CHAPTER XXXI.A Man in a Boat.
On a very pleasant afternoon that fall, a man came down Crooked Creek in a small flat-bottomed boat. He rowed leisurely, as if he had been rowing a long distance and felt a little tired. In one end of the boat was a small trunk.
As this man, who had red hair, and a red face, and large red hands, pulled slowly along the creek, turning his head every now and then to see where he was going, he gradually approached the bridge that crossed the creek near "One-eyed Lewston's" cabin. Just before he reached the bridge, he noticed what seemed to him a curious shadow running in a thin straight line across the water. Resting on his oars, and looking up to see what there was above him to throw such a shadow, he perceived a telegraph wire stretching over the creek, and losing itself to sight in the woods on each side.
A telegraph wire was an ordinary sight to this man, but this particular wire seemed to astonish him greatly.
"What on earth is this?" he asked out loud. But there was no one to answer him, and so, after puzzling his mind for a few minutes, he rowed on.
When that man reached the point in the creek to which he was bound, and, with his trunk on his shoulder, walked up to the house where he used to live, he was still more astonished; for a telegraph wire ran through one corner of the back yard.
Cousin Maria now lived in this house, and George Mason was coming to pay her a visit. His appearance was rather a surprise to her, but still she welcomed him. She was a good soul.
Almost before he asked her how she was, he put the question to her:
"What telegraph line's that?"
So Cousin Maria wiped her hands on her long gingham apron (she had been washing her best set of china), and she sat down and told him all about it.
"You see, George," said she, "that there linewas the boys' telegraph line, afore they sold it to the mica people; and when the boys put it up they expected to make a heap of money, which I reckon they didn't do, or else they wouldn't have sold it. But these mica people wanted it, and they lengthened it at both ends, and bought it of the boys—or rather of Harry Loudon, for he was the smartest of the lot, and the real owner of the thing—he and his sister Kate—as far as I could see. And when they stretched the line over to Hetertown, they came to me and told me how the line ran along the road most of the way, but that they could save a lot of time and money (though I don't see how they could save much of a lot of money when, accordin' to all accounts, the whole line didn't cost much, bein' just fastened to pine-trees, trimmed off, and if it had cost much, them boys couldn't have built it, for I reckon the mica people didn't help 'em a great deal, after all) if I would let them cut across my grounds with their wire, and I hadn't no objection, anyway, for the line didn't do no harm up there in the air, and so I said certainly they might, and they did, and there it is."
When George Mason heard all this, hewalked out of the back-door and over to the wood-pile, where he got an axe and cut down the pole that was in Cousin Maria's back yard. And when the pole fell, it broke the wire, just as Mr. Martin had got to the sixth word of a message he was sending over to Hetertown.
Cousin Maria was outraged.
"George Mason!" said she, "you can stay here as long as you like, and you can have part of whatever I've got in the house to eat, but I'll never sit down to the table with you till you've mended that wire and nailed it to another pole."
"All right," answered George Mason. "Then I'll eat alone."
When Mr. Martin and the mica-mine people and the Akeville people and Harry and Kate and all the boys and everybody black and white heard what had happened, there was great excitement. It was generally agreed that something must be done with George Mason. He had no more right to cut down that pole because he had once lived on the place, than he had to go and cut down any of the neighbors' beanpoles.
So the sheriff and some deputy sheriffs, (TonyKirk among them), and a constable and a number of volunteer constables, went off after George Mason, to bring him to justice.
It was more than a week before they found him, and it is probable that they would not have captured him at all, had he not persisted in staying in the neighborhood, so as to be on hand with his axe, in case the line should be repaired.
"It's all along of my tellin' him that that line was got up by them Loudon children," said Cousin Maria. "He hates Mr. Loudon worse than pisen, because he was the man that found out all his tricks."
Mason was taken to the court-house and locked up in the jail. Almost all the people of the county, and some people belonging to adjoining counties, made up their minds to be at the court-house when his trial should take place.
On the second night of his imprisonment, George Mason forced open a window of his cell and went away. And what was more, he staid away. He had no desire to be at the court-house when his trial took place.
