My Fire Opal, and Other Tales. Sarah Warner Brooks

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СКАЧАТЬ sat composedly smoking on his back doorsteps; while his more forceful half flitted about the kitchen, intent on the dishing of the students' dinner. Now and then a tantalizing whiff of the roast issued from the open windows. By this time, I had become disgracefully ravenous; and when, after the MacNebbins's dinner, the cook came out to deposit the leavings in that objectionable swill-barrel, close to our back fence, I blush to record that I looked with longing upon the remnants of this (to me, Barmecide) feast. Halved potatoes, slices of pudding, and savoury bits of meat, lay temptingly on the over-heaped barrel. I sighed. It was like "starving in the midst of abundance."

      For one wild moment, I thought of rushing into the open street, in my morning wrapper, with a shawl over my head, and imploring somebody to break into my house, and feed me.

      But, no! Self-respect forbade a proceeding so insane; and, moreover, should I not thus advertise the fact of my being alone in the house, and at the mercy of the spoiler? Night would soon prevent that attempt which I had half resolved to make upon the back window, and which might, possibly, end in defeat, glass-splinters, and lockjaw. It was now raining. The east wind wailed dolefully around the shed. I must, nevertheless, make shift to lodge there. To that end, I carefully considered the capabilities of the place. On a rude shelf, near the woodpile, I found a gummy kerosene lamp, replete with ill-smelling oil. Beside it was a tin box, containing three matches. In a corner stood a barrel of clean shavings, and, beneath the wash-bench, a basket of soiled clothes.

      I had soon disposed the shavings in the form of a couch. Two sheets, used but a single night in the guest-room, and comparatively unsoiled, served for a light covering. On a high peg hung a rusty overcoat, which, on fishing excursions, had repeatedly served my good Alcibiades. It had come to exhale a perpetual "ancient and fish-like smell," and, in consideration of my outraged nostrils, had been relegated to the shed. Alas! I had not now the "proud stomach" which distinguished "Mr. F's Aunt;" and, clothing myself in this unsavoury garment, I thanked heaven for even so ignoble a protection from the searching east wind, now entering, by every crevice and knot-hole, my indifferently constructed sleeping-room.

      Drearily casting myself upon this rude couch, I endeavoured to compose my limbs for sleep. Unnumbered poets have rapturously celebrated "the rain on the roof." I had myself once offered to a stony-hearted magazine editor some "lines" on this very subject; yet to-day, shivering, starved, and but half housed – heaven knows that the even pelting of this pitiless storm above my forlorn head was nothing, if not prosaic! I remembered, too, that my only door-fastening was a slight hook, easily set at naught.

      What facilities were here offered to a prowling tramp, intent upon a night's shelter! When, for a moment, I could withdraw my poor mind from the terrible pangs of hunger, it was but to fix it upon this fearful possibility. Yes, I was undoubtedly at the mercy of all the tramps in the immediate vicinity of C – ! What would Alcibiades – what would my boys (camping out at Great Brewster, with a circus tent, comforters in abundance, and every appliance known to youthful Bohemia) say, if they could, this night, look in upon their miserable relative? But, no; Alcibiades should never hear how – by rejecting his safe counsel – I had dedicated myself to desolation. The misery of this night must be forever locked in my own breast! Of course, I could not be expected to close my eyes during the entire night; and, when morning came – should my life be spared till then – I should be too much exhausted from starvation to crawl out of the shed, and should, should, shou – here, I fell fast asleep!

      A single hour could scarce have passed, when I was aroused by a slight jar, as of some one leaning heavily against the frame of the shed, directly where I had made my bed. In a moment I was broad awake, and, with my heart in my mouth, intently listening. I now sorely regretted having left my lamp burning; and wished I had, at least, plugged the wide knot-hole looking street-ward. The one small window, opening on our own premises, I had carefully darkened, but had forgotten to screen this irregular look-out. Luckily, it did not command, from the outside, my impromptu bed.

      Directly beneath it, I could now hear footsteps. Evidently, an investigation was being made by some person outside. I managed to get upon my feet, and thus await the dreaded issue.

      There was a clumsy scramble, a thud on the wet ground inside the fence, and then came heavy footsteps, evidently approaching my place of refuge. The door was tried, vigorously shaken, and opened by a crack; and then I knew that some one was manipulating the hook with a stick; was making an entrance, as I myself had done, but a few hours ago! I tottered weakly over to the woodpile. I had need to stay myself well against it, so paralyzed with fear had I become. I felt my limbs giving way; an age of horror seemed to pass in the brief moments that ensued before the hook yielded.

      The door flew open with a bang! and, then, – then the entire shed reeled, darkened, disappeared; and I knew no more!

      Consciousness returning, I found myself reclined upon my shaving couch. A pile of soiled clothes supported my head; my face and hair were dripping with water, which had apparently been showered upon me without stint, or stay, from a wooden piggin standing near, which I remembered to have set under a big leak in the woodshed roof, before settling myself to repose.

      Beside me stood a tall, bearded person, holding in his left hand a smoking kerosene lamp, and with his right still liberally sprinkling me from the piggin, and, the while, anxiously scanning my face. As my scattered senses pulled themselves together, I discerned that his demeanour was pacific – even friendly. I found his face by no means bad, with its strong features, determined expression, and the kindly smile which disclosed his sound, white teeth. As I attempted to rise, he said, respectfully: "Pray lie down a bit, madam; you'll be all right again in a moment. You fainted dead away; and, upon my word, I could have knocked myself down for giving you such a turn. It was a deuced sight worse, too," added he, "when I found that you were 'The Prisoner's Friend.'

      "Maybe you don't know my face now, madam; but I have known yours, any time, these four years; ever since you brought me that fruit with the posy of pinks an' old-man's love, the time I was laid up in the prison hospital."

      No; I could not recall the man's face; but I remember well that such a person had sent me, through the warden, a grateful acknowledgment of my little kindness, in the form of a rosewood box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and lined with garnet velvet (his own dainty work), and containing a paper thus inscribed:

      "Adam Beale, to 'The Prisoner's Friend,' with best wishes."

      The warden, as I presently recollected, had, at that time, told me that Adam was serving out five years' sentence for passing a forged check. Well, here, like a Jack-in-a-box, Adam himself had turned up.

      It was now my turn to "take unto myself shame and confusion of face," – found harbouring in a shed, alone, and at midnight! To give the man, an ex-convict, and alone with me, in this forlorn place, that explanation demanded by the situation, would undoubtedly put me absolutely at his mercy, yet, perceiving that there was no other way out of it, I at once made a clean breast. The tale of my woes well finished, the humour of the whole affair, together with Adam's expression of blank amazement, so upset me that I ended with a peal of hysterical laughter, in which, as I could see by the twitching of his visible muscles, good manners alone restrained my auditor from joining me.

      Wisely deferring the relation of his own adventures to serener moments, my convict, at my request, at once set about the work of breaking and entering.

      The storm had abated. It was now midnight, and Miss Pettingrew presumably off duty. With empty barrels and boxes, found in the shed, the level of a side window was soon attained, and Adam, demolishing a pane of glass, deftly undid a patent fastening. It was but a moment ere he had entered, and unlocked the side door for the admission of my somewhat crestfallen self.

      Nor was it long ere my deliverer had made a famous fire in the kitchen stove, and, in his shirt-sleeves, while his dripping coat steamed hard by on a clothes-horse, was preparing a pot of coffee, while I laid СКАЧАТЬ