AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE (one of L. Frank Baum's pen names)
1908
Continued....
CHAPTER III.
MILLVILLE HEARS EXCITING NEWS.
Millville is rather difficult to locate on the map,
for the railroads
found it impossible to run a line there, _Chazy_
Junction, the nearest
station, is several miles away, and the wagon road
ascends the foothills
every step of the distance. Finally you pass between
Mount Parnassus
(whoever named it that?) and Little Bill Hill and
find yourself on an
almost level plateau some four miles in diameter,
with a placid lake in
the center and a fringe of tall pines around the
edge. At the South,
where tower the northern sentries of the
Adirondacks, a stream called
Little Bill Creek comes splashing and dashing over
the rocks to force
its way noisily into the lake. When it emerges again
it is humble and
sedate, and flows smoothly to Hooker's Falls, from
whence it soon joins
a tributary that leads it to far away Champlain.
Millville is built where the Little Bill rushes into
the lake. The old
mill, with its race and sluice-gates, still grinds
wearily the scanty
dole of grain fed into its hoppers and Silas
Caldwell takes his toll and
earns his modest living just as his father did
before him and "Little
Bill" Thompson did before him.
Above the mill a rickety wooden bridge spans the
stream, for here the
highway from Chary Junction reaches the village of
Millville and passes
the wooden structures grouped on either side its
main street on the way
to Thompson's Crossing, nine miles farther along.
The town boasts
exactly eleven buildings, not counting the mill,
which, being on the
other side of the Little Bill, can hardly be called
a part of Millville
proper. Cotting's Store contains the postoffice and
telephone booth, and
is naturally the central point of interest. Seth
Davis' blacksmith shop
comes next; Widow Clark's Emporium for the sale of
candy, stationery and
cigars adjoins that; McNutt's office and dwelling
combined is next, and
then Thorne's Livery and Feed Stables. You must
understand they are not
set close together, but each has a little ground of
its own. On the
other side of the street is the hardware store, with
farm machinery
occupying the broad platform before it, and then the
Millville House, a
two-storied "hotel" with a shed-like wing for the
billiard-room and card
tables. Nib Corkins' drug store, jewelry store and
music store combined
(with sewing machines for a "side line"), is the
last of the "business
establishments," and the other three buildings are
dwellings occupied by
Sam Cotting, Seth Davis and Nick Thorne.
Dick Pearson's farm house is scarcely a quarter of a
mile up the
highway, but it isn't in Millville, for all that.
There's a cross lane
just beyond Pearson's, leading east and west, and a
mile to westward is
the Wegg Farm, in the wildest part of the foothills.
It is a poor farming country around Millville.
Strangers often wonder
how the little shops of the town earn a living for
their proprietors;
but it doesn't require a great deal to enable these
simple folk to live.
The tourist seldom penetrates these inaccessible
foothills; the roads
are too rough and primitive for automobiles; so
Millville is shamefully
neglected, and civilization halted there some half a
century ago.
However, there was a genuine sensation in store for
this isolated
hamlet, and it was the more welcome because anything
in the way of a
sensation had for many years avoided the
neighborhood.
Marshall McMahon McNutt, or, as he was more
familiarly called by those
few who respected him most highly, "Marsh" McNutt
(and sundry other
appellations by those who respected him not at all),
became the
recipient of a letter from New York announcing the
intention of a
certain John Merrick, the new owner of the Wegg
Farm, to spend the
summer on the place. McNutt was an undersized man of
about forty, with a
beardless face, scraggly buff-colored hair, and eyes
that were big,
light blue and remarkably protruding. The stare of
those eyes was
impenetrable, because observers found it
embarrassing to look at them.
"Mac's" friends had a trick of looking away when
they spoke to him, but
children gazed fascinated at the expressionless blue
eyeballs and
regarded their owner with awe.
The "real estate agent" was considered an
enterprising man by his
neighbors and a "poor stick" by his wife. He had
gone to school at
Thompson's Crossing in his younger days; had a call
to preach, but
failed because he "couldn't get religion"; inherited
a farm from his
uncle and married Sam Cotting's sister, whose tongue
and temper were so
sharp that everyone marveled at the man's temerity
in acquiring them.
