The Brass Bound Box

"Oh, Punchy, dearest! I guess this is a good deal like Susanna's saying, 'out of the frying-pan into the fire.' Off the hay-mow into the bay. I don't see why folks build barns such ways. Why don't they have just regular straight floors and things? Wait, pet. Don't rub against my ankles so hard, you nearly knock me over. The man'll come back in a minute and help us up. I don't see how you ever got down here unless you fell down. Hello! Man! Man! Hel – lo! HELP!"

The lantern glimmer appeared once more, but at the extreme end of the building, and seemed rapidly receding. Then there came the sound of a heavy door slammed forcibly against the wind, the rasp of a bolt in its lock, and Katharine knew that she had not been heard, and that she had been shut up alone in the great, desolate place.

It was not liking for Squire Pettijohn which had caused Montgomery to vanish when called to meet him. Quite the reverse. The name of that man of mighty girth and stature struck terror into the soul of every young Marsdenite. He was a person of fierce temper and a propensity for managing his neighbors' affairs, especially the affairs of his youthful neighbors. Report said that his wealth equalled his temper, and that the two together made most of the villagers stand in awe of him is certain. It was his boast that he represented the cause of law and order in his native town, and he often wondered how it had gotten along before he was born, or how it would manage when he was dead.

That day he had come home from attending court and found the community in a ferment. It would have been excited even by the news of Moses' accident and pluck, but the tidings of treasure-finding, scattered broadcast by Montgomery during the morning's errands, had stirred its profoundest depths.

When the lawyer tied his horse at the post-office, he was greeted by statements as various as many. "Miss Maitland has discovered a gold mine on her property;" "Monty Sturtevant has dug up buried treasure in Eunice's woods;" "'Johnny' Maitland's girl has been sent home to fetch Eunice a box of diamonds;" and "There's been gold found right here in Marsden township."

These were but the beginnings of the garbled reports which a gossip-loving lad had originated; yet all pointed to one and the same thing, – Marsden would now become famous. So that more than ever Squire Pettijohn felt it good to be a great man in the right place. In all the newspaper notices which would follow, his name, also, would appear, and notoriety was what he coveted.

Having listened to one and all versions with fierce attention, he repaired to his dinner and consumed it in a silence which his observant wife knew betokened affairs of unusual weight. But it was not until he finished his dessert and pushed back from table that he informed her:

"I am going to Eunice's. Vast wealth has been found upon her premises, and she needs me. Deny me to all smaller clients until further notice."

Then, assuming his Sunday attire and stiffest stock, he set pompously forth down the tree-bordered street, caning a stray dog here, there reprimanding a boy who might be playing "hookey," – though was not, – and shaking his fist at old Whitey, taking her accustomed stroll in and out of inviting dooryards. Yet when he came to the wider yard before the stone house something of his complaisance left him. "He and Eunice Maitland had never hitched." She was always perfectly courteous, and never failed to attend the sewing-meetings of the church when they were held at his house, and she had even been heard to say that she had "a great respect for Mrs. Pettijohn." She might have put a peculiar emphasis upon the "Mrs.," but then, everybody has his or her tricks of speech which mean nothing.

There was no door-bell at The Maples, but a polished brass knocker announced the arrival of any visitor; and it seemed to the worried Widow Sprigg as if that "plaguey knocker had done nothin' but whack the hull endurin' time sence Moses got hurt. I wonder who 'tis this time!"

Consequently, the door was opened with more impatience than courtesy as it now heralded the arrival of the Squire, who was for passing at once into the hall had not something in Susanna's manner caused him to hesitate.

"Miss Maitland. Is she at home? Will you present my card to her and say that I have called in person – in person – "

"Don't see how you could have called any other way," answered the greatly tried housekeeper, remembering him rather as "little Jimmy Pettijohn," whom her own mother had used to feed and befriend, than as the important personage he had since become.

"Ah, Susanna, my good woman, you were always facetious! I would like to see your mistress. Please announce me to her and conduct me to the drawing-room."

It was a mistaken tone and the widow hesitated at no rudeness which would protect the beloved "friend" with whom she dwelt, and whom it was her privilege to openly call by the familiar title of "Eunice," which this "Jimmy" dared not do save behind the lady's back.

