BY and by it was getting-up
time. So I come down the ladder
and started for down-stairs;
but as I come to the girls' room
the door was open, and I see
Mary Jane setting by her old
hair trunk, which was open and
she'd been packing things in
it -- getting ready to go to
England. But she had stopped
now with a folded gown in her
lap, and had her face in her
hands, crying. I felt awful bad
to see it; of course anybody
would. I went in there and says:
"Miss Mary
Jane, you can't a-bear to see
people in trouble,
and I can't -- most always. Tell
me about it."
So she done it. And it was
the niggers -- I just expected
it. She said the beautiful trip
to England was most about spoiled
for her; she didn't know HOW
she was ever going to be happy
there, knowing the mother and
the children warn't ever going
to see each other no more --
and then busted out bitterer
than ever, and flung up her hands,
and says:
"Oh, dear,
dear, to think they ain't EVER
going to see each
other any more!"
"But they WILL -- and inside
of two weeks -- and I KNOW it!" says
I.
Laws, it was out before I could
think! And before I could budge
she throws her arms around my
neck and told me to say it AGAIN,
say it AGAIN, say it AGAIN!
I see I had spoke too sudden
and said too much, and was in
a close place. I asked her to
let me think a minute; and she
set there, very impatient and
excited and handsome, but looking
kind of happy and eased-up, like
a person that's had a tooth pulled
out. So I went to studying it
out. I says to myself, I reckon
a body that ups and tells the
truth when he is in a tight place
is taking considerable many resks,
though I ain't had no experience,
and can't say for certain; but
it looks so to me, anyway; and
yet here's a case where I'm blest
if it don't look to me like the
truth is better and actuly SAFER
than a lie. I must lay it by
in my mind, and think it over
some time or other, it's so kind
of strange and unregular. I never
see nothing like it. Well, I
says to myself at last, I'm a-going
to chance it; I'll up and tell
the truth this time, though it
does seem most like setting down
on a kag of powder and touching
it off just to see where you'll
go to. Then I says:
"Miss Mary
Jane, is there any place out
of town a little ways
where you could go and stay three
or four days?"
"Yes; Mr. Lothrop's.
Why?"
"Never mind
why yet. If I'll tell you how
I know the niggers
will see each other again inside
of two weeks -- here in this
house -- and PROVE how I know
it -- will you go to Mr. Lothrop's
and stay four days?"
"Four days!" she says; "I'll
stay a year!"
"All right," I says, "I don't
want nothing more out of YOU
than just your word -- I druther
have it than another man's kiss-the-Bible." She
smiled and reddened up very sweet,
and I says, "If you don't mind
it, I'll shut the door -- and
bolt it."
Then I come back and set down
again, and says:
"Don't you
holler. Just set still and
take it like a man.
I got to tell the truth, and
you want to brace up, Miss Mary,
because it's a bad kind, and
going to be hard to take, but
there ain't no help for it. These
uncles of yourn ain't no uncles
at all; they're a couple of frauds
-- regular dead-beats. There,
now we're over the worst of it,
you can stand the rest middling
easy."
It jolted her up like everything,
of course; but I was over the
shoal water now, so I went right
along, her eyes a-blazing higher
and higher all the time, and
told her every blame thing, from
where we first struck that young
fool going up to the steamboat,
clear through to where she flung
herself on to the king's breast
at the front door and he kissed
her sixteen or seventeen times
-- and then up she jumps, with
her face afire like sunset, and
says:
"The brute!
Come, don't waste a minute
-- not a SECOND -- we'll
have them tarred and feathered,
and flung in the river!"
Says I:
"Cert'nly.
But do you mean BEFORE you
go to Mr. Lothrop's,
or --"
"Oh," she says, "what am I
THINKING about!" she says, and
set right down again. "Don't
mind what I said -- please don't
-- you WON'T, now, WILL you?" Laying
her silky hand on mine in that
kind of a way that I said I would
die first. "I never thought,
I was so stirred up," she says; "now
go on, and I won't do so any
more. You tell me what to do,
and whatever you say I'll do
it."
"Well," I says, "it's
a rough gang, them two frauds,
and I'm
fixed so I got to travel with
them a while longer, whether
I want to or not -- I druther
not tell you why; and if you
was to blow on them this town
would get me out of their claws,
and I'd be all right; but there'd
be another person that you don't
know about who'd be in big trouble.
Well, we got to save HIM, hain't
we? Of course. Well, then, we
won't blow on them."
