The Gold Brick Part 28

Before the two men, who tracked that terrible path, had touched the little white grave by the rock, some half-dozen persons had collected around it. A feeling of awe kept the first comers from touching the broken snow-crust; but now, a man in the crowd thrust it aside with his foot, and the rest set to work.

It took but little time to remove the white covering beneath, and, after a moment's work, the dead infant was found wrapped in a shawl, which was recognized by more than one present as belonging to Katharine Allen.

A feeling of profound consternation fell upon the little group of farmers, as they lifted the infant from its grave. The face, now pale and cold, was all uncovered, flakes of snow trembled in the golden hair, and the winds blew over it so sharply, that one of the men put forth his hand, and drew the shawl softly over its head, muttering, "G.o.d forgive its mother!"

No funeral ever was marked with more solemn faces than those which followed the dead infant back to the house. No word was spoken aloud, but hoa.r.s.e whispers pa.s.sed from lip to lip, and the hardiest man there shrunk from carrying that mournful burden into the presence of its grandmother.

A terrible presentiment of the truth had fallen upon the old woman. She had failed to win any thing from her daughter, and, with a sinking heart, listened to the men crunching the snow under their feet, as they went toward the orchard. For the world she could not have gone to the door or remained upright upon her feet. The old high-back chair stood on the hearth; she sat down. The fire flamed up and flickered over her white features. Those little tracks upon the floor fascinated her gaze.

They melted and run into each other, taking uncouth shapes, but, in her eyes, there had been no change. These two little footprints, in disappearing from the floor, seemed to burn themselves into her heart.

She sat still listening, but there was no sound except the soughing of the wind among the naked apple trees. Katharine lay still in her bed, exulting in the safety which she had secured for her child, but craftily silent lest some one should find out her secret. Filled with this idea she held her breath, as if that would betray her.

Thus the stillness was profound. There was no confusion in the woman's mind now. Her quick, clear intellect had seized upon the broad facts of the case. She struggled against them, but the child was gone, and those footprints on the floor were obliterating, but not dried out. After a time she heard a strange sound in the road--the heavy tramp of feet, followed by suppressed voices near the gate. With a prayer to G.o.d she arose, walked to the door, cast it wide open, and stood on the threshold with her arms extended. It was like laying a dead child into a dead woman's bosom when the man placed his burden in those arms.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE SAILOR AND HIS TWO COMPANIONS.

In one of those common hotels, frequented by the better cla.s.s of seamen who enter New York, David Rice had taken up his quarters, accompanied by little Paul and Jube. With the bravery of a Nelson, he had carried the disabled brig safely into a Southern port, with her cargo all safe; an act of heroism that had secured the warmest approbation of her owners, and what was far better, an appointment to the command of the craft he had saved.

While the repairs were going on, David, exultant and happy, had proceeded with his two friends to the commercial emporium, where he became sadly puzzled what course to take next, for two more simple hearted and helpless creatures never existed.

"Now," said David, going into a select committee of one on the subject; "now when a chap saves the life of another chap, big or little, and turns his face about from a long voyage, where all is provided for, he's in duty bound to adopt that other chap, and take good care of him so long as he can't take care of himself. Now that's just your case, David Rice. What on arth can these poor critters do without you?

Nothing--that's sartin. What can you do for them?--there's the puzzler.

As for work, the n.i.g.g.e.r is strong as a lion; but he's used to hot weather, and a cold snap curls him right up. As for the boy--poor little soul--no Yankee baby was ever half so helpless; and yet, how brave the little chap is! What am I to do with 'em? They can't live here when I'm away to sea; and as for working, why the n.i.g.g.e.r himself hasn't the least idee what work means!"

This consultation was held in English, while its objects sat close together, looking at the sailor as he laid down the case and expostulated with himself, pro and con, with considerable energy.

"Jube," he said, in broken French, feeling in sad want of counsel, "Jube, what do you say to living in the country?"

"Oh, anywhere Jube is ready to live--anywhere that little ma.s.ser and you like!" cried the negro, eagerly.

"Well, say in a nice, cosy place up in Connecticut, with plenty of ch.o.r.es to do, and no hard work."

"Yes, ma.s.ser Rice," said Jube, attempting English.

"Then, our little Paul, he ought to go to school--capital district school on Shrub Oak--beautiful red school-house, with the turnpike running in front, and a river back of it. You can hear the water sing all day long, behind the hemlock bushes. Besides, there's an apple tree at one end that bears splendid green apples, and a bell pear tree, that the scholars are forbid to look at. Then--keep that to yourself Paul, no one but Kate ever found it out--but, there's a hollow at one end of the school-house, and the banks are covered with strawberry vines, white in the spring, and red all under the gra.s.s where the sun has s.h.i.+ned on 'em long enough--sich strawberries, plump as a baby's mouth, and sweet as its kisses. What do you think of that, Paul?"

The little fellow did not quite comprehend what Rice was talking about, but the subject seemed a pleasant one, so he replied, in broken English, that he should like it very much indeed.