"We hain't got no drawin'-room here, an' Eunice ain't seein' no more folks to-day, not if I can help it. I'm sure she won't see no men folks, anyway. We've been overrun with them, a'ready, just 'cause Moses has broke his leg and a few his ribs. Accidents happen to anybody if they're keerless, an' he admits he was. But he's as comfortable as can be expected, thank ye, and good day."

"But, Susanna, not so fast. I came to offer my services in regard to this – er – gold mine which the little Baltimore girl has discovered."

"W-h-a-t?" gasped the widow in utter amazement. Had the man taken leave of his senses?

"The gold mine, or – or hidden treasure – or casket of diamonds, – reports vary; yet all agree in the fact that extraordinary wealth has been unearthed in the old Maitland woods. Of course, Eunice being unused to the management of large affairs and only a woman – a woman – she would appreciate the help of an experienced man. I trust my advice may prove of benefit to her."

The Widow Sprigg listened with an attention that would have been flattering had not her face evinced her incredulity. As it was, she stood for a brief time, staring over her spectacles at the big man, as if gazing at some curiosity, then she laughed, scornfully:

"Why, Squire, upon my word I'm sorry for ye! Though I don't know who 'twas 'at made a fool of ye, but fool you have been made, and no mistake. Such a balderdash as that! Why, man alive, don't you s'pose if anything worth findin' had been found on Eunice's property she'd ha' told me the first one? An' me an' her livin' like sisters, so to speak, even sence I growed up, savin' the spell whilst Mr. Sprigg, he was alive. Two years I spent in my own house 't Mr. Sprigg he built, on his own piece of woodland 'j'inin' hers, and she buyin' it off me soon's he departed. The prettiest little house in the hull township, 'tis, too, an' where I 'xpect to end my days if I outlive her, which I hope I won't. An' her needin' business 'advice,' indeed! When there ain't a man in Marsden, let alone all the women, can hold a candle to her for gumption an' clear-headedness. An' her sayin' to me then, 'Susanna, it will do you more good to sell to me an' put your money out to int'rest 'an to have a lot of wuthless land on your hands, an' you shall keep the little cottage for your own as long as you live.' So we done it, an' she paid me more'n the market price; an' has left me the house all untouched, with my own furniture in it, an' me goin' out there twicet a year for spring an' fall cleanin,' an' even leavin' the kitchen-bedroom bed made up, case I get the hypo an' feel like bein' by myself a spell."

"I know, I know, Susanna. I've heard of Eunice's generosity to you, and of your whimsical retention of an empty house. You ought to let it to some decent tenant and get some benefit of it. Upon second thoughts, I would advise you to sell it. Now that this treasure has been found you might realize well on it. I – Why, I don't know but I might be induced to take it off your hands myself, just to do a friendly deed to an old schoolmate."

Squire Pettijohn had managed to stem the tide of her garrulity long enough to interpose this speech of his own, and to act upon an idea which had just occurred to him. The value of the old Maitland forest would leap to fabulous height if the rumor that gold had been discovered there proved true. But he did not intend to offer much for the "deserted cabin," convenient though it might be to the possible mine, upon the strength of a mere rumor, and even though the chance existed of the same vein of wealth extending even so far. He would first get confirmation of the story from Miss Maitland's own lips and would then act with his eyes open.

He was not succeeding very well in his errand of "neighborly kindness," for Susanna still held the door so nearly closed that he could not force an entrance, even though he kept his foot firmly in the aperture. The woman still regarded him with a pitying amusement; yet gradually curiosity got the better of her common sense, which told her that he was the victim of some hoax, and she inquired:

"Who told you such a yarn, Squire?"

"Please admit me. I am not accustomed to being kept on people's thresholds when I take time out of my busy life to call upon them; and no one person in especial told me. The talk is in everybody's mouth, and the whole village has gone wild over the matter."

"But it must have had some sort o' beginnin'. Wild goose gabble like that don't spring full-fledged out the ground, I know. Who – started the ridic'lous business?" persisted the housekeeper, almost unconsciously opening the door somewhat wider.

Squire Pettijohn improved this opportunity and made his way into the hall before she remembered that she had not intended to admit him. In any case, she instantly reflected he shouldn't see her mistress, whom he had had the impertinence to speak of as "Eunice."