Saying them words put a good
idea in my head. I see how maybe
I could get me and Jim rid of
the frauds; get them jailed here,
and then leave. But I didn't
want to run the raft in the daytime
without anybody aboard to answer
questions but me; so I didn't
want the plan to begin working
till pretty late to-night. I
says:
"Miss Mary
Jane, I'll tell you what we'll
do, and you won't
have to stay at Mr. Lothrop's
so long, nuther. How fur is it?"
"A little short
of four miles -- right out
in the country,
back here."
"Well, that
'll answer. Now you go along
out there, and lay
low till nine or half-past to-night,
and then get them to fetch you
home again -- tell them you've
thought of something. If you
get here before eleven put a
candle in this window, and if
I don't turn up wait TILL eleven,
and THEN if I don't turn up it
means I'm gone, and out of the
way, and safe. Then you come
out and spread the news around,
and get these beats jailed."
"Good," she says, "I'll
do it."
"And if it
just happens so that I don't
get away, but get
took up along with them, you
must up and say I told you the
whole thing beforehand, and you
must stand by me all you can."
"Stand by you! indeed I will.
They sha'n't touch a hair of
your head!" she says, and I see
her nostrils spread and her eyes
snap when she said it, too.
"If I get away I sha'n't be
here," I says, "to prove these
rapscallions ain't your uncles,
and I couldn't do it if I WAS
here. I could swear they was
beats and bummers, that's all,
though that's worth something.
Well, there's others can do that
better than what I can, and they're
people that ain't going to be
doubted as quick as I'd be. I'll
tell you how to find them. Gimme
a pencil and a piece of paper.
There -- 'Royal Nonesuch, Bricksville.'
Put it away, and don't lose it.
When the court wants to find
out something about these two,
let them send up to Bricksville
and say they've got the men that
played the Royal Nonesuch, and
ask for some witnesses -- why,
you'll have that entire town
down here before you can hardly
wink, Miss Mary. And they'll
come a-biling, too."
I judged we had got everything
fixed about right now. So I says:
"Just let the
auction go right along, and
don't worry. Nobody
don't have to pay for the things
they buy till a whole day after
the auction on accounts of the
short notice, and they ain't
going out of this till they get
that money; and the way we've
fixed it the sale ain't going
to count, and they ain't going
to get no money. It's just like
the way it was with the niggers
-- it warn't no sale, and the
niggers will be back before long.
Why, they can't collect the money
for the NIGGERS yet -- they're
in the worst kind of a fix, Miss
Mary."
"Well," she says, "I'll
run down to breakfast now,
and then
I'll start straight for Mr. Lothrop's."
"'Deed, THAT ain't the ticket,
Miss Mary Jane," I says, "by
no manner of means; go BEFORE
breakfast."
"Why?"
"What did you
reckon I wanted you to go at
all for, Miss Mary?"
"Well, I never
thought -- and come to think,
I don't know.
What was it?"
"Why, it's
because you ain't one of these
leatherface people.
I don't want no better book than
what your face is. A body can
set down and read it off like
coarse print. Do you reckon you
can go and face your uncles when
they come to kiss you goodmorning,
and never --"
"There, there,
don't! Yes, I'll go before
breakfast -- I'll
be glad to. And leave my sisters
with them?"
"Yes; never
mind about them. They've got
to stand it yet a
while. They might suspicion something
if all of you was to go. I don't
want you to see them, nor your
sisters, nor nobody in this town;
if a neighbor was to ask how
is your uncles this morning your
face would tell something. No,
you go right along, Miss Mary
Jane, and I'll fix it with all
of them. I'll tell Miss Susan
to give your love to your uncles
and say you've went away for
a few hours for to get a little
rest and change, or to see a
friend, and you'll be back to-night
or early in the morning."
"Gone to see
a friend is all right, but
I won't have my love
given to them."
"Well, then, it sha'n't be." It
was well enough to tell HER so
-- no harm in it. It was only
a little thing to do, and no
trouble; and it's the little
things that smooths people's
roads the most, down here below;
it would make Mary Jane comfortable,
and it wouldn't cost nothing.
Then I says: "There's one more
thing -- that bag of money."
"Well, they've
got that; and it makes me feel
pretty silly
to think HOW they got it."
"No, you're
out, there. They hain't got
it."
"Why, who's
got it?"
