AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE (one of L. Frank Baum's pen names)
1908
Continued....
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LITTLE SCHOOL-MA'AM.
Dan balked only twice on the journey, but even this
moderate rebellion
so annoyed Uncle John that he declared he would walk
back rather than
ride behind this "mulish antiquity" again.
When they came to the Thompson dwelling it at first
sight seemed
deserted. A knock on the front door failed to
produce any response.
"Perhaps they're away from home," suggested Louise.
"There's a path around to the back," said Uncle
John. "Let's explore in
that direction."
They made their way leisurely toward the rear and
had almost passed the
house, when a deep roar broke the stillness. It was
succeeded by
another, and another, like the bellowing of a mad
bull, and the
intruders stopped short and Louise clung to her
uncle in sudden panic.
"Be still, Will! Stop, I say--stop!"
A sharp crack, as of a lash, accompanied the words,
and a moan or two
was followed by absolute silence.
Uncle John and Louise looked at one another with
startled eyes.
"He must be worse," said the old gentleman, mopping
his forehead with a
handkerchief.
With one accord they started softly to retrace their
steps when a new
sound halted them again. It was a clear, fresh young
voice singing a
plaintive ditty in a nonchalant, careless tone.
"That's Ethel, I'm sure," exclaimed Louise, grasping
her uncle's arm.
"Well, what shall we do?" he demanded.
"Mr.--the crazy man seems quiet now," she whispered.
"Let us find the
girl, if we can."
So again they traversed the path and this time came
to the pretty garden
behind the house. Ethel was tending a flower bed.
She wore her gingham
dress and a sunbonnet, and, kneeling in the path,
stretched out her slim
brown arm to uproot the weeds. But the crunching of
the gravel aroused
her attention, and, observing her visitors, she
sprang up and hastened
toward them.
Louise introduced her uncle and herself in her most
pleasant and
gracious way, and the school teacher led them to a
garden bench and
begged them to be seated.
"The day is lovely," she said, "and I always find my
garden more
cheerful than the house. Grandfather's illness makes
the house
unpleasant for strangers, too."
Louise was surprised at this frank reference, and
Uncle John coughed to
hide his embarrassment.
"I--I hope the invalid is--is improving," he said,
doubtful whether he
should say anything on the delicate subject or not.
"He is always the same, sir," was the quiet
response. "I suppose they
have told you that grandfather is a madman? Our
great trouble is well
known in this neighborhood."
"He is not dangerous. I suppose?" hazarded Uncle
John, remembering the
brutal bellowing.
"Oh, not at all. He is fully paralyzed from his
waist down, poor
grandfather, and can do no harm to anyone. But often
his outbreaks are
unpleasant to listen to," continued the girl,
deprecatingly, as if
suddenly conscious that they had overheard the
recent uproar.
"Has he been--this way--for long?" inquired Louise.
"His mind has been erratic and unbalanced since I
can remember,"
answered Ethel, calmly, "but he first became violent
at the time Captain
Wegg died, some three years ago. Grandfather was
very fond of the
Captain, and happened to be with him at the time of
his sudden death.
The shock drove him mad."
"Was he paralyzed before that time?" asked Louise,
earnestly.
"No; but the paralysis followed almost immediately.
The doctor says that
a blood vessel which burst in the brain is
responsible for both
afflictions."
The pause that followed was growing awkward when
Uncle John said, with
an evident effort to change the subject:
"This is a fine old homestead."
"It is, indeed," responded Ethel, brightly, "and it
enjoys the
distinction of being one of the first houses built
in the foothills. My
great-grandfather was really the first settler in
these parts and
originally located his cabin where the mill now
stands. 'Little Bill
Thompson,' he was called, for he was a small, wiry
man--very different
from grandfather, who in his prime was a powerful
man of over six feet.
Little Bill Hill and Little Bill Creek were named
after this pioneer
great-grandsire, who was quite successful raising
flocks of sheep on the
plateau. Before he died he built this house,
preferring the location to
his first one."
"The garden is beautiful," said Louise,
enthusiastically. "And do you
teach in the little brick school-house across the
way?"
