm could come from that quarter, and proceeded to open the blinds of the kitchen windows and make such preparations as he could for protecting the audience from the cold.

By half-past nine the kitchen, sitting room, north parlours, all bare of furniture, and the stairs were packed with standing people, and when, at a few minutes before ten, the auctioneer and the Northboro lawyer, Mr. Cole, who had made Aunt Jimmy's will, appeared together, they had to push their way into the house.

Mrs. Slocum had been on hand early, of course,--she always was,--and kept dropping mysterious remarks and pursing up her lips. She began by cheapening the entire place, saying the house was not in as good repair as she had been led to think, that the wall papers were frights, and that everything needed paint, that four thousand dollars would be a high price for the property, and she didn't know who'd buy it anyway. Then the next minute she was requesting those about her not to crowd up the stairs, as they might bend the hand rail, which would be just so much out of the pocket of whoever bought the house, adding that red Brussels carpet was her choice for the north room.

To the surprise of all, the two out-of-town Lane brothers, Jason and Henry, were not there. The "all in due time" policy that had always, and would always, keep Henry poor, caused them to start for the auction so late that the delay on the road caused by a broken trace detained them until nearly eleven, when they turned about and went home again so as not to be late for dinner.

After reading the description of the property and the cash terms of the sale, Joel Hill stood up on a soap-box that he might overlook the assembly and called out, "What am I bid, to start?"

There was complete silence for a few moments. Then the door opened, and Mr. Brotherton, one of Mr. Clarke's agents from Northboro, entered, causing a flutter of speculation as to what his presence might mean and making Mrs. Lane's heart thump painfully. Dr. Jedd and his wife, the minister and his lady, together with Mrs. Lane, who were occupying a bench that had been brought from the barn, and were the only people seated, looked at the stove in front of them, so that those who expected a bid from that quarter were disappointed.

Joshua Lane, hands behind him, leaned against the chimney front and gazed steadily at a wire that held the stove-pipe in place.

"What am I bid, to start?" repeated the auctioneer. Abiram Slocum, scanning the various groups with his ferret eyes, moved uneasily, moistened his lips, and, as his wife gave him a prod with her umbrella that exactly hit the "funny bone" of his elbow, jerked out, "Five hundred dollars."

"One thousand," said a clear, distinct, but unfamiliar, voice at the back of the room. There was a unanimous turning of heads and twisting of bodies toward the bidder, who proved to be Mr. Cole the lawyer from Northboro, who made a very impressive appearance, clad as he was in a handsome fur-lined overcoat and a shiny silk hat. As he was also often employed by Mr. Clarke, the mystery deepened.

Abiram Slocum gasped as if some one had poured a pail of water over him at this unexpected competitor, and then called, "One thousand two hundred and fifty."

"Two thousand," from the lawyer.

"Two thousand and fifty," shrieked Abiram.

"Why waste time with small change a cold morning like this?" called the auctioneer.

"Three thousand," said the lawyer.

"Three thousand three hundred," snapped Abiram, vainly endeavouring to get out of range of the faces and gestures his wife was making at him.

"Four thousand five hundred," jumped the lawyer, beginning to button his coat and draw on his gloves, as if the end were well in sight.

Abiram Slocum seemed bewildered, and glancing at his wife, failed to read her signal aright, and resorted to a hoarse whispering in the middle of which she shook him off and shouted with an air of triumph, "Five thousand dollars!"

Mrs. Lane was seen to moisten her lips nervously, and the colour in her cheeks deepened, but then by this time the wood-stove was sending forth red-hot air as only a sheet-iron stove working full blast knows how.

"Five thousand two hundred and fifty," bid the lawyer. Then followed an altercation between Mr. and Mrs. Slocum. Vainly the auctioneer rapped; they paid no attention, and upon the lawyer saying that any further delay would cause a withdrawal of his bid, the final "Going, going, gone, at five thousand two hundred and fifty dollars" was called, and it was not until fully twenty seconds after the final bang of the hammer that the Slocums came to, and Abiram fairly yelled, "Six--thousand--dollars!"

Of course it was too late, and the fault was nobody's but his own. He tried to protest and was actually hissed down, Laurelville folk preferring to see the property go anywhere so long as Mrs. Slocum was not mistress of the fruit farm.

"Name of buyer?" asked the auctioneer; "self or client?"