Finally he had lost one foot in a mowing machine,
and the accident
destroyed his further usefulness to the extent of
inducing him to
abandon the farm and move into town. Here he
endeavored to find
something to do to eke out his meagre income; so he
raised "thoroughbred
Plymouth Rocks," selling eggs for hatching to the
farmers; doctored sick
horses and pastured them in the lot back of his
barn, the rear end of
which was devoted to "watermelons in season"; sold
subscription books to
farmers who came to the mill or the village store;
was elected "road
commissioner" and bossed the neighbors when they had
to work out their
poll-tax, and turned his hand to any other affairs
that offered a
penny's recompense. The "real estate business" was
what Seth Davis
labeled "a blobbering bluff," for no property had
changed hands in the
neighborhood in a score of years, except the lot
back of the mill, which
was traded for a yoke of oxen, and the Wegg farm,
which had been sold
without the agent's knowledge or consent.
The only surprising thing about the sale of the Wegg
farm was that
anyone would buy it. Captain Wegg had died three
years before, and his
son Joe wandered south to Albany, worked his way
through a technical
school and then disappeared in the mazes of New
York. So the homestead
seemed abandoned altogether, except for the Huckses.
When Captain Wegg died Old Hucks, his hired man, and
Hucks' blind wife
Nora were the only dependents on the place, and the
ancient couple had
naturally remained there when Joe scorned his
inheritance and ran away.
After the sale they had no authority to remain but
were under no
compulsion to move out, so they clung to their old
quarters.
When McNutt was handed his letter by the postmaster
and storekeeper he
stared at its contents in a bewildered way that
roused the loungers to
amused laughter.
"What's up, Peggy?" called Nick Thorne from his seat
on the counter.
"Somebody gone off'n me hooks an' left ye a fortun'?"
"Peggy" was one of McNutt's most popular nicknames,
acquired because he
wore a short length of pine where his absent foot
should have been.
"Not quite," was the agent's slow reply; "but here's
the blamedest
funniest communicate a man ever got! It's from some
critter that knows
the man what bought the Wegg farm."
"Let's hear it," remarked Cotting, the store-keeper,
a fat individual
with a bald head, who was counting matches from a
shelf into the public
match-box. He allowed "the boys" just twenty free
matches a day.
So the agent read the letter in an uncertain halting
voice, and when he
had finished it the little group stared at one
another for a time in
thoughtful silence.
"Wall, I'll be plunked," finally exclaimed the
blacksmith. "Looks like
the feller's rich, don't it?"
"Ef he's rich, what the tarnation blazes is he comin'
here for?"
demanded Nib Corkins, the dandy of the town. "I was
over t' Huntingdon
las' year, 'n' seen how the rich folks live. Boys,
this h'ain't no place
for a man with money."
"That depends," responded Cotting, gravely. "I'm
sure we'd all be better
off if we had a few real bloods here to squander
their substance."
"Well, here's a perposal to squander, all right,"
said McNutt. "But the
question is, Does he know what he's runnin' up agin',
and what it'll
cost to do all the idiotic things as he says?"
"Prob'ly not," answered the storekeeper.
"It's the best built farm house 'round thest parts,"
announced the
miller, who had been silent until now. "Old Wegg
were a sea-cap'n once,
an' rich. He dumped a lot o' money inter that place,
an' never got it
out agin', nuther."
"'Course not. Sixty acres o' cobble-stone don't pay
much divvydends,
that I ever hearn tell on," replied Seth.
"There's some good fruit, though," continued
Caldwell, "an' the berries
allus paid the taxes an' left a little besides. Ol'
Hucks gits along
all right."
"Jest lives, 'n' that's all."
"Well, thet's enough," said the miller. "It's about
all any of us do,
ain't it?"
"Do ye take it this 'ere Merrick's goin' to farm, er
what?" asked Nib,
speculatively.
"I take it he's plumb crazy," retorted the agent,
rubbing the fringe of
hair behind his ears. "One thing's certain boys, I
don't do nuthin'
foolish till I see the color of his money."
"Make him send you ten dollars in advance,"
suggested Seth.
"Make him send fifty," amended the store-keeper.
"You can't buy a cow,
an' pigs, an' chickens, an' make repairs on much
less."
"By jinks, I will!" cried McNutt, slapping his leg
for emphasis. "I'll
strike him fer a cool fifty, an' if the feller don't
pay he kin go to
blazes. Them's my sentiments, boys, an' I'll stand
by 'em!"
The others regarded him admiringly, so the energetic
little man stumped
away to indite his characteristic letter to Major
Doyle.
If the first communication had startled the little
village, the second
fairly plunged it into a panic of excitement.
Peggy's hand trembled as
he held out the five hundred dollar draft and glared
from it to his
cronies with a white face.
"Suff'rin' Jehu!" gasped Nick Thorne. "Is it good?"