But her reflection came too late. Miss Maitland was already descending the wide stairs, and had paused at the half-way landing, to observe who was this latest visitor of the many who had called to ask for Moses. Called, also, it may be, to learn something further concerning the interesting "treasure."

But none save this gentleman had ventured to speak to her of what was, in reality, her own affair, and she had not encouraged inquirers to remain. Privacy had never seemed so desirable to her as on that fateful morning nor so difficult to maintain; and though there was no rudeness, her neighbors went away with the feeling that:

"Eunice Maitland's just as proud and reserved as ever. Moses' trouble and her own great fortune don't make a bit of difference, and she makes you feel, without saying a word, that your room is better than your company; and that she'll keep her own counsel in this matter as she has always done in smaller ones."

"Good afternoon, Miss Eunice! Accept my hearty congratulations!" cried Squire Pettijohn, pushing eagerly forward to the foot of the stairs, and bowing to her descending.

"Good afternoon, Squire Pettijohn. You are very kind to come and inquire for my poor friend, Mr. Jones. I am glad to tell you that the doctor says he will do very well, but sorry to add that he will be a prisoner indoors for a long time. Is Mrs. Pettijohn quite well?"

So speaking, and with the manner of one who has expected but one kind of interest in affairs at The Maples, yet knowing perfectly well that the Squire would never have troubled himself about a "hired man's" misfortunes, Aunt Eunice walked with her visitor toward the door. She was puzzled by his presence, but did not enjoy it, and was herself going just then to read the Weekly Journal to her injured helper. She did not take the hint given by the Squire's pause beside the sitting-room door, and moved gently forward to the outer entrance, as if to terminate the interview.

"Make my regards to your good wife, Squire, and thank her for sending to inquire. Moses is much touched and gratified by the good-will of his neighbors, and has had many calls already. But doctor says he should see nobody except ourselves for the present. Good afternoon."

They had now reached the doorway and Susanna stood at one side, keenly observant of the other two, and suddenly breaking into their talk with the exclamation:

"Well, Eunice! What do you think's sent Jimmy Pettijohn a-visitin' us? Not none of Moses' troubles, but to hear about the 'gold mine' was found in the big woods this mornin'! Did you ever hear the beat?"

"A gold mine? Surely, he knows how absurd such an idea would be," answered Aunt Eunice, quietly bowing and turning away.

As she disappeared in the hall beyond the stair-way the Squire coughed and started to follow, then apparently thought better of it, for he merely reproved Susanna with his most judicial sternness, saying:

"If you women would be careful to repeat things as you hear them you would save much confusion. It is true I did mention 'gold mine,' but I also mentioned a hidden box of treasure. The majority of the villagers claimed the latter was what was really found, and – "

"Who started such a cock-an'-bull story? Must have had a beginnin' in somebody's mouth."

Susanna had now become not only indignant but profoundly curious. She would find out who was responsible for this strange rumor, then she would promptly interview that person and cross-examine him as only a woman could. But the reply which she received astonished her more than the story had done.

"It was that stammering little grandson of the Madam's. He and the little girl who's staying here were the discoverers. So I was told," answered the Squire, making ready to depart.

"Well, I declare! If 'twas ary one o' them we can soon settle their hash. Come with me, Squire, I saw the pair goin' into the barn a little spell ago, an' I hain't seen 'em come out. Katy, she don't know you – an' so ain't afraid of ye. She ain't afraid of anything I've seen yet; but Monty – Hm-m. I can leave Monty to you to deal with. My suz! If this ain't been the greatest day that ever I saw!"

With which remark she led the way to the foot of the hay-mow and sent up the summons which had caused Montgomery's sudden disappearance.

CHAPTER X.

ALFARETTA'S PERPLEXITY

"Alfy! A-A-Alfy!"

Her name hissed into her ear partially roused the bound-out girl from a nap she had been taking with the towel in one hand, an unwiped dish in the other. She had the faculty of going to sleep anywhere and any time opportunity offered. She now leaned comfortably against the wall beside the sink, her eyes closed and her mind oblivious to her surroundings, and dimly hearing through her dreams that sibilant call:

"A-A-A-Alfy!"

