The Brass Bound Box Part 15

"I--I da.s.sent!" quavered Alfaretta, retreating toward the kitchen.

"You--dare--not? How ridiculous. Then I will go myself! though when one has a maid one expects her to attend the door. That's a point upon which I am very particular. Remember that, in future."

"Yes'm," murmured the girl, absently. There were so many "points" upon which the old gentlewoman insisted that some of them fell on unheeding ears. At present, she was conscious only of two things: she must either remain alone behind in a dark room or she must go with her mistress and face whatever lay beyond that great front door. Deciding the latter course to be preferable, she timidly followed the vanishing candle down the long hall to where a barricade of bars and chains and bolts made admission from without a matter of some moments.

"Hold the candle, Alfaretta, while I unfasten the door," commanded the Madam, and the girl had to obey. But her hand shook so that she scattered "droppings," which even at that moment did not escape the mistress's critical eye and which would have to be cleaned up as soon as morning came.

At last the door was opened, and to Madam Sturtevant n.o.body was visible save Susanna Sprigg, wearing her Sunday bonnet and her most polite manner, while her spectacles gleamed like b.a.l.l.s of fire as the candle-light fell upon them. But what Alfaretta saw was another face, so wild and fierce and terrible to look upon that her heart almost ceased beating. A white and haggard face, that seemed imprinted upon the darkness as if it belonged to no body nor substance but was a ghostly apparition of the night. All the eerie stories the poor child had heard during her life at the "County Farm," from the lips of the garrulous pensioners who had nothing better to do than invent them, came back to her now; and as the face appeared to be coming nearer, growing more and more distinct, she uttered a piercing shriek and slammed the door with such violence that the candle went out and the darkness she dreaded enveloped them all.

CHAPTER XII.

A STURTEVANT--PERFORCE

"Alfaretta!" cried Madam Sturtevant, "what does this mean?" Something of the girl's panic had seized her, also, though she tried to hide her own agitation by sternness.

"My suz, Alfy Brown! What ails ye? You nigh knocked me down, slammin'

the door right in my face, that way!" exclaimed Susanna, who had, fortunately, stepped within before this strange thing had happened. She was herself in an excited mood, having pa.s.sed through what she had during the past day, and having had her mind further disturbed by the tales she had gathered during her progress. Now here at the Mansion, where was always dignified composure and serene hospitality, to find such tardy admission and such hysterical welcome--it was too much! Her reflections were swift and angry, and while all still stood in the dark, as yet too surprised to move, she demanded, crisply: "I want Katharine."

"Come this way, Mrs. Sprigg. Let me take your hand and lead you. I'll soon get a light, and please excuse Alfaretta. I don't understand what has happened to her. Don't cling to me like that, child. You hinder me."

"Oh, didn't you see--It?" whispered the unhappy little maid, paying no heed to her mistress's words, but clinging all the closer to her in a fresh access of terror as she heard, or fancied that she did, footsteps on the piazza without.

Susanna's anger cooled in a new curiosity, and she said:

"You needn't bother to lead me, Madam Sturtevant, I know the ins an'

outs of this old house pretty well, even if I don't come to it often.

You go right on ahead an' strike a match; an' Alfy Brown, let go her skirt. Your manners this night ain't none your mistress's teachin', I know that. They must be some left over from the 'Farm.'"

Now Susanna must have been sorely tried to have reminded the girl of her unfortunate start in life, and Madam hastened to cover the remark by saying: "There, that's better!" and rising from the open fireplace where she had relighted the candle from the carefully covered embers. It had been so mild until now that only a fragment of fire had been kept upon the hearth, where, however, it was never permitted to wholly die "from equinox to equinox." Fortunately for the comfort of the household, there was woodland sufficient still belonging to the estate to supply all necessary fuel, and in cold weather this impoverished gentlewoman enjoyed her blazing wood fires--a luxury which even wealthy people cannot always command. Miss Maitland made it Moses' business to see that the Mansion wood-piles were high and broad, long before the autumn came, and the hardship of splitting smaller sticks for kitchen and kindling fell upon the reluctant Montgomery.