"Yes. Grandfather built it years ago, without
dreaming I would ever
teach there. Now the county supports the school and
pays me my salary."
"How long have you taught?"
"For two years. It is necessary, now that
grandfather is disabled. He
has a small income remaining, however, and with what
I earn we get along
very nicely."
"It was very good of you to assist in getting our
house ready for us,"
said Louise. "We might have found things in sorry
condition but for your
kindness."
"Oh, I enjoyed the work, I assure you," replied
Ethel. "As it is my
vacation, it was a real pleasure to me to have
something to do. But I
fear my arrangement of your pretty furniture was
very ungraceful."
"We haven't altered a single thing," declared
Louise. "You must have
found it a tedious task, unpacking and getting
everything in shape."
"Tom and Nora were good help, because they are fond
of me and seem to
understand my wishes; and Peggy McNutt brought me
some men to do the
lifting and rough work," explained Ethel.
"Have you known Hucks and his wife long?" asked
Uncle John.
"Since I can remember, sir. They came here many
years ago, with Captain
Wegg."
"And has Thomas always smiled?" Louise inquired.
"Always," was the laughing reply. "It's an odd
expression--isn't it?--to
dwell forever on a man's face. But Tom is never
angry, or hurt or
excited by anything, so there is no reason he should
not smile. At the
time of Captain Wegg's death and poor grandfather's
terrible affliction,
Old Hucks kept right on smiling, the same as ever;
and perhaps his
pleasant face helped to cheer us all."
Louise drew a long breath.
"Then the smile is a mask," she said, "and is
assumed to conceal the
man's real feelings."
"I do not think so," Ethel answered, thoughtfully.
"The smile is
habitual, and dominates any other expression his
features might be
capable of; but that it is assumed I do not believe.
Thomas is a
simple-minded, honest-hearted old fellow, and to
face the world
smilingly is a part of his religion. I am sure he
has nothing to
conceal, and his devotion to his blind wife is very
beautiful."
"But Nora--how long has she been blind?"
"Perhaps all her life; I cannot tell how long. Yet
it is wonderful how
perfectly she finds her way without the aid of
sight. Captain Wegg used
to say she was the best housekeeper he ever knew."
"Did not his wife keep house for him, when she was
alive?"
"I do not remember her."
"They say she was most unhappy."
Ethel dropped her eyes and did not reply.
"How about Cap'n Wegg?" asked Uncle John. "Did you
like him? You see,
we're mighty curious about the family, because we've
acquired their old
home, and are bound to be interested in the people
that used to
live there."
"That is natural," remarked the little school
teacher, with a sigh.
"Captain Wegg was always kind to me; but the
neighbors as a rule thought
him moody and bad-tempered." After a pause she
added: "He was not as
kind to his son as to me. But I think his life was
an unhappy one, and
we have no right to reprove his memory too severely
for his faults."
"What made him unhappy?" asked Louise, quickly.
Ethel smiled into her eager face.
"No one has solved that problem, they say. The
Captain was as silent as
he was morose."
The detective instinct was alive in Louise. She
hazarded a startling
query:
"Who killed Captain Wegg?" she demanded, suddenly.
Another smile preceded the reply.
"A dreadful foe called heart disease. But come; let
me show you my
garden. There are no such roses as these for miles
around."
Louise was confident she had made progress. Ethel
had admitted several
things that lent countenance to the suspicions
already aroused; but
perhaps this simple country girl had never imagined
the tragedy that had
been enacted at her very door.
She cordially urged Ethel Thompson to spend a day
with them at the farm,
and Uncle John, who was pleased with the modesty and
frankness of the
fair-haired little school teacher, earnestly
seconded the invitation.
Then he thought of going home, and the thought
reminded him of Dan.
"Do you know," he inquired, "where I could buy a
decent horse?"
The girl looked thoughtful a moment; then glanced up
with a bright
smile.
"Will you buy one off me?" she asked.
"Willingly, my dear, if you've an animal to sell."