"Client," said the lawyer, slowly adjusting his eyeglasses and glancing at a slip of paper, while dead silence again prevailed, and the Slocums glared forked lightning at each other and the world in general.

"The purchase is made by Lauretta Ann Lane, as guardian for her son, Samuel Lane, and she is prepared to deposit the price in cash, pending searching of the title and transfer of deed."

There was a shuffle as the people, released from the strain, shifted from one numb foot to the other, and then cheers broke out, for above curiosity and all other feeling was one of joy that their kind, hard-working neighbour had in some mysterious way received what they firmly believed to be her due.

When the applause had subsided and the general handshaking ceased, Lauretta Ann Lane pulled a large new wallet from some mysterious place in her dress, and counting out eleven clean five-hundred-dollar bills held them toward the auctioneer, saying, "I'll trouble you for the change, please," adding in a low yet perfectly distinct voice to an irate figure who was elbowing her way out, and meeting many obstacles in so doing, "That change 'll come in right handy for new papers, paint, and furnishings that you said was needful, and I think a red Brussels carpet _would_ liven up that north room wonderful. That same was your choice, waren't it, Mis'is Slocum?"

How it all came about the village never discovered; for whatever the lawyer knew or _thought_, he kept it to himself and said the opposite, which is, of course, what lawyers are for.

Dr. Jedd was the only one who suspected in the right direction; for soon after the Lanes had moved into their new home, and curiosity had subsided, he was looking on the parlour mantel-shelf for the matches, and discovered the chopped remains of the pewter tea-pot reposing in a handsome china jar that was bought in New York. But Dr. Jedd only chuckled as the whole thing flashed across him, and he said to himself, "Surely enough, man proposes and woman disposes, and there's a various lot of human nature in woman, especially Aunt Jimmy, who was a blessed, good, spunky, old fool."

One final sensation was given the neighbourhood when it was found that, after the payment of the legacies and other charges against the estate, there was enough surplus to give the three Lane brothers over three thousand dollars each, legal allotment.

XIII

TELLTALE TROUSERS

As Mrs. Lane was hurrying home from the auction, that Lammy need not be kept in suspense a moment longer than was necessary, she bumped into Abiram Slocum, who was trudging moodily along the road. His wife had left the house first, and in her anger appropriated the cutter and gone home, leaving him to walk.

Mrs. Lane intended to go by without speaking, and merely gave a civil nod, but he would not allow it; his ugly mood must find vent in words, and as she passed he squared about, saying:--

"You've no cause to feel so hoity toity if yer _hev_ got the fruit farm; _there's underhand business been goin' on here in Laurelville, if the light o' truth was let in_. Moreover, it's time that husband o' yourn as Minstrator of that Irish O'More's debts should pay me the rent due; the fact of the furniture being burned don't release him a copper cent's worth, as he well knows. Tell him from me he'd best come down and settle up; ter-morrow I reckon to be at the tax office all forenoon, or"--with an evil sneer--"mebbe, as you seem to hold the purse, you'd like to pay the debt out of charity to the girl you bragged o' being fond of, to save her the name of pauper."

Mrs. Lane grew hot and cold by turns, and a torrent of words rose to her lips, but the thought of Lammy waiting so patiently checked her in time, and she merely said, "Yes, Abiram Slocum, you'll hear from us to-morrer."

As she reached the home gate, she saw Dinah Lucky, who was stationed at the window to give the first word of her return, and at the same time a wild-looking tawny head and a pair of big questioning gray eyes appeared above her fat shoulder, as Lammy steadied himself by the window-frame. Quick as a flash she pulled off her red knitted shawl and waved it joyfully, so that Lammy knew at least two minutes before she could have reached his room to tell him.

Once upstairs, she was obliged to begin at the beginning and tell him the story of the morning in every detail, holding his hand the while as if to convince him that she was real and what she told the plain truth.

Presently Dinah slipped downstairs, saying she would get the dinner and bring them both some upstairs, for she was sure "Missy Lane" must be clear tuckered out.

And so she was, though she had not realized it until that moment and sinking back in the homemade arm-chair, she closed her eyes in a state of perfect peace, and must have dozed, for she awoke with a start to hear Lammy say, "This sort of makes up for the Thanksgiving dinner I missed," and there upon the various chairs and the bedstand Dinah had spread a dinner tempting as only a coloured "born cook" knows how to make it, while the clashing of knives and forks below told her that Joshua and the boys were provided for (they had all staid at home from the shop to attend the auction) and that this afternoon at least was her own.

