It was well she arrived when she did, for Aunt Tribulation had tied a rope round Pen, who had a perfectly ashen face and was shaking like a leaf, and was apparently on the point of lowering her to the assistance of her companion.
"You abominable girl! Where have you been?" Aunt Tribulation exclaimed, dashing at Dido and boxing her ears.
"Down the orchard, hanging up the cheesecloths. Why, whatever's the matter?"
"Didn't you hear us shouting? Penitence thought you were in the well."
"No, did she?" Dido replied, and burst out laughing. "You are a one, Pen! You musta seen my shirt; that blew down when I was taking it to hang out. What a sell!" And she began to sing:
"Oh, what a sell,
Dido's in the well.
Who'll save her bacon?
Auntie Tribulation!"
Aunt Tribulation, perfectly enraged, exclaimed, "So you thought you'd make a fool of me, did you? Oh, you wicked little hussies. You shall have nothing but bread and water till the end of the week!" And she flew at Pen, who was the nearer, and shook her till she whimpered, "It was Dido's idea, Aunt Tribulation, not mine! P-p-please stop! It was Dido's idea!"
"Oh-oh," Dido said to herself. "Here we go again. Now we shall be in the suds."
But just at this critical moment an interruption occurred.
By now it was thick dusk and they could see only a few yards. Sounds, however, carried clearly in the mist, and they suddenly became aware of voices and footsteps approaching up the lane.
"Someone's coming!" breathed Penitence.
Aunt Tribulation turned her head sharply, heard the voices, and hissed, "Go indoors, you girls! Make haste!"
Astonished, the girls did as they were bid, but went no farther than the deep porch. They were too curious to know who the visitors might be, for no callers had come to the farm since their arrival. Was Aunt Tribulation expecting somebody?
A voice—a boy's voice—said, "Here we are, I b'lieve. Ain't this the Casket place?" and then, apparently seeing Aunt Tribulation, "Evening, ma'am. Would you be Miss Casket?"
"Yes, I am," she snapped, "and I don't allow tramps and beggars on this land, so be off with you both!"
"But ma'am—" the boy began to protest, and then Pen gasped as a man's voice said slowly and wonderingly, "Why, isn't this Soul's Hill? We're home! However did we come to be here?"
"Be off!" Aunt Tribulation repeated.
"But, ma'am! He's your brother! He's Cap'n Casket. Don't you know him?" the boy blurted out, and at the same moment Pen cried, "Papa! It's Papa come home!" and Dido shouted, "Nate! Nate Pardon! What in mercy's name are you doing here?"
Both girls rushed forward joyfully, but checked a little as they came in view of Captain Casket. He looked thin and dazed, older than when they had seen him last; in a few weeks his hair seemed to have become a great deal grayer. But he smiled dreamily at Pen and said, "Ah, Daughter, I am glad to see thee well."
"Nate, what's happened?" Dido said quickly in a low tone. "It's not the ship—the Sarah Casket—?"
"We don't know," Nate replied in the same tone. "Let's get him indoors, shall we, before I tell you about it. He's still not himself."
"Come in where it's warm and dry, Papa," said Pen protectively, and took Captain Casket's hand to lead him in. He looked about him, still with the same bewildered expression, and said, "So thee is living at home now, Penitence? I am glad of that. But who is this?" pointing to Dido.
"Why, Dido Twite, Papa. Don't you remember her?"
"Perhaps," he said, passing a hand across his brow. "I am tired. I become confused. Then who is looking after thee?"
"Papa, don't you remember Aunt Tribulation? Here she is! She has been—has been looking after us."
"Ah, yes, Sister Tribulation. She said she would come," he murmured.
At this moment Aunt Tribulation, who had remained in the rear while these exchanges were going on, stepped forward, firmly took Captain Casket's other arm, and said, "Well, Brother! Fancy seeing you home so soon! Deceived by the mist, and never thinking but that you were several thousand miles off, I almost took you for a tramp! This is a surprise, to be sure! What has become of your ship? Not a wreck, I trust?"
She seemed less than pleased at seeing her brother; indeed, thought Dido, she seemed decidedly put out.
Captain Casket looked at her in his wondering manner and murmured, "Can it really be Sister Tribulation?"
"Of course, it is I, Brother! Who else should it be?" she exclaimed impatiently, leading him in.
"Thee has aged—thee has aged amazingly." He sat down in the rocker, shaking his head.
"We're none of us getting any younger!" snapped Aunt Tribulation.
"He is still a bit wandering in his wits, ma'am," Nate explained in a low voice. "What he's been through fair shook him up."
"What happened?" Penitence inquired anxiously.
"It was the pink whale, you see."
Nate glanced towards the captain, who seemed to have gone off into a dream, rocking back and forth, soothed by his chair's familiar creak and the homely things about him.
