The Green Satin Gown Part 2

"No!" roared the old man, with another explosion, stamping violently on the floor. "No, I don't. You're poor as spring snakes, and your mother's sickly, and you've hard work to get enough to keep the flesh on your bones; but I don't tell ye to do that. I tell ye to take it straight to the Old Man, and tell him where ye found it, and all about it. I've knowed him ever since his mustash growed, and before. You go straight to him! He's in the office now."

"I was going!" said Mary, simply. "I thought I'd come and see you first, Mr. Gregory, you've always been so good to mother and me.

You--you couldn't manage to come with me, could you? I am afraid of Mr. Gordon; I can't help it, though he is always pleasant to me."

"I'll go!" said old James, with alacrity. "You come right along with me!"

In his eagerness he seized Mary by the arm, and kept his hold on her as they pa.s.sed out through the mill. The few "hands" who were at work here and there gazed after them in amazement; for the old man was dragging the girl along as if he had caught her in some offence, and was going to deliver her up to justice.

The same impression was made in the office, when the pair appeared there. The two clerks stared open-mouthed, and judged after their nature; for one of them said, instantly, to himself, "It's a mistake!"

while the other said, "I always knew that Denison girl was too pious to last!"

A tall man who sat at a desk in the corner looked up quietly.

"Ah, Gregory!" he said. "What is it? Mary Denison? Good morning, Mary!

Anything wrong in the rag-room?"

Gregory waved his hat excitedly.

"If you'd look here, sir!" he said. "If you would just cast your eye over that article, and tell this gal what you think of it! Blue Egyptians, sir! luckiest rags that ever come into this mill, I've always said. Well, sir?"

Mr. Gordon was not easily stirred to excitement. It seemed an age to the anxious girl and the impetuous old man, as he turned the brooch over and over, holding it up in every light, polis.h.i.+ng it, breathing on it, then polis.h.i.+ng it again. Gregory's hands twitched with eagerness, and Mary felt almost faint with suspense.

"You found this in the rags?" he asked at length, turning to Mary.

He spoke in his ordinary even tone, and Mary's heart sank, she could not have told why.

"Yes, sir!" she faltered. "I found it in a blue jacket. It was in between the stuff and the lining. There were gla.s.s b.u.t.tons on the jacket."

She drew them from her pocket and held them out; but Mr. Gordon, after a glance, waved them back.

"Those are of no value!" he said. "About this brooch, I am not so sure. The stones may be real stones--I incline to think they are; but it is possible that they may be paste. The imitations are sometimes very perfect; no one but a jeweller can tell positively. I will take it to Boston with me to-morrow, and have it examined."

He dropped the brooch into a drawer at his side, turned the key and put it in his pocket, all in his quiet, methodical way, as if he were in the habit of examining diamond brooches every day; then he nodded kindly to the pair, and bent over his papers again.

Mary went out silently, and Gregory followed her with a dazed look on his strong features. He looked back at the door two or three times, but said nothing till they were back in the finis.h.i.+ng-room.

Then--"It's one of his days!" he said. "I've knowed him ever since his mustash growed, and there's days when he's struck with a dumb sperit, just like Scriptur'. Don't you fret, Mary! He'll see you righted, or I'll give you my head."

Mary might have thought that Mr. Gregory's head would be of little use to her without the rest of him. She felt sadly dashed and disappointed. She hardly knew what she had expected, but it was something very different from this calm, every-day reception, this total disregard of her own and her companion's excitement.

"I guess he thinks they're nothing great!" she said, wearily.

"What was that he said about paste, Mr. Gregory? You never saw any paste like that, did you?

"No!" said Gregory, "I've heered of Di'mond Glue, but 'twan't nothin' like stones--nor gla.s.s neither. You may run me through the calenders if I know what he's drivin' at. But I'll trust him!" he added, vehemently. "I done right to tell you to go to him. He's in one of his moods to-day, but you'll hear from him, if there's anything to hear, now mark my words! And now I'd go home, if I was you, and see your ma'am, and get your dinner. And--Mary--I dono as I'd say anything about this, if I was you. Things get round so in a mill, ye know."

Mary nodded a.s.surance, and went home, trying to feel that nothing of importance had happened. Do what she would, however, the golden visions would come dancing before her eyes. Suppose--suppose the stones should be real, after all! and suppose Mr. Gordon should give her a part, at least, of the money they might bring in Boston. It might--she knew diamonds were valuable--it might be thirty or forty dollars. Oh! how rich she would be! The rent could be paid some time in advance, and her mother could have the new shawl she needed so badly: or would a cloak be better? cloaks were more in fas.h.i.+on, but Mother said a good shawl was always good style.