After dinner Lammy lay for a long time, looking at the wood fire flickering through the open front of the stove, planning how they would fix Aunt Jimmy's--or rather _his_--house, as his mother called it, and when they would move. Of course, Lammy wished to go at once--even a week seemed a long delay. Mrs. Lane hesitated, for she had thoughts of waiting until spring; yet, on the other hand, she could not well leave the house empty or travel up and down to tend the chickens. Aunt Jimmy's house was by far the easier to heat, and now as they must keep a hired man permanently, he could be put into their present house and everything settle down for a comfortable winter of work, rest, and planning, so she said, much to Lammy's joy, that she thought they could be in by Christmas and then make the improvements at their leisure.

"Yes, we can wait to paper the rooms--that is, all except Bird's," he added. "I'd like to have hers fixed up for her when she comes, white and a paper with wild roses--that's what she likes, and she made a pattern for one once and was going to send it to the wall-paper man when her father finished the red piney pattern, only he never did." And Lammy told his mother of Bird's hopes about her work, ending by taking the string that held the key from about his neck and saying:--

"Please unlock my lower drawer and give me Bird's bundle that her uncle would not let her take with her; if I can't see her, I can look at her things. I know she wouldn't mind, because I went back in through the cellar with her that last day and tied them up; only I didn't do it very well because there was no good paper and string. I'd like to fix them better and put up the paint-box by itself," he said, fumbling with the knots, as his mother, much interested, took a fresh sheet of paper from the press closet behind the bed.

As she reseated herself, the string broke, and the contents of the hastily made bundle were scattered about the bed. Lammy picked up the water-colour drawings carefully, one by one, and smoothed them out with the greatest care. There were a couple of dozen of them, besides those of the wild roses and the peony design, which Mrs. Lane at once recognized from its spirit, even though it was unfinished.

Suddenly Lammy cried out in delight, for there before him was a pen-and-ink sketch of Bird herself, much younger and happier than when he had last seen her, but still his little friend to the life.

"Oh, mother," he said, as soon as he had feasted his eyes on it, "do you think there could be any harm in putting this up on the mantel-shelf where I could look at it--just for a few days until we go to get Bird back?" And of course his mother assured him that there could be no possible harm. Then, completely satisfied, he laid the sheets of drawing-paper together again and prepared to make them into a neat, flat package.

"You've dropped this out," said his mother, reaching across the bed to pick up something that had slid down between the coverlid and the wall, and laid what seemed to be a letter in a long, heavy, brown manila envelope tied with pink tape in front of Lammy.

"I don't know what that is," he said, looking it over; "it must have been between the pictures when we pulled them out of her father's box, because those were all I saw when I made the bundle up. See, there's writing on this side," and holding it up to the light, for the winter twilight was setting in, he read slowly:--

"'Papers concerning the Turner Mill Farm Property,--to be recorded.' I wonder what that means."

Mrs. Lane's eyes fairly bulged, and great drops of sweat stood on her forehead as she answered: "Means? It means, Lammy Lane, that the Lord don't forget the orphan, and if Bird O'More _is_ in New York, he's lookin' after her business right here in Laurelville.

"The meaning of that letter is what Abiram Slocum burnt up his cross-road house to conceal, which he wouldn't hev done if it was of no account." And Mrs. Lane poured out her suspicions and ideas concerning the matter.

* * * * *

At the supper-table that night Mrs. Lane repeated Abiram Slocum's message to her husband, and he, rubbing his chin with a troubled air, replied, "Truth be told, Lauretta Ann, owin' to the burnin' of that furniture there isn't a cent left to pay that claim, and I do hate to have poor O'More held up as an insolvent around here for sixty dollars, 'count o' Bird. He was a good-natured, harmless sort o' feller, enjoyin' of himself as he went, very much like I'd be if you hadn't taken up with me, Mis'is Lane."

At this compliment Mrs. Lane blushed like a girl and murmured something about all men bein' the better for women's handling, provided it was the right woman, which Mis'is Slocum wasn't.

"Now as far as that sixty dollars goes, if it wasn't owed to 'Biram Slocum, I'd undertake ter pay it myself, so as to get the receipt and settle everything square up and clean billed, but, by jinks, it sticks me to pay that low-down swindler."

