CHAPTER XVIII.

REUBEN SMITH, ACCESSORY

The wheels belonged to Squire Pettijohn's buggy, in which were seated Aunt Eunice and himself. This was a combination which, as Katy related it from the window, greatly astonished Moses. Yet there was nothing surprising in the fact, after all. The gentleman had chanced to be up-mountain, calling at the same house where Miss Maitland was visiting, and had offered to take her home, hearing her say that she was anxious to be there early on the morrow.

She had not enjoyed her ride, yet blamed herself for her aversion to a neighbor who, if not a gentleman, had learned sufficient good manners to conduct himself as nearly such. The worst annoyance he had given her was by continual and roundabout references to what had happened in the forest. The more she evaded his questions the more direct they became, till she was almost forced to tell everything or be imputed a liar.

As they turned into the village street he made a final effort for enlightenment, saying:

"You must know, Miss Maitland,"--he did not call her "Eunice" to her face as he had done behind her back to Susanna,--"you must know that in keeping this treasure, or whatever was found in your woods, a secret from others, you are injuring somebody. They say you are conniving at the escape of a tramp, even. A tramp! One of those dangerous creatures which infest our State, but have not before invaded Marsden. I flatter myself that I--that I--have so far prevented their coming, and I am certainly making it my business now to unearth this one who, I am told, lurks princ.i.p.ally in your forest. You are a large-hearted, generous lady, Miss Maitland; one who is an honor to her township and whom I am proud to call a neighbor--"

"Indeed? I thank you," said Aunt Eunice, stiffly.

Squire Pettijohn ignored the interruption. He meant to make the most of this unlooked-for chance to satisfy his curiosity and his self-importance, and continued as if she had not spoken:

"But who, I fear, sometimes lets her heart run away with her head. In pitying the individual, namely, the tramp in present question, you should also remember that you are endangering the community."

"Nonsense. But may I ask, in turn, from whom you gained your information that I protected the tramp?"

"Hm-m--Er--Ah! I believe it was Mrs. Turner who said that you said you 'hoped if any poor hungry wretch strayed into this village of plenty he would get enough to eat for once.' That you 'had always regretted we had no really poor people in Marsden, where they could be cared for, and so lessen the number of starving persons elsewhere.' Mrs. Turner made a personal application of the remark, and suggested that if it had been _your_ pies which had been purloined you might feel differently."

Eunice laughed as gaily as a girl, and exclaimed:

"So it has grown to be 'pies,' has it? The last time I heard the matter mentioned it was one possible pie, and Robert, as well as a tramp, had been in the locality where they were set to cool. Besides, it would be an excellent thing if they had all been taken. Mrs. Turner is a nice woman, but she can't make pastry fit to eat, as witness her husband's dyspepsia. Monty says they have pie at the Turners three times a day, and it's a paradise for hungry small visitors who can digest anything.

Indeed, I am surprised to learn I gave my neighbor offence on this same pie subject. We talked for some time over it and she fell into my idea that fruit for dessert would suit Mr. Turner far better than pastry, and save her a world of trouble. It would also diminish the number of the children's playmate 'droppers-in' at meal-times. Yes, I am surprised."

They had come within sight of The Maples, and Squire Pettijohn had, with apparent carelessness, let back the top of the buggy so that any who cared might observe him riding with the mistress of that fine old estate and the present centre or heroine of so much mystery. This was an unusual thing to do, for letting carriage-tops back is apt to crack the leather, and "Jim" Pettijohn cracked nothing which could be preserved.

Eunice comprehended and smiled quietly in her corner of the seat, talking at length as she had done to stave off any further prying into her affairs.

Even yet she was not to be let free. Said the gentleman, with a preliminary cough:

"I do hope and trust, dear Miss Maitland, that you will forego a mistaken expression of sympathy, should an appeal be made to you, and a.s.sist me as a magistrate to nip this evil in the bud. In other words, to send this vagrant to the lockup at the earliest possible moment. As I observed, you owe it to your community to protect it, not endanger it."

