Tiverton Tales Part 27

Mary had certain antique methods of speech, which the new-fangled school teacher, not liking to p.r.o.nounce them vulgar, had tactfully dubbed "obsolete." "If we used 'em all the time they wouldn't get obsolete, would they?" asked Mary; and the school teacher, being a logical person, made no answer. So Mary went on plying them with a conscientious calmness like one determined to keep a precious and misprized metal in circulation. She even called Nicholas gran'ther, because he liked it, and because he had called his own grandfather so.

"Ye see," said Nicholas, "the fust rec'ids were missin'. 'Burnt up!'

says that town clerk over to Sudleigh. 'Burnt when the old meetin'-house ketched fire, arter the Injun raid.' 'Burnt up!' thinks I. 'The cat's foot! I guess so, when the communion service was carried over fifteen mile an' left in a potato sullar.' So I says to myself, 'What become o'

that fust communion set?' Why, before the meetin'-house was repaired, they all rode over to what's now Saltash, to wors.h.i.+p in Square Billin's's kitchen. Now, when Square Billin's died of a fever, that same winter, they hove all his books into that old lumber-room over Sudleigh court-house. So, when I was fixin' up the court-house clock, t' other day, I clim' up to that room, an' shet myself in there. An', Mary, I found them rec'ids!" He looked at her with that complete and awe-stricken triumph which n.o.body else had ever seen upon his face. Her own reflected it.

"Where are they, gran'ther?" asked Mary. But she was the more excited; she could only whisper.

"They're loose sheets o' paper," returned Nicholas, "an' _they're in my bag_!"

Mary made an involuntary movement toward the bag, which lay, innocently secretive, on a neighboring chair. Even its advertising legend had a knowing look. Nicholas followed her glance.

"No," said he firmly, "not now. We'll read 'em all over this evenin', when I've done the dishes. But, Mary, I'll tell ye this much: it's got the whole story of the settlers comin' into town, an' which way they come, an' all about it, writ down by Simeon Gerry, the fust minister, the one that killed five Injuns, stoppin' to load an' fire, an' then opened on the rest with bilin' fat. An', Mary, the fust settler of all was Nicholas Oldfield, haulin' his wife on a kind of a drag made o'

withes; an' the path they took led straight over our Flat-Iron Lot. An', Mary, 't was there they rested, an' offered up prayer to G.o.d."

"O my soul, gran'ther!" breathed Mary, clasping her little brown hands.

"O my soul!" Her face grew curiously mature. It seemed to mirror his.

She leaned forward, in a deadly earnestness. "Gran'ther," said she, "did they settle here first? Or--or was it Sudleigh?"

Now, indeed, was Nicholas Oldfield the herald of news good both to tell and hear.

"The fust settlement," said he, as if he read it from the book of fate, "was made in Tiverton, on the sixteenth day of the month; the second in Sudleigh, on the twenty-fifth."

"So, when you guessed at the date, and told parson to have the celebration then, you got it right?"

"I got it right," replied Nicholas quietly. "But pa'son shall see the rec'ids, an' I'll recommend him to put 'em under lock an' key."

The two sat there and looked at each other, with an outwelling of great content. Then Mary pa.s.sed her mug, and while Nicholas filled it, he gave her an oft-repeated charge:--

"Don't you open your head now, Mary. All this is between you an' me.

I'll just mention it to pa'son, an' make up my mind whether he sees the meanin' on 't. But don't you say one word to your father an' mother. To them it don't signify."

Mary nodded wisely. She knew, with the philosophy of a much older experience, that she and gran'ther lived alone in a nest of kindly aliens. As if their mention evoked a foreign presence, her mother's voice sounded that instant from the door:--

"Mary, why under the sun didn't you come back? I sent word for you to run over with her, father, an' have some supper. Well, if you two ain't thick!"

"We're havin' a dish o' discourse," returned Nicholas quietly.