Turning the corner by her mother's house, she met one of the clerks who had been in the office when she went in there. He looked at her with the smile she always disliked, she hardly knew why.

"You did the wrong thing that time, Miss Denison!" he said.

"What do you mean, Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k?" asked Mary.

"You'll never see your diamonds again, nor the money for them!"

replied the man. "That's easy guessing. He'll come back and tell you they're gla.s.s or paste, and that's the last you'll hear of them. And the diamonds--for they are diamonds, right enough--will go into his pocket, or on to his wife's neck. I know what's what! I wasn't born down in these parts."

"You don't know Mr. Gordon!" said Mary, warmly. "That isn't the way he is thought of by those who do know him."

The clerk was a newcomer from another State, and was not liked by the mill-workers.

"I know his kind!" he said, with a sneer; "and they're no good to your kind, Mary Denison, nor to mine. Mark my words, you'll hear no more of that breastpin."

Mary turned away so decidedly that he said no more, but his eyes followed her with a sinister look.

Next moment he was greeting Lena Laxen cordially, and she was dimpling and smiling all over at his compliments. Lena thought Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k "just elegant!" and believed that Mary was jealous when she said she did not like him. Something now prompted her to tell him about the silk waist in the forbidden sack; he took her view at once and zealously. The boss (for he did not use the kindly t.i.tle of "Old Man," by which the other mill-hands designated Mr. Gordon, though he was barely forty) had his eye on the things, most likely, as he had on the pin Mary Denison found. Hadn't Lena heard about that?

Well, it was a burning shame, he could tell her; he would see that she, Lena, wasn't fooled that way. And Lena, listening eagerly, heard a story very different from that which had been told to Mr. Gordon.

In an hour the whole mill knew that Mary Denison had found a diamond pin in the rags, and that Mr. Gordon had told her it was nothing but hard glue, and had sold it himself in Boston for a thousand dollars, and spent the money on a new horse.

Nor was this all! Late that evening Lena Laxen stole from her home with a shawl over her head, and met the clerk by the corner of the outer shed. A few minutes of whispering and giggling, and she stole back, with a bundle under her shawl; while Hitchc.o.c.k tied a bright silk handkerchief round his neck, and strutted off with the air of a conqueror.

Next morning, as Mary Denison was going to her work, Lena rapped on the window, and called her attention by signs to the bodice she had on. It was a gay striped silk, little worn, but still showing, in spite of pressing, the marks of crumpling and tossing. The bright colors suited Lena's dark skin well, and as she stood there with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, Mary thought she had never seen her look prettier. At first she nodded and smiled in approval; but the next moment a thought darted into her mind that made her clasp her hands, and cry anxiously:

"Oh! Lena, you didn't do it! you never did it! it's not _that_ waist you have on?"

Lena affected not to hear. She only nodded and laughed triumphantly, and turned away, leaving Mary standing pale and distressed outside the window.

Mary hesitated. Should she go in and reason further with the wilful girl, and try to persuade her to restore the stolen garment?

Something told her it would be useless; but still she was on the point of going in, when old James Gregory came by, and asked her to walk on with him.

She complied, but not without an anxious look back at the window, where no one was now to be seen.

"Well, May," said Gregory, "how're ye feelin' to-day? hearty? that's clever! I hope you wasn't frettin' about that pin any. Most girls would, but you ain't the fool kind."

"I don't know, Mr. Gregory!" said Mary, laughing. "I'm afraid I have thought about it more or less, but I haven't been fretting. Where's the use?"

"Jes' so! jes' so!" a.s.sented the old man, with alacrity.

"And I didn't say anything to Mother," Mary went on. "I didn't want her to know about it unless something was really coming of it. Poor Mother! she has enough to think about."

"She has so!" said Gregory. "A sight o' thinkin' your mother doos, Mary, and good thoughts, every one of 'em, I'll bet my next pay.

She's a good woman, your mother; I guess likely you know it without me sayin' so. I call Susan Denison the best woman I know, and I've told my wife so, more times than she says she has any occasion for.

I don't say she's an angel, but she's a good woman, and that's as fur as we're likely to get in this world.

"But that ain't what I wanted to say to you, May! Somehow or 'nother, the story's got round about your findin' that pin yesterday. You didn't say nothin'?"

"Not a word!" said Mary. "How could it--"

"'Twas that pison Hitchc.o.c.k, I expect!" said Gregory. "I see him lookin' up with his little eyes, as red as a ferret, and as ugly. I bet he started the hull thing; and he's tacked on a pa.s.sel of lies, and the endurin' place is hummin' with it. Thought I'd tell ye before ye went in, so's ye could fix up a little what to say."