No one felt more profound satisfaction whenGeorge Mason left the country, and the telegraph line was once more in working order, than Harry and Kate.
They had an idea that if George Mason, should persist in cutting the telegraph line, the Mica Company would give it up, and that they might be called upon to refund the money on which Aunt Matilda depended for support. They had been told that they need not trouble themselves about this, as the Mica Company had taken all risks; but still they were delighted when they heard that George Mason had cleared out, and that there was every reason to suppose that he would not come back.
CHAPTER XXXII.Aunt Matilda's Letter.
One afternoon, about the end of October, Aunt Matilda was sitting in her big straight-backed chair, on one side of her fireplace. There was a wood fire blazing on the hearth, for the days were getting cool and the old woman liked to be warm. On the other side of the fireplace sat Uncle Braddock. Sitting on the floor, between the two, were John William Webster and Dick Ford. In the doorway stood Gregory Montague. He was not on very good terms with Aunt Matilda, and was rather afraid to come in all the way. On the bed sat Aunt Judy.
It must not be supposed that Aunt Matilda was giving a party. Nothing of the kind. These colored people were not very much engrossed with business at this time of the year, and as it was not far from supper-time, and asthey all happened to be near Aunt Matilda's cabin that afternoon, they thought they'd step in and see her.
"Does any of you uns know," asked Aunt Matilda, "whar Ole Miles is now? Dey tells me he don't carry de mails no more."
"No," said John William Webster, who was always quick to speak. "Dey done stop dat ar. Dey got so many letters up dar at de mica mines, dat dey send all the big ones to de pos'-office in a bag an' a buggy, and dey send de little ones ober de telegraph."
"But whar's Ole Miles?" repeated Aunt Matilda.
"He's a-doin' jobs up aroun' de mines," said Uncle Braddock. "De las' time I see him he was a-whitewashin' a fence."
"Well, I wants to see Ole Miles," said Aunt Matilda. "I wants him to carry a letter fur me."
"I'll carry yer letter, Aunt Matilda," said Dick Ford; and Gregory Montague, anxious to curry favor, as it was rapidly growing near to ash-cake time, stated in a loud voice that he'd take it "fus thing in de mornin'."
"I don' want none o' you uns," said Aunt Matilda. "Ole Miles is used to carryin' letters, and I wants him to carry my letter. Ef you'd like ter keep yerse'f out o' mischief, you Greg'ry, you kin go 'long and tell him I wants him to carry a letter fur me."
"I'll do that," said Gregory, "fus' thing in de mornin'."
"Better go 'long now," said Aunt Matilda.
"Too late now, Aunt Matilda," said Gregory, anxiously. "Couldn't git dar 'fore dark, no how, and he'd be gone away, and I 'spect I couldn't fin' him."
"Whar is yer letter?" asked Uncle Braddock.
"Oh, 'tain't writ yit," said Aunt Matilda. "I wants some o' you uns to write it fur me. Kin any o' you youngsters write writin'?"
"Yes, ma'am," said John William Webster. "Greg'ry kin write fus-rate. He's been ter school mor'n a month."
"You shet up!" cried Gregory, indignantly. "Ise been to school mor'n dat. Ise been free or four weeks. And I know'd how to write some 'fore I went. Mah'sr George teached me."
"You'd better git Miss Kate to write yer letter," said Aunt Judy. "She'd spell it out a great sight better dan Gregory Montague, I reckons."
"No, I don't want Miss Kate to write dis hyar letter. She does enough, let alone writin' letters fur me. Come 'long hyar, you Greg'ry. Reach up dar on dat shelf and git dat piece o' paper behin' de 'lasses gourd."
Gregory obeyed promptly, and pulled out a half-sheet of note-paper from behind the gourd. The paper had been there a good while, and was rather yellow-looking. There was also a drop of molasses on one corner of it, which John William said would do to seal it up with; but Gregory wiped it carefully off on the leg of his trousers.