Then her ear was pinched and she brought back to reality.

"What you doin' to me, Montgomery Sturtevant? I'll tell your grandma!"

"Ain't meanin' to hurt you, A-A-Alfy. I – Don't you d-do that. I – Say, I'm goin' to h-h-hide in the s-s-secret chamb – er. Don't you t-t-tell anybody. You fetch my s-s-s-supper up after dark. An' some w-w-water. Fetch enough to l-l-last – forever! I don't know as I s-s-shall ever – ever – dare to c-c-come down."

The Mansion where the Sturtevants had lived during many generations was a house even older than The Maples. It was far more quaintly ancient in style, and had been one of the many "Headquarters" of our Revolutionary generals. The earliest built house in the county, the part first erected still stood strong and intact, though little used now. On this portion of the Mansion the roof ended sharp at the eaves on one side, and but a few feet above the ground; the opposite side being two full stories and attic in height. Within this "old part" were many curious rooms, one having the peculiarity of seven doors and but one window; a monster fireplace, wherein one could stand and look straight up to the sky through the great stone chimney, and where still hung a rusty gigantic crane, once used for the roasting of meats and boiling of pots; but, most curious of all, a perpendicular shaft leading to a "secret chamber" beneath the sloping roof. To ascend this shaft one climbed upon small triangular steps fitted alternately in the rear corners of it; and it was entered through a sliding, spring-secured panel of the "keeping-room." No stranger would have discovered that the panel was a doorway, and even to Alfaretta it suggested deeds of darkness and treachery. The utmost Montgomery had yet been able to persuade her to do was to peep fearfully up that uncanny stair-way, from the dimness below to the utter gloom at top. To ascend it, as he did, nimbly hand over hand – the mere thought of it set her shuddering.

Now he was gone, and – there! She knew it. She heard him softly crossing the bare floor of the "old part" in his stockinged feet, heard the rusty squeak of the ancient spring-fastening, fancied that she heard – though she could not – his swift ascent of the ladder stairs, and – heard no more.

But she was now far wider awake than the pinch on her ear had made her, and she was terribly disturbed. In that house everybody, meaning Madam and herself, did what its young "master" desired. Of course on the lady's part there were some exceptions to this rule, but none whatever on Alfaretta's. The lad was at once her delight and her torment; in his wilder moods teasing her relentlessly, but in his more thoughtful ones pitying her for her hard lot in life. Yet, in fact, since the girl had been taken from the "county farm" to serve Madam Sturtevant until she should be eighteen, she was scarcely poorer than the mistress who employed her, and who scrupulously shared her own comforts with her charge.

Big as the house was, there was very little money in it. None whatever would have been there save for the generosity of distant relatives who regularly sent a small cheque to the Madam, as well as a box of clothing for the grandson; nor did they even dream that upon that cheque and the neighborly kindness of Eunice Maitland the household at the mansion existed.

Fortunately, for the present, Alfaretta demanded nothing in the matter of wages. When she should be eighteen the, to her, almost fabulous sum of one hundred dollars would be her due as well as a decent "fitting out" of wearing apparel. Then she would be free to go or stay, work for "real wages" for this mistress, or engage herself to another. But eighteen was a long way off as yet, and though sometimes a wonder as to where she should get the pledged one hundred dollars did cross Madam Sturtevant's mind, she put the thought aside as soon as possible. Sufficient unto that day would be its own evil, and there had been days in the past far more evil than Alfy's coming of age could ever be.

Had relic-hunters known it the Mansion was a storehouse of genuine "antiques" which would have been eagerly purchased at fancy prices; but Marsden was far out of the line of such persons, and, save in extreme necessity, the old gentlewoman would have refused to part with her belongings.

Eunice, who was better informed on such matters because of her wider reading, had once delicately suggested to her friend that such or such an old "claw-foot" was worth a deal of money, and that it wasn't really necessary to have four tall clocks, each more than a century old, ticking the hours away in that empty house.