The paper was passed reverently around, and examined
with a succession
of dubious head-shakes.
"Send for Bob West," suggested Cotting. "He's seen
more o' that sort o'
money than any of us."
The widow Clarke's boy, who was present, ran
breathlessly to fetch the
hardware dealer, who answered the summons when he
learned that Peggy
McNutt had received a "check" for five hundred
dollars.
West was a tall, lean man with shrewd eyes covered
by horn spectacles
and a stubby gray mustache. He was the potentate of
the town and reputed
to be worth, at a conservative estimate, in the
neighborhood of ten
thousand dollars--"er more, fer that matter; fer Bob
ain't tellin' his
business to nobody." Hardware and implements were
acknowledged to be
paying merchandise, and West lent money on farm
mortgages, besides. He
was a quiet man, had a good library in his
comfortable rooms over the
store, and took the only New York paper that found
its way into
Millville. After a glance at the remittance he said:
"It's a draft on Isham, Marvin & Company, the New
York bankers. Good as
gold, McNutt. Where did you get it?"
"A lunitic named John Merrick, him that's bought the
Cap'n Wegg farm,
sent it on. Here's his letter, Bob."
The hardware dealer read it carefully and gave a low
whistle.
"There may be more than one John Merrick," he said,
thoughtfully. "But
I've heard of one who is many times a millionaire
and a power in the
financial world. What will you do for him, McNutt,
to expend this money
properly?"
"Bless't if I know!" answered the man, his eyes
bulging with a helpless
look. "What 'n thunder _kin_ I do, Bob?"
West smiled.
"I don't wish to interfere in business matters,"
said he, "but it is
plainly evident that the new owner wishes the farm
house put into such
shape that it will be comfortable for a man
accustomed to modern
luxuries. You don't know much about such things,
Mac, and Mr. Merrick
has made a blunder in employing your services in
such a delicate matter.
But do the best you can. Ride across to the Wegg
place and look it over.
Then get Taft, the carpenter, to fix up whatever is
necessary. I'll sell
you the lumber and nails, and you've got more money
than you can
probably use. Telegraph Mr. Merrick frankly how you
find things; but
remember the report must not be based upon your own
mode of life but
upon that of a man of wealth and refinement.
Especially he must be
posted about the condition of the furniture, which I
can guess is
ill-suited to his needs."
"How 'bout Hucks?" asked the agent.
They all hung eagerly on West's reply, for Old Hucks
was a general
favorite. The fact that the old retainer of the
Weggs had a blind wife
to whom he was tenderly devoted made the proposition
of his leaving the
farm one of intense interest. Old Hucks and his
patient wife had not
been so much "hired help" as a part of the Wegg
establishment, and it
was doubtful if they had ever received any wages. It
was certain that
Hucks had not a dollar in the world at the present
time, and if turned
out of their old home the ancient couple must either
starve or go to the
poorhouse.
"Say nothing further about Old Hucks or his wife to
Mr. Merrick,"
advised West, gravely. "When the owner comes he will
need servants, and
Hucks is a very capable old fellow. Let that problem
rest until the time
comes for solution. If the old folks are to be
turned out, make John
Merrick do it; it will put the responsibility on his
shoulders."
"By dum, yer right, Bob!" exclaimed McNutt. slapping
the counter with
his usual impulsiveness. "I'll do the best I kin for
the rich man, an'
let the poor man alone."
After an examination of the farm house and other
buildings (which seemed
in his eyes almost palatial), and a conference with
Alonzo Taft, the
carpenter, the agent began to feel that his task was
going to prove an
easy one. He purchased a fine Jersey cow of Will
Johnson, sold his own
flock of Plymouth Rocks at a high price to Mr.
Merrick, and hired Ned
Long to work around the yard and help Hucks mow the
grass and "clean up"
generally.
But now his real trouble and bewilderment began. A
carload of new
furniture and "fixin's" was sidetracked at the
junction, and McNutt was
ordered to get it unloaded and carted to the farm
without delay. There
were four hay-rack loads of the "truck," altogether,
and when it was all
dumped into the big empty barn at the Wegg farm the
poor agent had no
idea what to do with it.
"See here," said Nick Thorne, who had done the
hauling, "you've got to
let a woman inter this deal, Peggy."
"That's what my wife says, gum-twist her."
"Keep yer ol' woman out'n it. She'd spile a rotten
apple."
"Who then, Nick?"
"Why, school-teacher's the right one, I guess.
They've got a vacation
now, an' likely she'll come over here an' put things
to rights. Peggy,
that air new furniture's the rambunctionest stuff
thet ever come inter
these parts, an' it'll make the ol' house bloom like
a rose in Spring.