"I wish I knowed,
but I don't. I HAD it, because
I stole it
from them; and I stole it to
give to you; and I know where
I hid it, but I'm afraid it ain't
there no more. I'm awful sorry,
Miss Mary Jane, I'm just as sorry
as I can be; but I done the best
I could; I did honest. I come
nigh getting caught, and I had
to shove it into the first place
I come to, and run -- and it
warn't a good place."
"Oh, stop blaming
yourself -- it's too bad to
do it, and
I won't allow it -- you couldn't
help it; it wasn't your fault.
Where did you hide it?"
I didn't want to set her to
thinking about her troubles again;
and I couldn't seem to get my
mouth to tell her what would
make her see that corpse laying
in the coffin with that bag of
money on his stomach. So for
a minute I didn't say nothing;
then I says:
"I'd ruther
not TELL you where I put it,
Miss Mary Jane, if
you don't mind letting me off;
but I'll write it for you on
a piece of paper, and you can
read it along the road to Mr.
Lothrop's, if you want to. Do
you reckon that 'll do?"
"Oh, yes."
So I wrote: "I
put it in the coffin. It was
in there when
you was crying there, away in
the night. I was behind the door,
and I was mighty sorry for you,
Miss Mary Jane."
It made my eyes water a little
to remember her crying there
all by herself in the night,
and them devils laying there
right under her own roof, shaming
her and robbing her; and when
I folded it up and give it to
her I see the water come into
her eyes, too; and she shook
me by the hand, hard, and says:
"GOOD-bye. I'm going to do
everything just as you've told
me; and if I don't ever see you
again, I sha'n't ever forget
you. and I'll think of you a
many and a many a time, and I'll
PRAY for you, too!" -- and she
was gone.
Pray for me! I reckoned if
she knowed me she'd take a job
that was more nearer her size.
But I bet she done it, just the
same -- she was just that kind.
She had the grit to pray for
Judus if she took the notion
-- there warn't no back-down
to her, I judge. You may say
what you want to, but in my opinion
she had more sand in her than
any girl I ever see; in my opinion
she was just full of sand. It
sounds like flattery, but it
ain't no flattery. And when it
comes to beauty -- and goodness,
too -- she lays over them all.
I hain't ever seen her since
that time that I see her go out
of that door; no, I hain't ever
seen her since, but I reckon
I've thought of her a many and
a many a million times, and of
her saying she would pray for
me; and if ever I'd a thought
it would do any good for me to
pray for HER, blamed if I wouldn't
a done it or bust.
Well, Mary Jane she lit out
the back way, I reckon; because
nobody see her go. When I struck
Susan and the hare-lip, I says:
"What's the
name of them people over on
t'other side of the river
that you all goes to see sometimes?"
They says:
"There's several;
but it's the Proctors, mainly."
"That's the name," I says; "I
most forgot it. Well, Miss Mary
Jane she told me to tell you
she's gone over there in a dreadful
hurry -- one of them's sick."
"Which one?"
"I don't know;
leastways, I kinder forget;
but I thinks it's
--"
"Sakes alive,
I hope it ain't HANNER?"
"I'm sorry to say it," I says, "but
Hanner's the very one."
"My goodness,
and she so well only last week!
Is she took bad?"
"It ain't no
name for it. They set up with
her all night, Miss
Mary Jane said, and they don't
think she'll last many hours."
"Only think
of that, now! What's the matter
with her?"
I couldn't think of anything
reasonable, right off that way,
so I says:
"Mumps."
"Mumps your
granny! They don't set up with
people that's got
the mumps."
"They don't,
don't they? You better bet
they do with THESE
mumps. These mumps is different.
It's a new kind, Miss Mary Jane
said."
"How's it a
new kind?"
"Because it's
mixed up with other things."
"What other
things?"
"Well, measles,
and whooping-cough, and erysiplas,
and consumption,
and yaller janders, and brain-fever,
and I don't know what all."
"My land! And
they call it the MUMPS?"
"That's what
Miss Mary Jane said."
"Well, what
in the nation do they call
it the MUMPS for?"
"Why, because
it IS the mumps. That's what
it starts with."
"Well, ther'
ain't no sense in it. A body
might stump his
toe, and take pison, and fall
down the well, and break his
neck, and bust his brains out,
and somebody come along and ask
what killed him, and some numskull
up and say, 'Why, he stumped
his TOE.' Would ther' be any
sense in that? NO. And ther'
ain't no sense in THIS, nuther.
Is it ketching?"
"Is it KETCHING?