Susanna watched the candle-lighting with real admiration. Neat as she was herself, she had never yet attained to that exquisite daintiness with which Madam Sturtevant did all things; and she now exclaimed, with keen appreciation:

"My suz! You do beat all! Why, most anybody tryin' to light a taller candle by wood coals would ha' melted the candle--but you hain't dripped a drip. Where's the children? I've come for Katy. She's a terr'ble hand for runnin' away, or, ruther, for not bein' where she should be when wanted. The wind has riz awful. It don't rain none yet, but's goin' to right off. I didn't think to fetch an umberell an' couldn't have used it if I had. Not again' this blow. Alfy, you call Katharine, and we'll start back prompt. No, thank ye, Madam, I won't stop to set down, not this time. Eunice, she's alone with Moses so helpless, an' I don't believe half the shutters is tight nor nothin'. Seems if a body had more on their hands than they could 'tend to times like these. Why don't you move, Alfy? An' not stand stock starin' still, like an idjut?

If the wind sounds that way indoors, what you s'pose it is outside? An'

that child hain't got a thing on but that white ducky dress and maybe a hat. She wasn't fixed proper for livin' in the country, though she does become her clothes real likely. She's clear Maitland, Katy is, an' as like Johnny was as two peas in a pod. I can't help lovin' her, try as I will," concluded the widow, so exhausted by her own volubility that she unconsciously sat down to rest herself, even though she had earlier declined her hostess's offer of the spring-rocker by the sewing-table.

"A chair 'at looks comf'table enough to take a nap in its own self," as she had once observed concerning it.

Thus enabled to edge in a remark of her own, Madam replied, with some anxiety in her tones:

"The little Katharine has not been here. Not that I know. Has she, Alfaretta?"

"I--I hain't seen her," faltered the maid, shivering as a fresh gust of wind rattled the cas.e.m.e.nt and a flash of lightning made everything visible without. But she had closed her eyes against whatever might be revealed and still delayed her mistress's direction:

"Go and look for Montgomery and see if he knows anything about Katharine;" then, turning to Susanna, she added: "I am so glad that they are going to be such friends. It's a good thing for a growing boy to be a.s.sociated with a young lady of his own--his own position in life."

Susanna sniffed. She was democratic by profession and did not feel called upon to explain that as a matter of fact there was n.o.body living so appreciative as herself of "good family"--as represented in Marsden by the Sturtevants and Maitlands. She merely ignored the remark, starting from her seat as a terrible blast set the old Mansion trembling on its stout beams and an east side shutter blew from its hinges.

"My suz! We've never had such a storm sence I can remember, an' Katy in nothin' but ducks! Eunice has wrote right away, soon's she made up her mind to keep her, to that stepmother o' hers to take an' buy the child some good strong shoes an' dark warm dresses, fit for a girl to wear in a country village. She's goin' to begin school, soon's town meetin's over an' Moses'll have time to drive her there. Oh, I forget he's broke.

Well, she'll go sometime, if the proper clothes come an' things turn out accordin'. But come she must now, an' to oncet, if she's anywhere's hereabout, 'cause I da.s.sent stay a minute more. I shall be blowed off my feet, I 'low, an' I wish, I do wish, I hadn't wore my best bunnit."

"Take it off and leave it here, Susanna. I will lend you a scarf to tie over your hair, and Montgomery shall carry it home to you in the morning. I will go myself and see if the children are on the place.

Though I doubt it, if Alfaretta hasn't seen them, or if they haven't come in here to be with us during the storm. Maybe it will soon pa.s.s.

Wouldn't you better wait and see?"

"Not a minute longer 'an to look," answered the widow, really more alarmed for the comfort of her home folks than for herself. Laying her bonnet carefully upon the side table, she followed Madam into the kitchen, yet would not permit that lady to explore the barn as she set out to do.

"Come along with me, Alfy, but get a lantern. I hear the barn door swingin' an' old Whitey mooin' as if even she was scared. You or Monty must ha' been careless about shuttin' up to-night, which uther one of you done it, or didn't do it."

A lantern was procured and lighted, but there Alfaretta's a.s.sistance ended. Nothing would have induced her to visit that barn again that night, no matter how well protected by such a valiant woman as the Widow Sprigg. As the latter disappeared toward the outbuildings, carefully shielding the lantern with her shawl, Alfaretta's conscience drove her to say:

"It ain't no use. She won't find him. He--he ain't there."

"Isn't there? Then why, child, did you do such a rude thing as to let her go on a useless errand? I really don't understand what has come over you to-night. You are trying my patience severely."