Eunice turned her glowing eyes upon him. "And I owe to the Great Father, who has given us this day, to be good to every child of His, however humble. If the tramp comes to my door he shall be fed. If he needs shelter I will shelter him. If he needs clothing I will clothe him.

Why, look, man, look!" spreading her hand wide to point out the lovely surroundings: "Should anybody come into all this and go away not the better for it? How do we know what chance has brought this stranger hither? Or what and where his life began? Maybe, in just some such favored country village; and once, at least, he was--somebody's son."

The tenderness of her compa.s.sionate tone but hardened the other's purpose.

"Huh! If he were my _own_ son, even, I would have the law on him to the fullest extremity!" he answered, harshly; and Eunice shivered, remembering, as he seemed to have forgotten, that poor son of his who had gone astray and might be roaming the world then, as was this unknown who had so stirred the lawyer's wrath.

Baffled yet persistent, as he helped her alight at her own threshold, the Squire put one more sudden question:

"But, after all, there was something--_something_--found in your woods that day, wasn't there?"

It was not even in Eunice's patience to endure thus much. Caught unawares, she burst out, indignantly:

"Yes, there was something found, but it does not concern anybody to know what. Thank you for your courtesy, and--good evening."

The lawyer drove homeward satisfied. She had admitted "the find." He would now proceed to unearth it. Incidentally, he would unearth the tramp, but that was, in his estimation, a secondary matter.

Eunice reentered her home, glad to be there, but as Susanna saw at first greeting, "all stirred up and upsot." She would not allow herself to talk till she had recovered her composure. She even promptly, though affectionately, dismissed Katharine to her bed, reminding her that the morrow brought school again and she must be awake early.

The little girl was disappointed. She had longed for a long, cosy talk with her guardian over so many, many things. Not least of all concerning the brilliant scheme which had occurred to her and Monty that day on the hay. Nor did it please her any too well to lie and listen to the voices of Eunice and Susanna, murmuring on and on indefinitely, in the sitting-room below. Commonly the housekeeper went early to sleep on Sunday nights, for it was her habit to rise before daybreak and set about her Monday washing. To-night the great clock struck eleven, actually eleven, before this conference broke up; only to be resumed at intervals during the next morning, whenever the pair were alone.

However, Katharine had other matters on hand so absorbing that even the mysteries of tramp and bra.s.s bound box sank out of mind. She was off to school a half-hour before time, and strangely enough Montgomery was equally prompt. Together they repaired to the wooden bench under the beech-tree, and while the lad suggested things to be written down, Kate wrote them rapidly on little slips of paper, which suspiciously resembled a leaf from a copy-book.

Other scholars came along and stared, wondering what had sent this usually tardy boy so far in advance of the bell. Little girls t.i.ttered.

Phrony Walker tossed her braid flippantly over her shoulder, casually displaying a new hair ribbon with which she meant to impress the city girl who wore and needed none. Sophronia's hair did not kink and curl as Katharine's did, but it was "a hunderd times as long and a great deal prettier colored." Kate had said so herself, yet here was she who was so generously admiring, almost covetous, calmly un.o.bservant of braid, ribbon, and all.

Martha and Mary Turner came, swinging their lunch-basket between them, delightfully conscious that in its depths were stored three apple turnovers, one for each of them and one for Kitty Keehoty, who was never allowed to carry pie to school. With a child's fondness for the indigestible, she had once declared that Mrs. Turner's turnovers were "sim-ply de-lic-ious," and they had teased their mother ever since to make one for their new friend. But they stopped short at sight of the light and dark head so close together over something they did not know about, and when Martha drew nearer and informed the dark-haired scribbler that she had "brought it," Kate merely nodded her head and continued scribbling.

Bob and Ned arrived, tackle over shoulder, intent upon playing hookey at afternoon session, and disgusted that Monty was so little excited by their grimacing pantomime, as they demonstrated how they would escape to the woods and invited his company. Then they tried ridicule, calling "girl-boy, girl-boy," as loudly as they dared, with Katharine's scornful glances upon them. Monty grew fiery red and tossed his blond head as if shaking an obnoxious insect from it, but did not cease to scratch it for ideas, which he whispered to his companion as fast as he dug them out.

