The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 96, October 1865. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ those ancient records during all those five-and-twenty years. A bright thought struck him.

      "I'll slip the bonds down into that wuthless heap o' rubbish, where no one 'u'd ever think o' lookin' for 'em, and resk 'em."

      Having assured himself that Taddy was standing by the wagon, he paid a hasty visit to the trunk in the garret, and concealed the envelope, still bound in its band of tape, among the papers. He then drove away, giving Taddy a final charge to beware of setting anything afire.

      He had driven about half a mile when he met a peddler. There was nothing unusual or alarming in such a circumstance, surely; but as Ducklow kept on, it troubled him.

      "He'll stop to the house now, most likely, and want to trade. Findin' nobody but Taddy, there's no knowin' what he'll be tempted to do. But I a'n't a-goin' to worry. I'll defy anybody to find them bonds. Besides, she may be home by this time. I guess she'll hear of the fire-alarm, and hurry home: it'll be jest like her. She'll be there, and—trade with the peddler?" thought Ducklow, uneasily. Then a frightful fancy possessed him. "She has threatened two or three times to sell that old trunkful of papers. He'll offer a big price for 'em, and ten to one she'll let him have 'em. Why didn't I think on 't? What a stupid blunderbuss I be!"

      As Ducklow thought of it, he felt almost certain that Mrs. Ducklow had returned home, and that she was bargaining with the peddler at that moment. He fancied her smilingly receiving bright tin-ware for the old papers; and he could see the tape-tied envelope going into the bag with the rest! The result was, that he turned about and whipped the old mare home again in terrific haste, to catch the departing peddler.

      Arriving, he found the house as he had left it, and Taddy occupied in making a kite-frame.

      "Did that peddler stop here?"

      "I ha'n't seen no peddler."

      "And ha'n't yer Ma Ducklow been home, neither?"

      "No."

      And with a guilty look, Taddy put the kite-frame behind him.

      Ducklow considered. The peddler had turned up a cross-street: he would probably turn down again and stop at the house, after all: Mrs. Ducklow might by that time be at home: then the sale of old papers would be very likely to take place. Ducklow thought of leaving word that he did not wish any old papers in the house to be sold, but feared lest the request might excite Taddy's suspicions.

      "I don't see no way but for me to take the bonds with me," thought he, with an inward groan.

      He accordingly went to the garret, took the envelope out of the trunk, and placed it in the breast-pocket of his overcoat, to which he pinned it, to prevent it by any chance from getting out. He used six large, strong pins for the purpose, and was afterwards sorry he did not use seven.

      "There's suthin' losin' out of yer pocket!" bawled Taddy, as he was once more mounting the wagon.

      Quick as lightning, Ducklow clapped his hand to his breast. In doing so, he loosed his hold of the wagon-box and fell, raking his shin badly on the wheel.

      "Yer side-pocket! it's one o' yer mittens!" said Taddy.

      "You rascal! how you scared me!"

      Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up his trousers-leg to look at the bruised part.

      "Got anything in yer boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?" asked Taddy, innocently.

      "Yes, a barked shin!—all on your account, too! Go and put that straw back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye let me hear ye speak of my boot-leg again, or I'll boot-leg ye!"

      So saying, Ducklow departed.

      Instead of repairing the mischief he had done in the sitting-room, Taddy devoted his time and talents to the more interesting occupation of constructing his kite-frame. He worked at that, until Mr. Grantley, the minister, driving by, stopped to inquire how the folks were.

      "A'n't to home: may I ride?" cried Taddy, all in a breath.

      Mr. Grantley was an indulgent old gentleman, fond of children; so he said, "Jump in"; and in a minute Taddy had scrambled to a seat by his side.

      And now occurred a circumstance which Ducklow had foreseen. The alarm of fire had reached Reuben's; and although the report of its falseness followed immediately, Mrs. Ducklow's inflammable fancy was so kindled by it that she could find no comfort in prolonging her visit.

      "Mr. Ducklow'll be going for the trunk, and I must go home and see to things, Taddy's such a fellow for mischief! I can foot it; I sha'n't mind it."

      And off she started, walking herself out of breath in her anxiety.

      She reached the brow of the hill just in time to see a chaise drive away from her own door.

      "Who can that be? I wonder if Taddy's there to guard the house! If anything should happen to them bonds!"

      Out of breath as she was, she quickened her pace, and trudged on, flushed, perspiring, panting, until she reached the house.

      "Thaddeus!" she called.

      No Taddy answered. She went in. The house was deserted. And lo! the carpet torn up, and the bonds abstracted!

      Mr. Ducklow never would have made such work, removing the bonds. Then somebody else must have taken them, she reasoned.

      "The man in the chaise!" she exclaimed, or rather made an effort to exclaim, succeeding only in bringing forth a hoarse, gasping sound. Fear dried up articulation. Vox faucibus hœsit.

      And Taddy? He had disappeared; been murdered, perhaps,—or gagged and carried away by the man in the chaise.

      Mrs. Ducklow flew hither and thither, (to use a favorite phrase of her own,) "like a hen with her head cut off"; then rushed out of the house, and up the street, screaming after the chaise,—

      "Murder! murder! Stop thief! stop thief!"

      She waved her hands aloft in the air frantically. If she had trudged before, now she trotted, now she cantered; but if the cantering of the old mare was fitly likened to that of a cow, to what thing, to what manner of motion under the sun, shall we liken the cantering of Mrs. Ducklow? It was original; it was unique; it was prodigious. Now, with her frantically waving hands, and all her undulating and flapping skirts, she seemed a species of huge, unwieldy bird attempting to fly. Then she sank down into a heavy, dragging walk,—breath and strength all gone,—no voice left even to scream murder. Then the awful realization of the loss of the bonds once more rushing over her, she started up again. "Half running, half flying, what progress she made!" Then Atkins's dog saw her, and, naturally mistaking her for a prodigy, came out at her, bristling up and bounding and barking terrifically.

      "Come here!" cried Atkins, following the dog. "What's the matter? What's to pay, Mrs. Ducklow?"

      Attempting to speak, the good woman could only pant and wheeze.

      "Robbed!" she at last managed to whisper, amid the yelpings of the cur that refused to be silenced.

      "Robbed? How? Who?"

      "The chaise. Ketch it."

      Her gestures expressed more than her words; and Atkins's horse and wagon, with which he had been drawing out brush, being in the yard near by, he ran to them, leaped to the СКАЧАТЬ