"Joshua Lane!" cried his wife, in a tragic tone, standing up and pointing her pudgy finger at him with such a jerk that it made him start as if it had been a bayonet, while she used the most grandiloquent language she could muster: "The estate of the late lamented Terence O'More does not owe Abiram Slocum a bent penny, and as to the receipt for the same, I'll hand it to you this time to-morrow night, leastwise if it doesn't blow a blizzard 'twixt now and then, or Mis'is Slocum turn 'Biram into pickled peppers by the sight of the face she wore home from the auction."

"Come now, Lauretta Ann," wheedled Joshua, "you ain't minded of paying it, be ye? I'd think twice--that I would."

"Pay!" snorted Lauretta. "Don't I tell you there's nothin' owed?"

"You're talkin' an' actin' enigmas and charades. Not thet it's anything new, but if I was you, I'd be mighty keerful how I baited 'Biram Slocum; he is too cute for most men, and he would take to the law for a heedless word jest now, he's that riled about the wardrobe story leakin' out and losing the fruit farm."

"That's all right, and don't you fret, Joshua; if there is any law called in, it'll be by me." And pump and quiz as he might, not another word could he extract from his wife upon the subject.

* * * * *

Early the next morning Mrs. Lane harnessed the "colt," which, though ten years old, still bore his youthful name, to the cutter, and after putting her egg-basket deep under the robe and depositing her satchel on top of it, turned up the hill road toward Northboro, waving her whip good-by to Lammy, who, seated in the big chair in his window, smiled at her, with his finger pressed to his lips, as if cautioning silence.

As the sleigh bells jingled and the "colt" loped easily along, Mrs. Lane leaned back as if the motion and jolly sound expressed her own feelings admirably, and the miles flew swiftly by.

When Northboro was reached, she drove to the stable where she always left her horse in unseasonable weather, but instead of carrying the familiar egg-basket into town, she stowed it away under the sleigh seat, and hanging her satchel securely on her arm, drew on her best gloves that she had brought in her pocket, and started up the main street at a vigorous trot. Coming to a gray stone building next the court-house, where many lawyers had offices, she read the various signs anxiously, and then spying that of Mr. Cole, opened the swinging outside door and climbed the two flights of stairs that led to it.

Mr. Cole greeted her pleasantly, for he had a very kindly feeling toward this generous-hearted woman; but when he heard her story and saw the legal-looking envelope, he became doubly interested. Untying the tape, he read the various papers through, one after the other, while Mrs. Lane watched his eagerness with evident satisfaction. When he had finished, he replaced the papers and tied them up deliberately before he said: "These papers appear to me to be of great importance to O'More's daughter, though exactly what they amount to I cannot tell until I see the dates of certain mortgages and transfers on record in Milltown. Fortunately the attorney, Mr. King, who drew up the papers before he went to California four years ago, has returned on a visit, and I am to meet him in court this afternoon."

"I suppose you know Bird hasn't anything to pay what Joshua says they call the retainment fee, but if a little money 'll help her get her rights, you may hold me good for it."

"That will not be necessary," said the lawyer, smiling, "for my client, Mr. Clarke, is as anxious to have the title to the Mill Farm cleared as you are, so in serving him I may be able to aid Bird. Slocum, the present owner, seems a slippery man at best. You know that the insurance company, for which I also happen to be the agent, withholds his claim because he gave the date of June 9 for his fire when it took place the 10th."

At this Mrs. Lane's eyes grew steelly bright, and she moistened her lips nervously. Then Mr. Cole put the papers in his safe and closed the door with its mysterious lock, and Mrs. Lane breathed a sigh of relief and, asking him to write as soon as he had news, either good or bad, went carefully down the shallow marble stairs of the office building, for elevators she would have none of.

Once more in the street, she spied a bakery and, going in, ordered a cup of coffee and half a custard pie, which she ate with relish and then returned to the stable for the "colt" without doing any of her usual market-day trading.

It was only half-past eleven when Mrs. Lane, coming down the hill road, saw Laurelville lying before her in the valley, and five minutes later when she hitched the colt in front of the town-house, throwing the coon lap-robe over him in addition to his blanket.

The selectmen had been in consultation, and were now standing outside, making holes in the snow with their boot toes and finding it difficult to break away, after the usual manner of rural communities. Mrs. Lane nodded pleasantly and asked if every one else had gone home to dinner.