But her suggestion was wholly misunderstood. Madam had rather crisply replied that she was perfectly capable of winding the clocks on the one day in eight when they required it, and hoped to continue so till her life's end. Indeed, it had used to be a rather formal little household ceremony – that winding of the clocks on every Sunday morning. A ceremony that had always been performed by the two reigning heads of the "family" in each succeeding generation. It had been Madam's place to walk with her husband from room to room and stand beside him while with the queer old keys he wound the weights up from the bottom of the upright cases to the top, whence they would again begin their slow descent to the bottom, reaching it as another Lord's Day came around.

Nowadays, Montgomery, as the last of his race, had been promoted to accompany his grandmother on this clock-winding tour, and had once innocently asked:

"Did my father use to go with y-you, as I-I-I do?"

Strangely enough, he had never before inquired much about his parents, but had somehow imbibed the knowledge that both were dead. His father had once "gone away" and never returned; but his mother had come home, bringing him an infant, had placed him in the Madam's arms, had taken to her bed, and had left it only to be carried to the burying-ground on the hill. Of her the old lady often talked, and once when they had carried roses to the unmarked grave he had heard her softly quote: "A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath, than my son's wife, Elizabeth."

But of that son, her own only child, she said nothing till he asked that unfortunate question. Then she had turned upon him with a face so unlike her own that he was frightened and needed no command to make him avoid that subject forever after.

"Your father is – gone; has died to us. Speak of him no more."

The tragedy of her expression haunted him for a time, and he wondered why she was so much more distressed by mention of her son than of her husband, since both were dead. However, he soon forgot the matter save to obey her wish, though afterward this clock-winding, which he had thought a "bother an' n-n-nuisance," seemed fully as sacred an act as the church-going which followed it.

This, then, was Montgomery's home and life, and why he who was so petted and indulged should put himself in hiding, and, of all places, in that dreadful "secret chamber," puzzled Alfaretta.

"He told me not to tell Madam, an' he told me to bring his supper. How can I? How dast I? I – I'd be more afraid to go up that stair 'an to walk through the graveyard alone at midnight. I would so, Ma'am Puss, an' you keep your nose out that suppawn, I tell you!"

The perturbed little maid felt that it was good to have even a cat to talk to, and vented some of her vexation by kicking the unlucky animal aside from the pot, whose hot contents she was merely sniffing. Suppawn and milk was the customary supper at the Mansion, and as its mistress liked to have the pudding cooked for a long time and also continually stirred during that operation, Alfaretta had become expert in the matter of managing. The pot was duly put on at the hour appointed, and the Indian meal carefully sifted into the salt, boiling water. When the mixture appeared fairly smooth and Alfy's arm was tired the pot was set upon the hearth and the young cook went to sleep. When the sleep was of sufficient length to cool the porridge Ma'am Puss extracted her own supper in advance of the family's, and nobody was the wiser. But to-day, Alfaretta had forgotten to remove the pot from the stove while she did her "noon dishes" and taken her intermediate nap, with the result that the suppawn was burned and even the cat wouldn't touch it. And although she had whisked it off the fire as soon as Monty had disappeared, her trained nose told her that this was a supper spoiled for everybody. She was very sorry for Madam, who would try to eat it, and always bore more patiently with her young handmaid than that person wholly deserved, but there was a silver lining to that cloud! Montgomery would never touch suppawn if it were scorched: therefore, she need carry him none of it.

"Couldn't have got any milk up there, anyway, without spillin' it, Ma'am Puss, an' you know it. Goody! Course he'll come down. He'll have to if he gets starvin' hungry. No harm done – much. I wonder what he's been up to now! Well, I can't help it. I didn't get him into no scrapes. An' I'll work real hard the rest the afternoon, hemmin' that petticoat Madam's give me to make over for myself. It'll be a real good petticoat if I ever get it done, though it's about forty rods around the bottom, I believe."

Full of good intentions, Alfaretta carefully set the burned pudding back on the stove, wherein the wood fire had nearly gone out, and sat down to her task of needlework. In reality, she was a very tired little girl. Madam was daintily neat and vigorous for a woman of her years. Never very robust, she still exercised what strength she had in a ceaseless round of sweeping and dusting. All the empty old rooms were as orderly as when there had been many servants to attend them, but this was accomplished at a cost of incessant labor and watchfulness, which the mistress really enjoyed since it filled her days with "things to do," but which was not so well liked by her bond-maid.