"Yes," said Dave, kindling into enthusiasm by a remembrance of his own school days, brief as they had been, and spent in a much less pleasant place than the one he described. "Yes, I kinder see you now, with yer dinner basket on one arm--the squaws, back of Chewstown, make scrumptious little baskets, now I tell yer--and Webster's blue-covered spelling book under t'other, a marching off to that ere seat of larning which I've been telling you about. The picter is so enticing that I'm in a hurry to begin. Have you ever been to school?"

The boy looked at Jube in doubt what to answer.

"District school, I mean," said Dave, with a flourish of the hand.

"Where the master or mistress boards about, and ferrules the children with a pine ruler, if they don't toe a crack every spelling time."

"No," said Paul, meekly, "I never did."

"Nor you nuther, Jube?"

Jube opened his great eyes in wonder at the question. It seemed too astonis.h.i.+ng for any other reply.

"Then you hain't neither of you got a bit of larning?" continued Rice, patronizingly, "can't read nor write, I reckon."

Paul understood this, and brightened up.

"Oh, yes, Monsieur Rice, I read and write, and do much things in French.

All my life the tutor has taught me how."

"You can, eh! then jist show us what kind of a fist you make of it.

Hallo, here, waiter, bring up pen and ink, with some paper. I want to see how far this little chap has got along in his eddecation."

The orders were obeyed, and Paul sat down to the rickety table, smiling as he began to write. Rice stood with his feet wide apart and a hand in each pocket, looking over the boy's shoulder.

"By jingo, you write like a lady!" he cried, filled with exultation; "and hain't never been to school! it's 'stonis.h.i.+ng. Now let me hear you spell. We'll skip over the abs, and plunge right into deep larning at once. Now spell Baker."

Rice plunged his hands deeper into both pockets and shook himself like a mastiff, satisfied that the boy had got a puzzler now. And so he had, for it was his first effort at English, and the word, as he tried to syllable it, was so sweetly broken that Dave shook his head.

"Isn't it right?" inquired Paul, anxiously.

"Well, no, not exactly; but don't be down-hearted. It's a tough word. I remember studying it over and over again. So keep a stiff upper lip."

"But I shall learn English?" said Paul.

"In course you shall. There's a seat in Shrub Oak school-house waiting for you now--the very one sister Kate used to set in, bless her purty face--won't she knit woollen comforters for you. The old woman, too. I say, look a here, shaver, you never saw such a home as you'll find with my women folks. No skim milk about them, now I tell you."

"Is there good fire," inquired Jube, s.h.i.+vering with the cold, though a bright blaze flamed on the hearth.

"A good fire? Well I should think so--back logs as big as porpoises, and fore sticks to match, trust the old woman for that."

Jube rubbed his hands, and displayed the edge of his firm, white teeth in a satisfied smile. Warmth was the thing he pined for just then.

"Now that it's settled, supposing we go out and get some good thick clothes for the shaver, Jube; them silk stockings and finefied shoes aint the thing, though you do wash and brush them when he's asleep. We must have socks and boots, and a good thick overcoat, with a seal-skin cap that turns down at the ears, and yarn mittins. But them, the old woman will knit, striped two and two, with red and white fringe around the wrist--don't I remember the pattern. Come, old chap, it aint far from here to Catharine street, we'll soon have a full rig."

Of course Jube made no objection; indeed, such was his devotion to Rice, that it is doubtful if he would have resisted any behest of his. They went out, looking weather-beaten and shabby enough, s.h.i.+vering with cold, and sallow from the privation of a hard sea voyage. But after a visit first to a barber's shop, and next to a clothing store, the whole aspect of things was changed. Little Paul came forth in a fur cap and an overcoat, so heavy and thick that even his movements, usually graceful as an antelope's, became a little awkward. Jube was also warmly clad, and m.u.f.fled in a comforter, striped with red, green, and yellow, which had won his extremest admiration.

After providing for the comfort of his friends in this way, Rice took them to one of the East river wharves, where a sloop, bound for the mouth of the Housatonic, lay waiting for pa.s.sengers, and placed them in charge of the captain. Both Paul and Jube had learned a little broken English by this time, upon which Rice depended greatly. Besides, he sent a letter to his mother, beseeching her to receive his friends and preservers, as he named them, in her own house, and treat them as if Jube were his brother, and the boy his son--an adopted son, in every sense of the word, he certainly was. In a few crude lines he gave his mother to understand how helpless the child was, and how manfully the African had stood by him when deserted on the disabled brig, and ended by promising to come home before the vessel sailed again.

With this letter Rice gave Jube some gold pieces, which made the negro's eyes sparkle, for he recognized them as the coin circulated in his own country. Thus having provided for his friends, Rice took his way back to the disabled s.h.i.+p, and the sloop spread its white wings up the sound.

The deep snow, the skeleton trees, and scattering evergreens that lined the banks of the Housatonic, struck our poor fugitives from the tropics with a sense of absolute desolation. But the captain was kind, and this stood in place of suns.h.i.+ne and warmth with them. At the head of navigation, which brought the sloop to the mouth of the Naugatuc, the captain sent them forward with a return team, which, having deposited its load of produce, was ready to proceed up the river road, which led from Darby to the long wooden bridge below the falls.