"Now, den," said Aunt Matilda; "sot yerse'f right down dar on de floor. Git off dat ar smooth board, you Dick, an' let Greg'ry put his paper dar. I hain't got no pen, but hyar's a pencil Miss Kate lef' one day. But it ain't got no pint. Ef some of you boys has got a knife, ye kin put a pint to it."
Uncle Braddock dived into the recesses of hisdressing-gown, and produced a great jack-knife, with a crooked iron blade and a hickory handle.
"Look a-dar!" cried John William Webster. "Uncle Braddock's a-gwine ter chop de pencil up fur kindlin'-wood."
"None o' yer laughin' at dis knife," said Uncle Braddock, with a frown. "I done made dis hyar knife mese'f."
A better knife, however, was produced by Dick Ford, and the pencil was sharpened. Then Gregory Montague stretched himself out on the floor, resting on his elbows, with the paper before him and the pencil in his hand.
"Is you ready?" said Aunt Matilda.
"All right," said Gregory. "Yer can go 'long."
Aunt Matilda put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and looked into the fire. Gregory and every one else waited quite a while for her to begin.
"Ye had better put de number ob de year fus," suggested Uncle Braddock.
"Well, ye kin put dat," said Aunt Matilda, "while I'm a-workin' out de letter in my mind."
There now arose a discussion as to what wasthe "number of the year." Aunt Judy knew that the "war" was somewhere along in "sixty," and thought it must certainly be seventy or eighty by this time; while Uncle Braddock, who was accustomed to look back a long way, was sure it was "nigh on to a hun'red."
Dick Ford, however, although he was not a writer, could read, and had quite a fancy for spelling out a newspaper, and he asserted that the year was eighteen hundred and seventy, and so it was put down "180070," much to the disgust of Uncle Braddock, who did not believe it was so much.
"Yer ought to say ef it's before Christ or after Christ," said Aunt Judy. "Old Mah'sr Truly Mathers 'splained dat to me, 'bout years."
"Well, then," said Gregory, ready with his pencil, "which is it?"
Dick Ford happened to know a little on the subject, and so he told Gregory how he should put down "B. C." for "before Christ," and "A. C." for "after Christ," and that "A. C." was right for this year.
This was set down in Gregory's most careful lettering.
"Dat dar hind letter's got the stumic-ache," said John William Webster, putting his long finger, black on top and yellow underneath, on the C, which was rather doubled up.
Nobody thought of the month or the day, and so the letter was considered dated.
"Now, den," said Gregory, "who's it to?"
"Jist never you mind who's it to," answered Aunt Matilda. "I know, an' that's enough to know."
"But you've got to put de name on de back," said Aunt Judy, anxiously.
"Dat's so," said Uncle Braddock, with equal anxiety.
"No, I hain't," remarked Aunt Matilda. "I'll tell Ole Miles who to take it to. Put down for de fus' thing:
"'Ise been thinkin' fur a long time dat I oughter to write about dis hyar matter, and I s'pose you is the right one to write to.'"
"'Ise been thinkin' fur a long time dat I oughter to write about dis hyar matter, and I s'pose you is the right one to write to.'"
"What matter's dat?" asked Aunt Judy.
"Neber you mind," replied Aunt Matilda.
Slowly and painfully, Gregory printed this sentence, with Dick Ford close on one side of him; with John William's round, woolly head stuck almost under his chin; with Uncle Braddockleaning over him from his chair; and Aunt Judy standing, peering down upon him from behind.
"Dat's wrong," said Dick Ford, noticing that Gregory had written the last words thus: "rite 1 ter rite 2." "She don't want no figgers."
"What did she say 'em fur, den?" asked Gregory.
"Now, Greg'ry," said Aunt Matilda, "put down dis:
"'I don't want to make no trouble, and I wouldn't do nothin' to trouble dem chillen; but Ise been a-waitin' a good long while now, and I been thinkin' I'd better write an' see 'bout it.'"
"'I don't want to make no trouble, and I wouldn't do nothin' to trouble dem chillen; but Ise been a-waitin' a good long while now, and I been thinkin' I'd better write an' see 'bout it.'"
"What you want to see 'bout?" asked Aunt Judy, quickly.
