Thankful's Inheritance Part 40

Thankful looked at the buggy. The only thing in it, so far as she could see, was the little boy on the seat. The little boy grinned.

"h.e.l.lo, Aunt Thankful," he said. "I've come to stay with you, I have."

Thankful started, stared, and then made a rush for the buggy.

"Georgie Hobbs!" she cried. "You blessed little scamp! Come here to me this minute. Well, well, well!"

Georgie came and was received with a bear hug and a shower of kisses.

"Well, well!" repeated Thankful. "And to think I didn't know you! I'm ashamed of myself. And you're the surprise, I suppose. You ARE one, sure and sartin. How did you get here?"

"I came on the cars," declared Georgie, proudly. "Ma and Emmie put me on 'em and told me to sit right still until I got to Wellmouth Centre and then get off. And I did, too; didn't I, Mr.--I mean Captain Bangs."

"You bet you did!" agreed the delighted captain. "That's some relation you've got there, Mrs. Barnes. He's little but Oh my! He and I have had a good talk on the way down. We got along fust-rate; hey, commodore? The commodore's agreed to ship second-mate along with me next v'yage I make, if I ever make one."

Thankful held her "relation"--he was Emily's half-brother and her own favorite next to Emily herself in that family--at arm's length. "You blessed little--little mite!" she exclaimed. "So you come 'way down here all alone just to see your old auntie. Did you ever in your life! And I suppose you're the 'secret' Emily said she had, the one that was to keep me from bein' lonesome."

Georgie nodded. "Yes," he said. "Emmie, she's wrote you all about me.

I've got the letter pinned inside of me here," patting his small chest.

"And I'm goin' to stay ever so long, I am. I want to see the pig and the hens and the--and the orphan, and everything."

"So you shall," declared Thankful. "I'm glad enough to see you to turn the house inside out if you wanted to look at it. And you knew all about this, I suppose?" turning to Captain Obed.

The captain laughed aloud.

"Sartin I did," he said. "Miss Howes and I have been writin' each other like a couple of courtin' young folks. I knew the commodore was goin'

to set sail today and I was on hand up to the depot to man the yards.

Forgive me for hookin' your horse and buggy, will you, Mrs. Thankful?"

Forgiveness was granted. Thankful would have forgiven almost anything just then. The "commodore" announced that he was hungry and he was hurried into the house. The cares of travel had not taken away his appet.i.te. He was introduced to Imogene, at whom he stared fixedly for a minute or more and then asked if she was the "orphan." When told that she was he asked if her mamma and papa were truly dead. Imogene said she guessed they were. Then Georgie asked why, and, after then, what made them that way, adding the information that he had a kitty that went dead one time and wasn't any good any more.

The coming of the "commodore" brought a new touch of life to the High Cliff House, which had settled down for its winter nap. Thankful, of course, read Emily's letter at the first opportunity. Emily wrote that she felt sure Georgie would be company for her cousin and that she had conceived the idea of the boy's visit before leaving East Wellmouth, but had said nothing because she was not sure mother would consent. But that consent had been granted and Georgie might stay until Christmas, perhaps even after that if he was not too great a care.

He was something of a care, there was no doubt of that. Imogene, whom he liked and who liked him, declared that "that young one had more jump in him than a sand flea." The very afternoon of his arrival he frightened the hens into shrieking hysterics, poked the fat and somnolent Patrick Henry, the pig, with a sharp stick to see if he was alive and not "gone dead" like the kitten, and barked his shins and nose by falling out of the wheelbarrow in the barn. Kenelm, who still retained his position at the High Cliff House and was meek and lowly under the double domination of his fiancee and his sister, was inclined to grumble. "A feller can't set down to rest a minute," declared Kenelm, "without that young one's jumpin' out at him from behind somethin' or 'nother and hollerin', 'Boo!' Seems to like to scare me into a fit. Picks on me wuss than Hannah, he does."

But even Kenelm confessed to a liking for the "pesky little nuisance."

Captain Obed idolized him and took him on excursions along the beach or to his own fish-houses, where Georgie sat on a heap of nets and came home smelling strongly of cod, but filled to the brim with sea yarns.

And Thankful found in the boy the one comfort and solace for her increasing troubles and cares. Altogether the commodore was in a fair way to become a thoroughly spoiled officer.

With November came the rains again, and, compared with them, those of early September seemed but showers. Day after day and night after night the wind blew and the water splashed against the windows and poured from the overflowing gutters. Patrick Henry, the pig, found his quarters in the new pen, in the hollow behind the barn, the center of the flood zone, and being discovered one morning marooned on a swampy islet in the middle of a muddy lake, was transferred to the old sty, that built by the late Mr. Laban Eldredge, beneath the woodshed and adjoining the potato cellar. Thankful's orderly, neat soul rebelled against having a pig under the house, but, as she expressed it, "'twas either that or havin' the critter two foot under water."

Captain Obed, like every citizen of East Wellmouth, was disgusted with the weather. "I was cal'latin' to put in my spare time down to the shanty buildin' a new dory," he said, "but I guess now I'll build an ark instead. If this downpour keeps on I'll need one bad as Noah ever did."