But folks like us hain't got no call to tech it. You
fetch
school-teacher."
Peggy sighed. He was keeping track of his time and
charging John Merrick
at the rate of two dollars a day, being firmly
resolved to "make hay
while the sun was shining" and absorb as much of the
money placed in his
hands as possible. To let "school-teacher" into this
deal and be obliged
to pay her wages was an undesirable thing to do; yet
he reflected that
it might be wise to adopt Nick Thorne's suggestion.
So next morning he drove the liveryman's sorrel mare
out to Thompson's
Crossing, where the brick school-house stood on one
corner and Will
Thompson's residence on another. A mile away could
be seen the spires of
the little church at Hooker's Falls.
McNutt hitched his horse to Thompson's post, walked
up the neat pebbled
path and knocked at the door.
"Ethel in?" he asked of the sad-faced woman who,
after some delay,
answered his summons.
"She's in the garden, weedin'."
"I'll go 'round," said the agent.
The garden was a bower of roses. Among them stood a
slender girl in a
checked gingham, tying vines to a trellis.
"Morn'n', Ethel," said the visitor.
The girl smiled at him. She was not very pretty,
because her face was
long and wan, and her nose a bit one-sided. But her
golden hair sparkled
in the sun like a mass of spun gold, and the smile
was winning in its
unconscious sweetness. Surely, such attractions were
enough for a mere
country girl.
Ethel Thompson had, however, another claim to
distinction. She had been
"eddicated," as her neighbors acknowledged in awed
tones, and "took a
diploma from a college school at Troy." Young as she
was, Ethel had
taught school for two years, and might have a life
tenure if she cared
to retain the position. As he looked at her neat
gown and noted the
grace and ease of her movements the agent
acknowledged that he had
really "come to the right shop" to untangle his
perplexing difficulties.
"New folks is comin' to the Cap'n Wegg farm," he
announced, as a
beginning.
She turned and looked at him queerly.
"Has Joe sold the place?" she asked.
"Near a year ago. Some fool rich man has bought it
and is comin' down
here to spend his summer vacation, he says. Here,
read his letters.
They'll explain it better 'n I can."
Her hand trembled a little as she took the letters
McNutt pulled from
his pocket. Then she sat upon a bench and read them
all through. By that
time she had regained her composure.
"The gentleman is somewhat eccentric," she remarked;
"but he will make
no mistake in coming to this delightful place, if he
wishes quiet
and rest."
"Don't know what he's after, I'm sure," replied the
man. "But he's sent
down enough furniture an' truck to stock a hotel,
an' I want to know ef
you'll go over an' put it in the rooms, an'
straighten things out."
"Me!"
"Why, yes. You've lived in cities some, an' know how
citified things go.
Con-twist it, Ethel, there's things in the bunch
that neither I ner Nick
Thorne ever hearn tell of, much less knowin' what
they're used for."
The girl laughed.
"When are the folks coming?" she asked.
"When I git things in shape. They've sent some money
down to pay fer
what's done, so you won't have to work fer nuthin'."
"I will, though," responded the girl, in a cheery
tone. "It will delight
me to handle pretty things. Are Nora and Tom still
there?"
"Oh, yes. I had orders to turn the Huckses out, ye
see; but I didn't do
it."
"I'm glad of that," she returned, brightly "Perhaps
we may arrange it so
they can stay. Old Nora's a dear."
"But she's blind."
"She knows every inch of the Wegg house, and does
her work more
thoroughly than many who can see. When do you want
me, Peggy?"
"Soon's you kin come."
"Then I'll be over tomorrow morning."
At that moment a wild roar, like that of a beast,
came from the house.
The sad faced woman ran down a passage; a door
slammed, and then all was
quiet again.
McNutt hitched uneasily from the wooden foot to the
good one.
"How's ol' Will?" he enquired, in a low voice.
"Grandfather's about as usual," replied the girl,
with trained
composure.
"Still crazy as a bedbug?"
"At times he becomes a bit violent; but those
attacks never last long."
"Don't s'pose I could see him?" ventured the agent,
still in hesitating
tones.
"Oh, no; he has seen no visitor since Captain Wegg
died."
"Well, good-bye, Ethel. See you at the farm in the
mornin'."
The girl sat for a long time after McNutt had driven
away, seemingly
lost in revery.
"Poor Joe!" she sighed, at last. "Poor, foolish Joe.
I wonder what has
become of him?"
AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE
Continued....
 
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