"Yes'm," admitted the bond-maid, meekly.

Madam laid her hand upon the girl's shoulder and turned her face toward the light of the candle which she was herself holding behind the uncurtained kitchen window, the better to guide Susanna on her way.

"Tell me, child, what has frightened you so? Do you know where my dear grandson is? It terrifies me to think he may be somewhere out-of-doors, unprotected in this tempest. Did he go fishing? Nutting? To play ball?

Do you know where he is?"

"Yes'm," again answered the little maid, but to which of these several inquiries was not disclosed. At that moment a blinding flash of lightning illumined the whole s.p.a.ce between house and barn, showing Susanna wildly flinging her arms aloft, her lantern flying in one direction, herself in another, while distinctly silhouetted against the glare was another figure, so strange and uncouth that even Madam retreated a pace in sudden alarm.

They could hear Susanna still screaming as she fled, but a second flash showed the man who had alarmed her standing motionless on the spot where they had discovered him.

Whoever or whatever he might be, it wasn't a pleasant situation for these two, so isolated from their neighbors, and without even Montgomery's presence. Mere lad as he was, he was still something masculine, and at least his grandmother believed him to be a very hero for courage. But he was not there to "protect" them from the possible annoyance of this unknown creature, and now, gently leading the frightened maid, Madam went back to her untasted supper and sat down in her place. She also motioned the girl to take a chair close beside her own, and when she had done this, again asked:

"What frightened you so, just as Widow Sprigg arrived? Did you see this man--outside--then?"

"I--I didn't see a man. I saw a face! I'd finished milkin' Whitey and a'ready 'twas gettin' dark awful fast an' early. I felt the wind blowin'

and I knew the back shutters was loose. So I scuttled 'crost to pull 'em to, lest they got blowed clean away, an' there--there--right in the square of window by the old box-stalls was--was--the face! I got one look, 'cause first off I couldn't somehow move hand or foot, an' I saw how white it was, how its eyes blazed, how wild and stand-uppish its hair was, an' it smiled--Oh, what a dreadful smile! An' then I knew 'twas a ghost! It's just the night for 'em, such as I used to hear the old folks talk about out to the 'Farm,' An' which of us do you suppose, oh, which has got to die? 'Cause it's a 'call,' a 'warnin',' to somebody."

The little maid's terror was so real and her mental suffering so intense that the Madam pitied her profoundly, though she smiled as she answered:

"I wish it may prove nothing more troublesome than a 'ghost,' a creature of one's imagination. Ah, my child! When you reach my age you will know that the only 'ghosts' who can really trouble us are our unhappy memories. I suspect that it is one of those 'tramps,' for which Susanna is always looking, but who have thus far avoided peaceful Marsden.

Unlucky woman! whose first meeting with her expected 'tramp' should be on such a night and alone. Wind or no wind, she'll make a short journey of the long road home."

Already, safe once more in the sheltered dining-room which was on the side of the house least exposed to the storm and that did not face the outbuildings, the housemistress's confidence returned. If only Montgomery were with her, so, that she knew him also safe, she would have been content. As it was, even, she began to think kindly and pityingly of whatever poor wretch had sought shelter at her door. If he didn't smoke, and so endanger the buildings, she wished he would seek cover with old Whitey till the storm was past.

Meanwhile, one crouching in the hay-strewn bay, hugging a squirming dog for company, and one lying upon a narrow stretcher beneath the eaves,--the missing Katharine and Montgomery listened to the roar of the tempest and believed that the very day of doom had arrived. Neither had ever heard anything like that wind. Indeed, none in Marsden ever had, and the morning was to reveal many ruined buildings and uprooted trees.

But thus far the darkness hid all this, and Widow Sprigg raced homeward unharmed save by the rain, which now began to fall in torrents.

Miss Maitland was watching her arrival in great anxiety. She had early secured every door and shutter, save at this one window which commanded the path from the gate. Here she had placed a brightly burning lamp to act as beacon to the wanderers, and she had also set the fire to blazing brightly. Before the fire hung warm clothing for the pair, and, having done all that she could think of for their comfort, she had pa.s.sed to and fro between the sitting-room and Moses' chamber. He was almost as uneasy as the storm itself; alternately berating himself for a "fool,"

and speculating upon the deacon's management of affairs at the barn.