"Mostly," replied First Selectman Penfield, "but Judge Ricker's in his office, I reckon, and Slocum, he's in the end room as 'cessor, waitin' for folks to swear their taxes, for which they appear to be in no hurry."

This was exactly the information Mrs. Lane wanted, and she walked directly down the corridor, this time firmly grasping the egg-basket and leaving the satchel outside.

Opening the door without knocking, she had entered, closed it, and seated herself opposite Abiram Slocum before he was aware of her presence, and do what he could, he was not able to control the slight start that her appearance gave him.

"Morning, marm," he said formally, putting his thumbs in the armholes of his vest and puffing out his cheeks with importance; "want to swear your taxes?"

"Not to-day; Joshua always attends to that. I've jest dropped in ter get that receipt for the O'More rent, as Joshua intends settling the matter up with Judge Ricker this afternoon."

"Very glad to hear it, Mrs. Joshua Lane; it saves me lots of trouble, and I hate to go to law unless required." And he drew a blank form from a desk, which he filled in, signed, and was about to hand across the table, when he suddenly withdrew it, saying, "Well, where are the sixty dollars?"

"They was paid you June the 10th."

"What!" shouted Abiram, really believing the woman to be crazy, and retreating behind the table.

"Just so; by that I mean all that good furniture you set fire to along with your house."

Slocum turned ghastly white and almost staggered, but quickly recovering himself, he sprang forward furiously, and for a moment Mrs. Lane thought he was going to strike her, but glancing out the window she saw that Selectman Penfield was below, and this reassured her.

"I'll have you arrested for slander as sure as my name's Abiram Slocum," he gasped, trying to get out the door in front of which she stood.

"I wouldn't be too hasty; if you wait, you will hear more to get up that slander claim on, mostlike. Jest you go back and set down while I have my say, and if you want witnesses to it, Judge Ricker will step in, I'm sure, or Mr. Penfield either; they are both real handy. As you said yesterday, _there's underhand business been goin' on in town if the light o' truth could be let in_, which I'm now doin'."

So Abiram hesitated, and sank back into the chair, casting an uneasy look at his visitor, who proceeded to state her case both rapidly and clearly.

"'Twas Friday, the 10th of June, you fired that house, though you did give into the insurance company 'twas the 9th." (Here again Slocum jumped, and his hands worked nervously.)

"The 10th was circus day, and most all the town had gone to Northboro. Likewise Lockwood's field-hands went, and so there were no men folks working up beyond four corners; this gave you a clear coast.

"You started for the circus with Mis'is Slocum and 'Ram; you turned back, giving it out you'd got important business at the Mill Farm. But you didn't go, and turned up before noon at the turnpike store, where you never trade. There you bought a new gallon can of kerosene, saying you was going up to the north lots to make a wash of it fer tent-worms in the apple trees. Now there ain't even a wild crab tree in the north lots--only corn-fields.

"You went up that way all right, and a-spookin' around the house. Everything was tight fast, and so the only place you could get in was by crawlin' through the cellar winder, which you did, tearin' a new pair o' herrin'-bone pattern trousers so doin'."

Again Slocum started, and his face wore a look of intense wonder mixed with fear.

"After you looked about for what you didn't find, you spilled the kerosene about and set fire so's nobody could get what maybe you'd overlooked.

"Then you scooted back in the corn lot and hid the can in the big blasted chestnut stump, and when a hue and cry was raised walked down as innercent as May, from hoein' corn that wasn't yet above ground!"

By this time Slocum had pulled himself together, and his defiance returned.

"Woman, you are crazy, and what you say is perfectully redeclous; I'll have you behind asylum bars, if not in jail. Mere talk! You can't prove a word you say, and what is this 'thing' that I couldn't find and wanted to burn? Just tell me that!"

"Prove? Oh, yes, I can; Lauretta Ann Lane is no random talker.

"Here's the pants you wore, and that you sold the pedler the same afternoon--they smell yet o' kerosene, and here's the piece ye tore out on the winder-catch!" And Mrs. Lane whipped the telltale trousers out of her egg-basket.

"The kerosene can's in the stump yet, but I've got it all straight; that poor Polack woman you turned out of house and home seen you hide it. Now what else was there?" And Mrs. Lane affected a lapse of memory.

"Oh, yes; you wanted to know what you was a-lookin' for. Why, don't you know? It was a big lawyer's envelope marked 'Papers concerning the Turner Mill Farm Property,--to be recorded.'"

Slocum breathed hard and grasped the table edge to steady himself.

"Jest why you wanted them papers I don't know, but Lawyer Cole in Northboro, who's got 'em, is goin' to find out."

"Lawyer Cole has them?" Slocum whispered hoarsely; "Lawyer Cole, did you say?"

"Yes, I did!" repeated Mrs. Lane; "and if you don't think the testimony I've been givin' you is true, and consider it a slander, I've got it writ out, and I'll have him search that out too."

"No, no," said Slocum, speaking as if to himself. "How did you ever find--" and then he remembered and stopped. Mrs. Lane waited a few minutes, and then said:--

"It's full noon now, and I must get home to dinner, so I'll trouble you for that rent receipt. Thanks, and I'll give you a word of advice in return. The Lord mostly finds out evil-doers, and not infrequent He trusts women to help Him, and I want you to consider that if I don't give this matter a public airin', it isn't from either pity or fear of you, but because I don't want the county to know that we harboured such a skunk among us so long; my last word being that you'd better get away from my neighbourhood before I change my mind!"

So it came about that before Christmas Abiram Slocum gave it out that his wife's health was poor and he had been advised to go to California, where he intended to buy a vineyard, hinting at the same time that as he expected to sell a large tract of land to Mr. Clarke, he had no further interest in Laurelville; and though only four people knew the real reason, the whole village rejoiced without the slightest effort at concealment.

At the same time Joshua Lane found that his work as administrator of the O'More property had only begun instead of being closed.

XIV

THE FIRE-ESCAPE

What had Bird O'More been doing these many days? It did not need the skill of a magician to tell why even her notes to her Laurelville friends had been brief at best and then finally ceased. A single peep at her surroundings would have told the tale, and the more completely she became merged in them, the more hopeless she felt them to be.

Her weekly work in distributing the flowers was a bright spot indeed, as well as her visits to Tessie; but as she looked forward to the time when frost would kill the blossoms, the Flower Mission be closed, and the liberty of streets and parks cut off for confinement in the dark flat, her heart sank indeed.

All her hopes were centred about going to school, and the possibilities of meeting teachers who would understand her desire to learn, and help her with sympathy. Meanwhile, the city summer had told upon her country-bred body even more than on her sensitive temperament, and she grew thinner every day, until finally her aunt was compelled to see it in spite of herself, and promised to take her down to Coney Island or Rockaway Beach "some day" when she was not busy, to freshen her up a bit; but that day never came, and as little Billy was constantly improving, her uncle had eyes only for him. In fact, the change in the little cripple was little short of marvellous. Of course his lameness remained, but his cheeks were round, his lips had lost their blue tint, and to hear him cry or complain was a rare sound indeed. That all this came of Bird's devoted care her uncle was quite convinced; for it was she who gave Billy his morning bath, and managed,--no easy task,--that the battered tub should not again be used for a cupboard. It was Bird who took his food into the fire-escape bower, and coaxed and tempted him until he had eaten sufficient, and it was she who put him nightly into the little bed opposite her own and taught him to say, as a little prayer, the verse of the hymn her own mother had sung to her in the misty long ago:--

"Jesus, gentle Shepherd, hear me;
Bless thy little lamb to-night:
Through the darkness be thou near me;
Keep me safe till morning light."

But for Billy, Bird could not have endured through that dreadful summer. As it was, she often fingered her "keepsake," still hanging about her neck, the thought comforting her that with the mysterious coin in it she could get back once more to the little village that seemed like heaven to her, no matter what happened after. Often, in fact, the only thing that kept her from running away was the belief that if her good friends could take her permanently, they would have sent for her, and pride, heroic pride, born of Old and New England, was still strong in Ladybird.

"She'll perk up when school begins and she gets acquainted with girls her own age," said O'More, cheerfully, as his attention was called to her pale cheeks by his wife. "I'm owin' her good will for what she's done for Billy, else I most wish I'd left her up there with those hayseeds that wanted her. Somehow she don't fit in here, for all that she never complains. She's different from us, and she makes me uncomfortable, lookin' so solemn at me if I chance to take off my coat and collar of a night at supper to ease up a bit. Terence was different from us, too, and it's bred in the bone."