"We sighted her about ten days out o' New Bedford," Nate went on, "and, my stars, did she lead us a dance! Round and round about, first north, then south. In the end we was nearer Nantucket than when we first started. At last we came right close to her, closer'n we'd ever been before; lots of the men hadn't rightly believed in her till then, but there she was, sure enough, just about like a great big strawberry ice. Well, Cap'n Casket, he says, 'No man goes after her but me,' he says, and he wouldn't let any o' the harpooners go in the boats. Just the one boat was lowered. He said I could go, with some of the men, because I had an eye for detail and a gift for language, and would be able to record the scene."
"Well, and so? What happened?"
"She acted most uncommon," Nate said. "I never see a whale carry on so. Soon's she laid eyes on Cap'n Casket she commenced finning and fluking and bellowing, she breached clean out of the water, she whistled, she dove down and broke up agin, she brung to dead ahead of us, facing us with her noddle end, and kind of smiled at the cap'n, then she lobtailed with her flukes as if—as if she was wagging her tail like a pup, she rolled and she rounded, she thrashed and tossed her head like a colt, she acted just about like a crazy porpoise. By and by she settled and started in swimming to and forth under the dory, rubbing her hump on the keel, and that busted the boat right in half."
"She didn't know her own strength," murmured Captain Casket as if to himself. "She meant no harm. It was only in play."
"What happened then?" breathed Dido, round-eyed.
"I don't know what happened to the other men in the boat," Nate said. "We was all tossed out a considerable way. I just about hope they got picked up by the ship. I was swimming near Cap'n Casket in the water when we was both heaved up as if a volcano had busted out under us, and blest if it wasn't old Rosie hoisting us up on her back! And you'll never believe it, but she started to run then, and she never stopped till she brung to and dumped us off Sankaty Beach. Then she sounded, and we never saw her no more. So we waded ashore and walked here. I reckon the cap'n had best be put to bed, ma'am."
Indeed, Pen, who found this tale almost too frightening to contemplate, had already busied herself with heating some bricks in the oven for the captain's bed, and warming one of his spare nightshirts before the fire.
"Oh, Papa," she paused by him to say, "I am so thankful you were spared."
He patted her head absently. "Is that thee, Daughter? What is thee doing on board? I thought I left thee in New Bedford."
"He must certainly go to bed," pronounced Aunt Tribulation.
"I'll be off home, ma'am, now I've seen him safe here," Nate said. "My ma'll sure be surprised to see me."
"But have a bite to eat first—have a hot drink!" Dido exclaimed. "Try some o' Pen's herb tea and her pumpkin pie—it's fust-rate. And you haven't told us what happened to the ship. Did they see you thrown into the sea and picked up by the pink 'un?
"
"I guess not," Nate said. "There was considerable fog come up. Like as not if the other men gets picked up, they'll reckon me and Cap'n Casket musta been drowned."
"Well, you ain't—that's the main thing," Dido said. "Oh, Nate, your bird! Poor Mr. Jenkins! Was he with you in the boat?"
"No, no, chick, he'll be all right," Nate said, laughing. "Reckon Uncle 'Lije'll look after him for me till they puts back into port."
Aunt Tribulation now bustled Captain Casket upstairs, while Pen started heating a milk posset for him. "Oh, Dido!" she whispered, "I'm so happy Papa has come home! For Aunt Tribulation will hardly—will hardly like to be so unkind to us while he is here."
Dido nodded sympathetically. In fact, she was by no means so easy in her mind about the situation. For a moment, at first, she had hoped that, if Aunt Tribulation really was an impostor, she would be exposed by Captain Casket's failure to recognize her as his sister, but it was soon plain that he was too wandering in his wits for this to be likely. And if he continued so, Dido feared that he would have small effect on Aunt Tribulation's sharp and bullying ways. And what would become of his promise to secure Dido a passage to England? In any case, she could hardly go off and leave Pen while matters were in such a train. Her heart sank. There seemed less and less chance of her ever reaching London again.
Nate wiped his mouth and rose. "Thanks for the pie; it was real good," he said. "I'll be on my way."
"Oh, Nate," Pen said earnestly, "I'm so grateful to you for bringing Papa safe home!"
It was the first time she had ever plucked up courage to address him directly, and Dido gave her an approving look. Nate smiled down at her.
"That's all right, little 'un," he answered awkwardly. "Hope he's soon better."
"I'll come out with you," Dido said. "I hain't shut up the cows yet." And she muttered to Pen, "I'll take the boots along to you-know-who while I'm out. If she asks where I am, say the yaller cow got loose and I'm chasing her. Needn't bother about getting your letter posted now, that's one thing."
"Nor we need!" Pen said, recollecting. "Oh, Dido, take the poor man this sassafras candy too!" And she gave Dido some brightly colored sticks that Mrs. Pardon had brought that morning.