Young Nick's Hattie was forty-five, but she looked much younger. Extreme plumpness had insured her against wrinkles, and her light brown hair was banded smoothly back. Hattie's originality lay in a desire for color, and therein she overstepped the bounds of all decorum. It was customary to see her barred across with enormous plaids, or stripes going the broad way; and so long had she lived under such insignia that no one would have known her without them. She came in with soft, heavy footfalls, and sat down in the little rocking-chair at Mr. Oldfield's right hand. She smiled at him, somewhat nervously.

"Well, father," said she, "you got home!"

Nicholas helped himself to another half cup of tea, after holding the teapot tentatively across to Mary's mug.

"Yes," he answered, in his dry and gentle fas.h.i.+on, "I've got home."

Hattie began rocking, in a rapid staccato, to punctuate her speech.

"Well," she began, "I'll say my say an' done with it. There's goin' to be a town-meetin' to-night, an' Nicholas sent me over to mention it.

'Father'll want to be on hand,' says he."

Mr. Oldfield pushed back his cup, and then his chair. He bent his keen blue eyes upon her.

"Town meetin' this time o' year?" said he. "What for?"

"Oh, it's about the celebration. Old Mr. Eaton"--

"What Eaton?"

"William W."

"He that went away in war time, an' made money in wool? Old War-Wool Eaton?"

Nicholas nodded, at her a.s.sent, and his look blackened. He knew what was coming.

"Well, he sent word he meant to give us a clock, same as he had other towns, an' he wanted we should have it up before the celebration."

"Yes," said Nicholas Oldfield, "he'll give us a clock, will he? I knew he would. I've said 'twas comin'. He give one to Saltash; he's gi'n 'em all over the county. Do you know what them clocks be? They've got letters round the dial, in place o' figgers; an' the letters spell out, 'In Memory of Me.' An' down to Saltash they've gi'n up sayin' it's quarter arter twelve, or the like o' that. They say it's O minutes past I."

He glared at her. Young Nick's Hattie thought she had never heard father speak with such bitterness; and indeed it was true. Never before had he been a.s.sailed on his own ground; it seemed as if the whole towns.h.i.+p now conspired to bait him.

"Well" she remarked weakly, "I dunno's it does any hurt, so long as they can tell what they mean by it."

Nicholas threw her a pitying glance. He scorned to waste eternal truth on one so dull.

"Well," she went on, in desperation, "that ain't all, neither. I might as well say the whole, an' done with it. He wants 'em to set up the clock on the meetin'-house; an' seeing the tower mightn't be firm enough, he'll build it up higher, an' give 'em a new bell."

Now, indeed, Nicholas Oldfield was in the case of Shylock, when he learned his daughter's limit of larceny. "The curse never fell upon our nation till now," so he might have quoted. "I never felt it till now."

He rose from his chair.

"In the name of G.o.d Almighty," he asked solemnly, "what do they want of a new bell?"

Young Nick's Hattie gave an involuntary cry.

"O father!" she entreated, "don't say such words. I never see you take on so. What under the sun has got into you?"

Nicholas made no reply. Slowly and methodically he was putting the dishes into the wooden sink. When he touched Mary's pink mug, his fingers trembled a little; but he did not look at her. He knew she understood. Young Nick's Hattie rolled her hands nervously in her ap.r.o.n, and then unrolled them, and smoothed the ap.r.o.n down. She gathered herself desperately.

"Well, father," she said, "I've got another arrant. I said I'd do it, an' I will; but I dunno how you'll take it."

"O mother!" cried Mary, "don't!"

"What is it?" asked Nicholas, folding the tablecloth in careful creases.

"Say your say an' git it over."

Hattie rocked faster and faster. Even in the stress of the moment Nicholas remembered that the old chair was well made, and true to its equilibrium.

"Well," said she, "Luella an' Freeman Henry come over here this very day, an' Freeman Henry's possessed you should sell him the Flat-Iron Lot."