"Neber you min' what it is," replied Aunt Matilda. "Go on, you Greg'ry, and put down:
"'Dat money o' mine was reel money, and when I put it in, I thought I'd git it back ag'in afore dis.'"
"'Dat money o' mine was reel money, and when I put it in, I thought I'd git it back ag'in afore dis.'"
"How much was it, Aunt Matilda?" asked Uncle Braddock, while Aunt Judy opened her eyes and her mouth, simply because she could not open her ears any wider than they were.
"Dat's none o' your business," replied Aunt Matilda. "Now put down:
"'I 'spect dem telegram fixin's cost a lot o' money, but I don't 'spect it's jist right to take all an ole woman's money to build 'em.'"
"'I 'spect dem telegram fixin's cost a lot o' money, but I don't 'spect it's jist right to take all an ole woman's money to build 'em.'"
"Lor'see!" ejaculated Uncle Braddock, "dat's so!"
"Now you Greg'ry," continued Aunt Matilda, "put down:
"'Ef you write me a letter 'bout dat ar money, you kin giv it to Ole Miles.'
"'Ef you write me a letter 'bout dat ar money, you kin giv it to Ole Miles.'
Now sign my name to dat ar letter."
The next day, having been summoned by the obliging Gregory, Old Miles made his appearance in Aunt Matilda's cabin.
The old woman explained to him that the letter was so important that she could trust it to no one who was not accustomed to carry letters, and Miles was willing and proud to exercise his skill for her benefit.
"Now, den," said she; "take dis hyar letter to de man what works de telegrum in Hetertown, and fotch me back an answer."
CHAPTER XXXIII.Time to Stop.
About a week after this letter was written, Kate said to Harry:
"You really ought to have Aunt Matilda's roof mended. There are several holes in it. I think her house ought to be made tight and warm before winter; don't you?"
"Certainly," said Harry. "I'll get some shingles and nail them over the holes to-morrow."
The next day was Saturday, and a rainy day. About ten o'clock Harry went to Aunt Matilda's cabin with his shingles and a hammer and nails. Kate walked over with him.
To their surprise they found the old woman in bed.
"Why, what is the matter, Aunt Matilda?" asked Kate. "Are you sick?"
"No, honey, I isn't sick," said the oldwoman; "but somehow or other I don't keer to git up. Ise mighty comfurt'ble jist as I is."
"But you ought to have your breakfast," said Kate. "What is this basin of water doing on the foot of your bed?"
"Oh, don't 'sturb dat ar tin basin," said Aunt Matilda. "Dat's to ketch der rain. Dar's a hole right ober de foot o' de bed."
"But you won't want that now," said Kate. "Harry's going to nail shingles over all the holes in your roof."
"An' fall down an' break his neck. He needn't do no sich foolishness. Dat ar tin basin's did me fur years in and years out, and I neber kicked it ober yit. Dere's no use a-mendin' holes dis time o' day."
"It's a very good time of day," said Harry, who was standing in the door; "and it isn't raining now. You used to have a ladder here, Aunt Matilda. If you'll tell me where it is, I can mend that hole over your bed without getting on the roof at all."
"Jist you keep away from de roof," said the old woman. "Ef you go hammerin' on dat oleroof you'll have it all down on me head. I don't want no mendin' dis time o' day."
Finding that Aunt Matilda was so much opposed to any carpenter-work on her premises at that time, Harry went home, while Kate remained to get the old woman some breakfast.
Aunt Matilda felt better that afternoon, and she sat up and ate her supper with Uncle Braddock (who happened to be there); but as she was evidently feeling the effects of her great age, an arrangement was made, by which Aunt Judy gave up her cabin and came to live with Aunt Matilda and take care of her.
One morning, about a week after the rainy Saturday, Mrs. Loudon came over to see Aunt Matilda. She found the old woman lying on the bed, and evidently worried about something.
"You see, Miss Mary," said Aunt Matilda, "Ise kind o' disturbed in me min'. I rit a letter a long time ago, and Ole Miles ain't fetched me no answer yit, and it sorter worries me."
"I didn't know you could write," said Mrs. Loudon, somewhat surprised.
"Neither I kin," said Aunt Matilda. "Ijist got dat Greg'ry Montague to write it fur me, and dear knows what he put in it."
"Who was your letter to, Aunt Matilda?" asked Mrs. Loudon.
"I do' know his name, but he works de telegrum at Hetertown. An' I do' min' tellin' you 'bout it, Miss Mary, ef you do' worry dem chillen. De letter was 'bout my money in de telegrum comp'ny. Dat was reel silber money, an' I hain't heerd nor seed nothin' of it sence."
When Mrs. Loudon went home she told Harry and Kate of Aunt Matilda's troubles.
Neither of them said anything at the time, but Harry put on his hat and went up to the store, while Kate sat down to her sewing.
After a while, she said:
"I think, mother, it's pretty hard in Aunt Matilda, after all we've done for her, to think of nothing but the ten cents she put into the stock of the company."
"It is perfectly natural," said Mrs. Loudon. "That ten cents was her own private property, and no matter how small a private property may be, it is of greater interest to the owner than any other property in the world. To be sure,the money that was paid for the telegraph line is for Aunt Matilda's benefit, but you and Harry have the management and the spending of it. But that ten cents was all her own, and she could spend it just as she chose."
The next day Kate went over to Aunt Matilda with two silver ten-cent pieces that Harry had got from Mr. Darby.
"Aunt Matilda," said she, "this is not the very same ten-cent piece you put into the company, but it's just as good; and Harry thinks that you have about doubled your money, and so here's another one."
The old woman, who was sitting alone by the fire wrapped up in a shawl, took the money, and putting it in the hollow of her bony hand, gazed at it with delight.
Then she looked up at Kate.
"You is good chillen," she said. "You is mighty good chillen. I don't 'spect I'll lib much longer in dis hyar world. Ise so precious old dat it's 'bout time to stop. But I don't 'spects I'll find nobody in heben that'll be more reel comfort to me dan you chillen."
"Oh Aunt Matilda!" cried Kate. "Why,you'll meet all your friends and relations that you talk so much about and who died so long ago."
"Well," said Aunt Matilda, very deliberately, "perhaps I shall, and perhaps I sha'n't; dere's no tellin'. But dere ain't no mistakin' 'bout you chillen."
That afternoon, when Uncle Braddock called, Aunt Matilda said to him:
"Ef you see Ole Miles ye kin tell him he needn't bring me no answer to dat letter."
Very early one morning, a few days after this, Kate went over to Aunt Matilda's cabin.
She saw Aunt Judy standing at the door.
"How's Aunt Matilda?" asked Kate.
"Gone to glory," said Aunt Judy.
Aunt Matilda was buried under a birch-tree near the church that she used to attend when able to walk.
That portion of her "fund" which remained unexpended at the time of her death was used to pay her funeral expenses and to erect a suitable tombstone over her grave. On the stone was an inscription. Harry composed it, and Kate copied it carefully for the stonecutter.
And thus, after much hard labor and anxious thought, after many disappointments and a great deal of discouragement, Harry and Kate performed to the end the generous task they had set themselves, which was just what might have been expected of such a boy and such a girl.
THE END.
Transcriber's Notes1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.2. Typographic errors corrected from original:p. 13 find to fine ("fine head for mathematics")p. 63 "Mr. Mr." to "Mr." ("pacify Mr. Matthews")p. 78 "hubhub" to "hubbub" ("heard above the hubbub")p. 96 "grumly" to "grimly" ("said Aunt Matilda, grimly")p. 129 "buiness" to "business" ("business should not be diverted")p. 181 or to for ("for it was quite evident")
1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.
2. Typographic errors corrected from original:p. 13 find to fine ("fine head for mathematics")p. 63 "Mr. Mr." to "Mr." ("pacify Mr. Matthews")p. 78 "hubhub" to "hubbub" ("heard above the hubbub")p. 96 "grumly" to "grimly" ("said Aunt Matilda, grimly")p. 129 "buiness" to "business" ("business should not be diverted")p. 181 or to for ("for it was quite evident")