"I'm coming a piece of the way with you," Dido explained to Nate when they were outside. "I've an errand in the forest. Lucky there's a moon behind the clouds."
The sandy track showed up white ahead of them.
"The forest?" Nate said, surprised. "That's a mighty queer place to have an errand."
"Oh, Nate!" Dido exclaimed. "Everything's queer altogether! I'm right-down glad to see you, I don't mind saying. I reckon there's some regular havey-cavey business going on."
"What sort o' business?"
"Well," Dido said, "I don't reckon as how things can be wuss'n they are now, so I might as well tell you the whole story."
Which she proceeded to do, omitting nothing: the veiled lady on the ship, Mr. Slighcarp and the boots, the torn-up letter, the night departure in New Bedford Harbor, the mysterious visitor at the farm who had so inexplicably vanished, the footprints in the attic, the sounds in the night and the open window, and the green boots and clothes marked "Letitia Slighcarp."
"Whatever do you make of it all?" she asked.
"Seems as if old Slighcarp's muxed up in it somehow, dunnit?" Nate said. "He never sailed this trip, so he must be ashore somewhere."
"Yes, I know," Dido said. "A chap in New Bedford told me as how Cap'n Casket had sailed without his fust mate. D'you suppose old Slighcarp's lurking somewhere in these parts?"
"Guess so," Nate said perplexedly. "But why?"
"Shall I tell you what I think, Nate?"
"Yes, what?"
"I think Aunt Trib isn't the real Aunt Tribulation at all."
"Who is she, then?"
"I think she's the Letitia M. Slighcarp who left the duds up in the attic. I's'pose she's old foxy-face's wife, or his sister, or his ma, and he's skulking roundabout, coming to see her when we're out o' the way."
Nate considered. "Reckon you're right," he said at length. "But then, what's happened to the real Aunt Tribulation?"
"I dunno. Oh, Nate, d'you think they could have murdered her?"
"Easy, now," said Nate. "More likely she jist changed her mind and decided not to come to Nantucket, after all."
"Yes, maybe," agreed Dido, relieved. "And that's why she never called on Cousin Ann in New Bedford; Cousin Ann was in a fair tweak about it. Oh, yes, Nate, o' course that's it, that's why old Foxy Slighcarp tore up the letter at Galapagos! It musta been another one from the real Auntie Trib saying she couldn't go to Nantucket arter all, and he read it—it had come open, remember?—and fixed to put old Mortification in her place." Dido suddenly chuckled. "No wonder the old gal wasn't over-and-above pleased to see Cap'n Casket come home! No wonder she thought he was a tramp at fust! She'd never met him before. Mr. Slighcarp musta brought her here while we was still in New Bedford with Cousin Ann. But what's the point o' lodging her here? Someone'd be sure to rumble her in the end."
"It surely is a puzzle," Nate said. "But wait a minute, wait! Old Slighcarp had to leave England and skedaddle abroad in a hurry because he'd been plotting against the King, and the militia was after him. Maybe it's the same with her. Maybe she had to skip quick, and when he saw this chance he grabbed it."
"Aha!" said Dido. "D'you reckon she got taken on board the Sarah Casket at the same time as you picked me up?"
"Could be," said Nate. "We was several days off the English coast. That would explain why old man Slighcarp was so powerful keen to follow the pink whale round thataway, if he knew Miss Slighcarp wanted taking off."
"Of course! That must be it! But what'll us do now?"
"Well," Nate said, "I's'pose the best thing would be to get holt o' the real Aunt Tribulation. Tell you what—I'll ask my ma to write to her at Vine Rapids. Meantime, best lay low."
"Oh, Nate, that's a good plan."
"But you still haven't told me why you're going to the forest."
"That's summat quite different. Pen met a rummy little cove there, camping beside a big iron pipe, and he asked her to get him some boots and candy. He gave her three English guineas and said he was soon going back to Europe. I was curious about him; I reckoned I'd go along to see was there a chance of my getting a berth on his ship. Reckon this changes things, though; I can't lope off till it's settled about Auntie Trib." She gave a deep sigh.
"Funny that there's two lots of skulking strangers camped out in Nantucket," Nate said. "Or d'you think this one's anyhow connected with old Slighcarp? Else what the blazes can he be doing here?"
"Pen said he was scared stiff o' summat. He told her to whisper and to croak like a night heron when she came to meet him." Dido chuckled at the thought of Pen trying to imitate a night heron. "Maybe he's scared of old Slighcarp?"
"I dunno what to make of it," said Nate. "Hadn't I better stay with you while you give him the boots? Sounds a mite chancy to me."
"Done," said Dido promptly. "Maybe you'll be able to smoke his lay. But you better glide along kind of cagey in case he sheers off when he sees there's two of us."
"Where was you meeting him?"
"At the fork in the track."
"That's only half a mile now." