"I'll bet--I'll bet a continental he never cut the fodder for the cattle but just give it to 'em hull! He was no 'count of a farmer, the deacon wasn't. Good man, yes. I ain't sayin' he ain't that; but did it ever strike you, Eunice, that most good folks is pesky stupid? Or 'clever'

ones, uther? I call it plumb equal to tellin' you you're a reg'lar tomnoddy to say a fellar's uther 'clever' or 'good.' I 'low little stutterin' Monty Sturtevant could ha' done the ch.o.r.es well enough till I get 'round again, an' I could ha' bossed _him_." Then, after a moment: "But I can't boss the deacon."

"No, you poor old grumbler! I reckon he isn't that kind. And your judgment of your neighbors is a bit extreme. Never mind. It's such a good sign to hear you scold that I'm encouraged to think you'll soon be well again. Now I'll go down and be ready to open the door for Susanna and Katharine. It's terrible to have them exposed to this storm."

But there was n.o.body visible, and at length Miss Eunice felt a.s.sured that she should not see them till the tempest lulled. So she returned once more to the kitchen-chamber, to comfort its occupant and herself as well. She had just remarked, for the third time:

"No! I'm sure Elinor would never let them set out in such weather as this. She has kept them to supper, and I do hope Susanna will have forethought enough to decline the ham and bread she carried for Monty, and confine herself to whatever the family was to have had by itself.

Susanna is very hearty, I'm glad to say--"

"Eats so much it makes her thin to carry it around!" growled Moses, interrupting. "As for Montgomery, that little shaver's never had--"

What he would have added is not known.

Out upon the kitchen stairs sounded the rush of sodden feet, which seemed to stumble from sheer weariness even in their maddened haste; and the next instant there burst into the room what looked like a wretched caricature of poor Susanna. Bonnetless and spectacle-less, her gray hair streaming in snake-like strands, her garments dripping pools, her fine black Sunday shawl trailing behind her like a splash of flowing ink, she dropped upon the floor gasping and sobbing, and, apparently, at her wits' end.

A second's hesitation at touching so draggled and dripping a creature held Eunice aloof; and then she was down beside her friend, wiping the rain-wet face and begging to be told what had befallen.

"Surely, something worse than a storm has brought you to this pa.s.s, my poor dear. You look frightened--you tremble--You--Oh, Susanna! Where is Katharine? Has harm happened her?"

"Her? 'Tain't her! It's me. It's come at last, an' I always--knew--it would. Oh, say! Am I alive or--or--dead?"

Then as the absurdity of her own question flashed upon her, she began to laugh hysterically, and soon to sob with equal fervor. She was wholly overdone and unnerved, and, realizing that nothing could be learned till she was calmer, her mistress put no further inquiries, but led her away down the stairs, still dripping moisture,--a fact that no stress of emotion could hide from the critical sight of two such housekeepers.

"Them stairs! An' I washin' 'em all up clean just afore sundown! Lucky I hadn't put down the carpet yet, though I'd laid out--Oh, my suz!"

This was the first coherent sentence, if such it can be called, which escaped the terrified woman, while she was being undressed and freshly clothed in the warm things Eunice had provided.

"Yes, dear heart. But never mind the stairs. Did you find Katharine?"

"Nuther hide nor hair of her. Likely she's gone visitin' some the village little girls. She's that friendly she's been into most every house a'ready. She's safe enough. She won't never come to harm, Katy won't. But, Eunice, he's come! I've seen him!"

"Who's come? What 'him,' dear?" asked the other, gently, and thinking that exposure and fright had made this usually clear-headed Susanna a little flighty. "Here, take a cup of tea. I made it fresh but a few minutes ago. It will refresh you and quiet you wonderfully."

Now, as a rule, the Widow Sprigg needed no urging to drink her favorite beverage, which, like many another countrywoman,--more's the pity!--she kept steeping on the stove all day long. But now, for an instant, she looked doubtfully upon the cup; then, as a sudden whim seized her, caught it up eagerly and again ascended the stairs to Moses' bedroom. He lay motionless, his leg kept taut by a ball and chain and his poor body encased in plaster, but he could use his arms and eyes, the one thrown restlessly here and there and the other glittering with impatient curiosity.

"Well, there, Moses Jones! How many times have you jeered an' gibed at me for believin' in 'tramps'? Wasn't 'none,' was there? Well, there _is_. I've seen him. _He--he chased me!_ All the way from the Mansion till I got clean to the post-office--an' then--then--he--he cut for the woods! Oh, my suz! Be I dreamin' or awake?"

The recalling of her frightful experience again so unnerved her that she sat down trembling on the edge of Moses' cot, and would have spilled her tea had not Eunice caught the cup in time to prevent.

"You're crazy!" retorted Mr. Jones, unconvinced. "And there ain't no call, as I can see, for you to set down on my broke leg. That awful ball the doctor tied to it'll keep it straight enough, I 'low."

Susanna sprang up as if she had been tossed to her feet, her face quickly becoming normal and compa.s.sionate again.

"Oh, I didn't mean to do that! I hope I hain't hurt it none," she apologized, frankly distressed.

"Well, seein' 'at you didn't touch it, I 'low there ain't no great harm done. I was only providin' against futur' trouble. Now go on with your 'trampy' talk."

By this time Susanna was able to give an account of the man she had seen on Madam Sturtevant's premises, and who, when she ran, had soon followed in pursuit. According to her highly embellished version, his attire had been collected from somebody's rag-bag, his hair and beard had never known shears or razor, his eyes were as big as saucers and gleamed with an unholy light, and his color was like chalk. But fierce! There was no word could describe the ferocity of the terrible creature's pallid countenance! and, as for speed--Well, Susanna herself had made the record of her life, yet he, with several minutes' disadvantage, had actually overtaken her and grabbed at her shawl. Witness! said shawl dragging behind her when she entered.

"Hm-m! What puzzles me is that any tramp--any tramp in his senses--should take after an old woman like you, Susanna. An' how in reason did you get a chance to investigate the cut of his features an'

the state of his wardrobe in the dark, as it is?" inquired Moses, humorously.

But there was no humor in Susanna's grim countenance, as she contemptuously replied:

"How but by the lightnin'? Playin' all around everything every minute, makin' more'n daylight to see by. An', though I was scared nigh to death, for the soul of me, I couldn't help lookin' 'round every now an'

again to see what he was like. I'd never had a chance to see a tramp afore, an' I never expect to again, so I had to improve my opportunity, hadn't I? Scared or no scared."

This view of the situation made both her hearers laugh; but in Moses'

mind was slowly growing a desperate regret, which finally expressed itself in the exclamation:

"An' to think I hadn't even been elected constable, an' hadn't no chance to arrest the first tramp an' vagrant ever set foot in this village of Marsden!"

Back at the Mansion there was no further disturbance. Madam Sturtevant comforted herself with the supposition that her grandson was at the home of some boyish chum or other; and she even ate a considerable portion of the now cold porridge, steadfastly refusing Alfy's entreaty to take some of the good things which Susanna had brought for him.

"You may eat your supper in here to-night, Alfaretta, at the little table; but that basket was for Montgomery, and we will leave it to him to open. We shall get our share of its contents, never fear."

With more faith in the lad's generosity, where appet.i.te was concerned, than Alfaretta had, the grandmother set the basket aside in the closet, and took up her knitting of stockings for her boy's winter wear.

And then, as if he had felt himself under discussion, or more likely--as Alfy surmised--had smelled the odor of good things even through many part.i.tions, the door softly opened, and there appeared a tumbled head, a frightened face, and a pair of beseeching eyes. Whatever reproof was in store for him, he meant those eyes should do their part toward modifying it.

And for a time all went well. Madam was so full of the incident of the tramp and the horror of the storm that she forgot to ask him where he had so long delayed, and how it chanced that he was so perfectly dry.

However, this all came out of itself. While she was describing the gust which had blown the shutter free, he burst forth:

"I-I-I heard that! Yes, siree! An' I thought the whole r-r-r-roof was goin'. An' then I w-w-went to sleep a s-s-s-sp-ell. When I woke up, 'twas so p-p-pit-chy dark I da.s.sent stay no l-l-longer."

With which he coolly sliced himself a portion of the ham which his grandmother had promptly produced. She watched him in silence for a moment, then, as a sudden thought occurred to her, demanded:

"Montgomery, have you been in the secret chamber again? Was Katharine with you?"

With his mouth full, he stammered: "Y-y-yes, I've been. You never said not. But K-K-Katharine she w-w-wasn't with me."

"Montgomery, where is she? It was for her Susanna came. Eunice does not know, n.o.body has seen her, can you tell where she is? You were at The Maples all day--you played with her--_where is she_?"

Even in her sternest moods, "Gram'ma" had never been like this. And all at once a horrible chill ran down poor Monty's back. Memory returned; all his treachery; his unchivalrous desertion of a helpless girl in a dangerous place; and, to his honor be it said, did for a moment turn him deadly sick. But his natural temperament soon rallied. Of course she would have found a way to get down and out. Yet,--and again he felt faint,--what if she had not? What if she had had to pa.s.s the hours of this dreadful storm on the top of a hay-mow under a barn roof, where, even on mild days, a strong breeze blew through.

Madam leaned forward, austere, intent. "My son, tell me everything."

Under the spell of those piercing eyes, he did tell. Indeed, he was glad to tell. He felt she would find a word of comfort for his remorseful conscience. Alas! the word she did find was simply this:

"Montgomery, put on your jacket and go to Aunt Eunice's at once."

"_Gr-gr-gram'ma!_ In this awful s-s-storm? An' that t-t-tramp?"

There was no relenting. The gentlewoman's glance was now not only stern but scornful, as she returned:

"Are you a Sturtevant, and ask me for delay?"