Keziah Coffin Part 19

"Say, Mr. Ellery, if you think of it you might give my regards to--to--er--the lady that's keepin' house for you."

Breakfast had waited nearly an hour when the minister reached home.

Keziah, also, was waiting and evidently much relieved at his safe arrival.

"Sakes alive!" she exclaimed, as she met him at the back door. "Where in the world have you been, Mr. Ellery? Soakin' wet again, too!"

Ellery replied that he had been for a walk out to the bar. He sat down on the step to remove the borrowed boots. A small rivulet of salt water poured from each as he pulled them off.

"For a walk! A swim, you mean. How could you get in up to your waist if you just walked? Did you fall down?"

"No, not exactly. But I waited too long and the tide headed me off."

"Mercy on us! you mustn't take chances on that tide. If you'd told me you was goin', I'd have warned you to hurry back."

"Oh, I've been warned often enough. It was my own fault, as usual. I'm not sure that I don't need a guardian."

"Humph! well, I ain't sure either. Was the channels very deep?"

"Deep enough. The fact is, that I might have got into serious trouble if I hadn't been picked up."

He told briefly the story of his morning's adventure. The housekeeper listened with growing excitement.

"Heavens to Betsy!" she interrupted. "Was the channel you planned to swim the one at the end of the flat by the longest weir leader?"

"Yes."

"My soul! there's been two men drowned in that very place at half tide.

And they were good swimmers. After this I shan't dare let you out of my sight."

"So? Was it as risky as that? Why, Captain Hammond didn't tell me so. I must owe him more even than I thought."

"Yes, I guess you do. He wouldn't tell you, though; that ain't his way.

Deary me! for what we've received let us be thankful. And that reminds me that biscuits ought to be et when they're first made, not after they've been dried up on the back of the stove forever and ever amen.

Go on and change those wet things of yours and then we'll eat. Tryin' to swim the main channel on the flood! My soul and body!"

"Captain Nat sent his regards to you, Mrs. Coffin," said the minister, moving toward the stairs.

"Did, hey?" was the housekeeper's reply. "Want to know!"

CHAPTER VIII

IN WHICH THE PARSON AND MR. PEPPER DECLARE THEIR INDEPENDENCE

That afternoon, when dinner was over, the Reverend John decided to make a few duty calls. The first of these he determined should be on the Peppers. Lavinia and her brother had called at the Parsonage several times, but as yet he had not paid them a visit. It was not a ceremony to which he looked forward with delight, but it must be performed.

Miss Pepper had hinted several times, at sewing circle and after prayer meeting, of "partiality" and "only stoppin' in where they had fancy curtains up to the windows." So, as it could not be put off longer, without causing trouble, he determined to go through with it.

The Pepper house was situated just off the main road on the lane leading over the dunes to the ocean and the light. It was a small building, its white paint dingy and storm beaten, and its little fenced-in front yard dotted thickly with clumps of silver-leaf saplings. A sign, nailed crookedly on a post, informed those seeking such information that within was to be found "Abishai G. W. Pepper, Tax Collector, a.s.sessor, Boots and Shoes Repaired." And beneath this was fastened a shingle with the chalked notice, "Salt Hay for sale."

The boot and shoe portion of the first sign was a relic of other days.

Kyan had been a cobbler once, but it is discouraging to wait three or four weeks while the pair of boots one has left to be resoled are forgotten in a corner. Captain Zeb Mayo's pointed comment, "I want my shoe leather to wear while I'm alive, not to be laid out in after I die of old age," expressed the general feeling of the village and explained why custom had left Mr. Pepper and flown to the more enterprising shoemaker at "The Corners." The tax collectorship might have followed it, but here Lavinia kept her brother up to the mark. She went with him on his rounds and it gave her opportunity to visit, and afterwards comment upon, every family in town.

The minister walked up the dusty lane, lifted the Pepper gate and swung it back on its one hinge, shooed away the three or four languid and discouraged-looking fowls that were taking a sun bath on the clam-sh.e.l.l walk, and knocked at the front door. No one coming in answer to the knock, he tried again. Then he discovered a rusty bell pull and gave it a sharp tug. The k.n.o.b came off in his hand and he hurriedly thrust it back again into its place. Evidently, that bell was solely for ornament.

He came to the conclusion that no one was at home and felt a guilty sense of relief in consequence. But his conscience would not let him depart without another try, so he clenched his fist and gave the cracked door panel a series of tremendous thumps. A thin black cat, which had evidently been asleep beneath the step, burst from its concealment and fled in frantic terror. Then from somewhere in the rear of the house came the sound of a human voice.

"Hi!" it called faintly. "Whoever you be, don't bust that door down.

Come round here."

Ellery walked around the corner of the building. The voice came again.

"Say!" it wailed, "why don't you answer? Be you comin'? If you're a peddler, you needn't."

"I'm not a peddler," was the minister's amused reply.

"Oh, ain't ye? All right. Come along, then."

Ellery "came along" as far as the angle where the ell joined the main body of the house. So far as he could see every door and window was closed and there were no signs of life. However, he stepped to the door, a green-painted affair of boards, and ventured another knock.

"Don't start that poundin' again!" protested the voice. "Come round to t'other side where I be."

So around went the Reverend John, smiling broadly. But even on "t'other side" there was no one to be seen. And no door, for that matter.

"Why!" exclaimed the voice, "if 'tain't Mr. Ellery! How d'ye do? Glad to see you, Mr. Ellery. Fine day, ain't it? Here I be at this window."

Sure enough; one of the windows on this side of the house was raised about six inches at the bottom, the shade was up, and peering beneath the sash the minister discerned the expressive features of Abishai Pepper--or as much of those features as the size of the opening permitted to be seen.

"Oh!" exclaimed the visitor, "is that you, Mr. Pepper? Well, I'm glad to see you, at last. You are rather hard to see, even now."

Kyan was plainly embarra.s.sed. He stammered as he answered.

"Yes," he agreed, "I--I shouldn't wonder if I be. How be you? Pretty smart?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm well."

"Er--er--come to call, did you?"

"Why, yes, that was my intention."

"Hum! Er--er--Laviny, she's gone over to Thankful Payne's. She heard that Thankful's cousin up to Middleboro had died--pa.s.sed away, I mean--and she thought she'd run over and find out if Thankful was willed anything. She said she'd be back pretty soon."

"Very well. Then, as she won't be gone long, perhaps I'll come in and wait."

He was moving away toward the corner when a shout from beneath the window sash brought him to a halt.

"Hi!" called Abishai. "Hi, Mr. Ellery! don't go to that door. 'Tain't no use; it's locked."

"Locked? Well, you can unlock it, can't you?"