Heman Daniels, Miss Timpson and Caleb Hammond were now the only boarders and roomers Mrs. Barnes had left to provide for. There was little or no profit in providing for them, for the rates paid by the two last named were not high, and their demands were at times almost unreasonable. Miss Timpson had a new idea now, that of giving up the room she had occupied since coming to the Barnes boarding-house and moving her belongings into the suite at the rear of the second floor, that comprising the large room and the little back bedroom adjoining, the latter the scene of Thankful's spooky adventure on the first night of her arrival in East Wellmouth. These rooms ordinarily rented for much more than Miss Timpson had paid for her former apartment, but she had no thought of paying more for them. "Of course I shouldn't expect to get 'em for the same if 'twas summer," she explained to Thankful, "but just now, with 'em standin'

empty, I might as well move there as not. I know you'll be glad to have me, won't you, Mrs. Barnes, you and me being such good friends by this time."

And Thankful, although conscious of an injustice somewhere, did not like to refuse her "good friend." So she consented and Miss Timpson moved into the back rooms. But she no sooner had her trunks carried there than she was struck by another brilliant idea. Thankful, hearing unusual sounds from above that Sat.u.r.day morning, ascended the back stairs to find the school mistress tugging at the bureau, which she was apparently trying to drag from the small room into the larger.

"It came to me all of a sudden," panted Miss Timpson, who was out of breath but enthusiastic. "That little room's awful small and stuffy to sleep in, and I do hate to sleep in a stuffy room. But when I was standing there sniffing and looking it came to me."

"What came to you?" demanded the puzzled Thankful. "What are you talkin'

about--the bureau?"

"No, no! The idea! The bureau couldn't come to me by itself, could it? No, the idea came to me. That little room isn't good for much as a bedroom, but it will make the loveliest study. I can put my table and my books in there and move the bed and things in here. Then I'll have a beautiful, nice big bedroom and the cutest little study. And I've always wanted a study. Now if you and Imogene help me with the bureau and bed it'll be all fixed."

So Imogene, a.s.sisted by Kenelm, who was drafted in Thankful's place, spent a good part of the afternoon shifting furniture and arranging the bedroom and the "study." Miss Timpson superintended, and as she was seldom satisfied until each separate item of the suite's equipment had been changed about at least twice, in order to get the "effect," all three were nervous and tired when the shifting was over. Miss Timpson should have been happy over the attainment of the study, but instead she appeared gloomy and downcast.

"I declare," she said, as she and Thankful sat together in the living-room that evening, "I don't know's I've done right, after all. I don't know's I wish I had stayed right where I was."

"Mercy on us! Why?" demanded Thankful, a trifle impatiently.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'cause I'm kind of tired and nervous tonight.

I feel as if--as if something was going to happen to me. I wonder if I could have another cup of tea before I went to bed; it might settle my nerves, you know."

Considering that the lady had drunk three cups of tea at supper Mrs.

Barnes could not help feeling doubtful concerning the soothing effect of a fourth. But she prepared it and brought it into the living-room. Miss Timpson sipped the tea and groaned.

"Do you ever have presentiments, Mrs. Barnes?" she asked.

"Have what?"

"Presentiments? Warnings, you know? I've had several in my life and they have always come to something. I feel as if I was going to have one now. Heavens! Hear that wind and rain! Don't they sound like somebody calling--calling?"

"No, they don't. They sound cold and wet, that's all. Dear me, I never saw such a spell of weather. I thought this mornin' 'twas goin' to clear, but now it's come on again, hard as ever."

"Well," with dismal resignation, "we'll all go when our time comes, I suppose. We're here today and gone tomorrow. I don't suppose there's any use setting and worrying. Be prepared, that's the main thing. Have you bought a cemetery lot, Mrs. Barnes? You ought to; everybody had. We can't tell when we're liable to need a grave."

"Goodness gracious sakes! Don't talk about cemetery lots and graves.

You give me the blue creeps. Go to bed and rest up. You're tired, and no wonder; you've moved no less'n three times since mornin', and they say one movin's as bad as a fire. Here! Give me that tea-cup. There's nothin' left in it but grounds, and you don't want to drink THEM."

Miss Timpson relinquished the cup, took her lamp and climbed the stairs.

Her good night was as mournful as a funeral march. Thankful, left alone, tried to read for a time, but the wailing wind and squeaking shutters made her nervous and depressed, so, after putting the key under the mat of the side door for Heman Daniels, who was out attending a meeting of the Masonic Lodge, she, too, retired.

It was not raining when she awoke, but the morning was gray and cloudy.

She came downstairs early, so early--for it was Sunday morning, when all East Wellmouth lies abed--that she expected to find no one, not even Imogene, astir. But, to her great surprise, Miss Timpson was seated by the living-room stove.

"Land sakes!" exclaimed Thankful. "Are you up? What's the matter?"

Miss Timpson, who had started violently when Mrs. Barnes entered, turned toward the latter a face as white, so Thankful described it afterward, "as unbleached muslin." This was not a bad simile, for Miss Timpson's complexion was, owing to her excessive tea-drinking, a decided yellow.

Just now it was a very pale yellow.

"Who is it?" she gasped. "Oh, it's you, Mrs. Barnes. It IS you, isn't it?"

"Me? Of course it's me. Have I changed so much in the night that you don't know me? What is it, Miss Timpson? Are you sick? Can I get you anything?"

"No, no. I ain't sick--in body, anyway. And n.o.body can get me anything this side of the grave. Mrs. Barnes, I'm going."

"You're GOIN'? What? You don't mean you're dyin'?"