Why, how you talk. Is a HARROW
catching --
in the dark? If you don't hitch
on to one tooth, you're bound
to on another, ain't you? And
you can't get away with that
tooth without fetching the whole
harrow along, can you? Well,
these kind of mumps is a kind
of a harrow, as you may say --
and it ain't no slouch of a harrow,
nuther, you come to get it hitched
on good."
"Well, it's awful, I think," says
the hare-lip. "I'll go to Uncle
Harvey and --"
"Oh, yes," I says, "I
WOULD. Of COURSE I would. I
wouldn't
lose no time."
"Well, why
wouldn't you?"
"Just look
at it a minute, and maybe you
can see. Hain't
your uncles obleegd to get along
home to England as fast as they
can? And do you reckon they'd
be mean enough to go off and
leave you to go all that journey
by yourselves? YOU know they'll
wait for you. So fur, so good.
Your uncle Harvey's a preacher,
ain't he? Very well, then; is
a PREACHER going to deceive a
steamboat clerk? is he going
to deceive a SHIP CLERK? -- so
as to get them to let Miss Mary
Jane go aboard? Now YOU know
he ain't. What WILL he do, then?
Why, he'll say, 'It's a great
pity, but my church matters has
got to get along the best way
they can; for my niece has been
exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum
mumps, and so it's my bounden
duty to set down here and wait
the three months it takes to
show on her if she's got it.'
But never mind, if you think
it's best to tell your uncle
Harvey --"
"Shucks, and
stay fooling around here when
we could all be having
good times in England whilst
we was waiting to find out whether
Mary Jane's got it or not? Why,
you talk like a muggins."
"Well, anyway,
maybe you'd better tell some
of the neighbors."
"Listen at
that, now. You do beat all
for natural stupidness.
Can't you SEE that THEY'D go
and tell? Ther' ain't no way
but just to not tell anybody
at ALL."
"Well, maybe
you're right -- yes, I judge
you ARE right."
"But I reckon
we ought to tell Uncle Harvey
she's gone out a
while, anyway, so he won't be
uneasy about her?"
"Yes, Miss
Mary Jane she wanted you to
do that. She says, 'Tell
them to give Uncle Harvey and
William my love and a kiss, and
say I've run over the river to
see Mr.' -- Mr. -- what IS the
name of that rich family your
uncle Peter used to think so
much of? -- I mean the one that
--"
"Why, you must
mean the Apthorps, ain't it?"
"Of course;
bother them kind of names,
a body can't ever seem
to remember them, half the time,
somehow. Yes, she said, say she
has run over for to ask the Apthorps
to be sure and come to the auction
and buy this house, because she
allowed her uncle Peter would
ruther they had it than anybody
else; and she's going to stick
to them till they say they'll
come, and then, if she ain't
too tired, she's coming home;
and if she is, she'll be home
in the morning anyway. She said,
don't say nothing about the Proctors,
but only about the Apthorps --
which 'll be perfectly true,
because she is going there to
speak about their buying the
house; I know it, because she
told me so herself."
"All right," they
said, and cleared out to lay
for their
uncles, and give them the love
and the kisses, and tell them
the message.
Everything was all right now.
The girls wouldn't say nothing
because they wanted to go to
England; and the king and the
duke would ruther Mary Jane was
off working for the auction than
around in reach of Doctor Robinson.
I felt very good; I judged I
had done it pretty neat -- I
reckoned Tom Sawyer couldn't
a done it no neater himself.
Of course he would a throwed
more style into it, but I can't
do that very handy, not being
brung up to it.
Well, they held the auction
in the public square, along towards
the end of the afternoon, and
it strung along, and strung along,
and the old man he was on hand
and looking his level pisonest,
up there longside of the auctioneer,
and chipping in a little Scripture
now and then, or a little goody-goody
saying of some kind, and the
duke he was around goo-gooing
for sympathy all he knowed how,
and just spreading himself generly.
But by and by the thing dragged
through, and everything was sold
-- everything but a little old
trifling lot in the graveyard.
So they'd got to work that off
-- I never see such a girafft
as the king was for wanting to
swallow EVERYTHING. Well, whilst
they was at it a steamboat landed,
and in about two minutes up comes
a crowd a-whooping and yelling
and laughing and carrying on,
and singing out:
"HERE'S your
opposition line! here's your
two sets o' heirs
to old Peter Wilks -- and you
pays your money and you takes
your choice!"
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