"It's--it's our Joe. He was grandfather's favorite
colt when his trouble
came upon him. We have no use for him now, for I
always ride or drive my
pony. And grandmother says he's eating his head off
to no purpose; so
we'd like to sell him. If you will come to the barn
I'll introduce
you to him."
Joe proved on inspection to be an excellent horse,
if appearances were
to be trusted, and Ethel assured Mr. Merrick that
the steed was both
gentle and intelligent.
"Do you use that surrey?" inquired Uncle John,
pointing to a neat
vehicle that seemed to be nearly new.
"Very seldom, sir. Grandmother would like to sell it
with the horse."
"It's exactly what I need," declared Mr. Merrick.
"How much for Joe and
his harness, and the surrey?"
"I'll go and ask what grandmother wants."
She returned after a few minutes, stating a figure
that made Uncle John
lift his brows with a comical expression.
"A hundred dollars! Do you take me for a brigand,
little girl? I know
what horses are worth, for I've bought plenty of
'em. Your Joe seems
sound as a dollar, and he's just in his prime. A
hundred and fifty is
dirt cheap for him, and the surrey will be worth at
least seventy-five.
Put in the harness at twenty-five, and I'll give you
two-fifty for the
outfit, and not a cent more or less. Eh?"
"No, indeed," said Ethel. "We could not get more
than a hundred dollars
from anyone else around here."
"Because your neighbors are countrymen, and can't
afford a proper
investment. So when they buy at all they only give
about half what a
thing is actually worth. But I'll be honest with
you. The price I offer
is a good deal less than I'd have to pay in the
city--Hutchinson would
charge me five hundred, at least--and I need just
what you've got to
sell. What do you say, Miss Ethel?"
"The price is one hundred dollars, Mr. Merrick."
"I won't pay it. Let me talk with your grandmother."
"She does not see anyone, sir."
Louise looked up sharply, scenting another clue.
"Isn't she well, dear?" she asked in smooth tones.
"She looks after grandfather, and helps Aunt Lucy
with the housework."
"Well, come, Louise; we'll go home," said Uncle
John, sadly. "I'd hoped
to be able to drive this fine fellow back, but
Dan'll have to groan an'
balk all the way to the farm."
Ethel smiled.
"Better buy at my price, Mr. Merrick," she
suggested.
"Tell you what I'll do," he said, pausing. "I'll
split the difference.
Take two hundred and well call it a bargain."
"But I cannot do that, sir."
"It will help pay you for the hard work of fixing up
the house," he
rejoined, pleadingly. "Your bill wasn't half
enough."
"My bill?" wonderingly.
"The one I paid McNutt for your services."
"I made no charge, sir. I could not accept anything
for a bit of
assistance to a neighbor."
"Oh! Then McNutt got it, did he?"
"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Merrick. I told Peggy I
would not accept
payment."
"H-m. Never mind. We're not going to quarrel, little
neighbor. May I
hitch Joe to the surrey?"
"If you like. I'll help you."
Uncle John led Joe from his stall and together they
harnessed the horse
to the surrey. The girl knew better than the man how
to buckle the
straps properly, while Louise stood by helplessly
and watched the
performance.
Then Uncle John went for old Dan, whom he led,
rickety buggy and all,
into the Thompson stable.
"I'll send Hucks over to get him, although we might
as well knock him in
the head," he said as he unharnessed the ancient
steed. "Now then,
Louise, hop in."
"You'll be sure to come over Thursday, for the day,
Miss Thompson?"
asked Louise, taking Joe's reins from her uncle's
hands.
"I'll not forget such a delightful engagement, be
sure."
Uncle John had his pocketbook out, and now he wadded
up some bills and
thrust them into the little school teacher's hand.
"Drive ahead, Louise," he called. "Good morning, my
dear. See you on
Thursday."
As the vehicle rolled out of the yard and turned
into the highway, Ethel
unrolled the bills with trembling fingers.
"If he has dared--!" she began, but paused abruptly
with a smile of
content.
The rich man had given her exactly one hundred
dollars.
AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE
Continued....
 
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