Even when the teacher came and Kate sprang to her feet to bid him her always courteously ready "Good morning," also dragging Montgomery to his own feet as a reminder of what was correct, that excited, exalted expression left neither young face.

Matters continued thus all through school. Monty was worse than ordinary in the matter of lessons, and that was saying much. Katharine, having had better advantages, stood far in advance of her cla.s.s, so had no need to study, and kept her slips of paper in her book all the time she sat at her desk. She was not a rapid writer and she certainly had a deal of writing to do. At recess the before-school performance was repeated; and when the truants, Bob and Ned, disappeared in the direction of the "Eddy" after "noonin'," Monty failed to send one regretful glance thither. He was more occupied in watching the face of the clock than anything else, and as soon as dismissal-bell rang, darted from the schoolroom as if propelled by a gun. Just then, too, the first warning notes of Reuben Smith's horn came floating through the trees and down the street, and thereafter all that was seen of the boy was a pair of heels vanishing in air.

"Why, what in the world ails Monty? And say, Katy, didn't you like your turnover?" asked Martha Turner, drawing near to her heroine and showing that she felt somewhat aggrieved.

"Oh, Monty's all right. He--Don't you worry. You'll all know sometime.

And didn't I eat it?"

"Yes. You ate it fast enough, but you didn't say whether you liked it or not. I think ma, she--"

"Oh, you dear thing! Of course I liked it; and please make my regards to your mother and tell her that I thank her very much. It was the nicest turnover I ever had, and--and it was the first one."

To an older mind this might not have been so convincing an argument, but it satisfied Martha. She considered that Katharine Maitland had the "perfectly sweetest manner of any girl in the world," and was daily trying to improve her own by the pattern set. "Make my regards." She had never heard that phrase before, but it impressed her as very stately and "Miss Eunicey," so put it away in her memory for future use. She was further delighted by Katharine's begging her and Mary to walk home with her, as far as they went her way, for she had something to talk over with them.

But when she revealed this "something" it proved not so much after all.

She merely inquired exactly how many boys and girls there were in their school and out of it. "I want to get the name of every single child that isn't more than sixteen years old. As much younger as you please, but older than that would be grown-ups. At least, they would be in Baltimore."

That settled it. Whatever was done "in Baltimore" seemed to these young provincials as the acme of correctness; little knowing that to a wider world even "Baltimore" was also provincial.

But it was easy enough to "count noses," as Mary phrased it, and the list of names Katharine had already prepared swelled considerably. She wrote as she walked, the cover of her book her desk, and with such haste that the writing was almost illegible. However, a trifle of that sort could be overcome.

"No, Mattie, I know it isn't very plain, but I guess I'll make it out.

Let's hurry. Reuben Smith's blowing his go-away horn, and I want to see--Oh, yes! There he is! The stage-driver keeps blowing every little while, yet he keeps talking, too, so I know it's all right! Oh, just fancy! It's going to be perfectly, perfectly splendid! Oh, you dear, dear things!"

Katharine's playmates were accustomed to being caught up and hugged whenever anything pleased her more than common, and she was usually as free in explaining her delight as in expressing it physically. But she explained nothing now. She merely squeezed their hands, and stared at Mr. Smith still arguing with Montgomery, till suddenly looking around she saw their puzzled faces.

"Never mind me, girls. I can't tell yet, not just yet, because it's a beautiful secret. But you'll all know right soon. You're going to be in it, too; we're all going to be in it! Oh, the happy old man! Oh, the fun! Oh, the queer crazy decorations! I believe _I'm_ just too happy to live! But the stage is going and I must run to Monty. Good-by. Be sure to be at school to-morrow. Then you'll know."

Reuben Smith mounted to his high seat, blew a farewell blast on his ancient horn, and drove away out of the village, while Montgomery fairly tumbled over himself in his haste to meet Katharine, who greeted him with the question:

"Well, will he do it?"

"Y-y-y-ye-es!" gasped the breathless lad, and sat down on the edge of the path to recover.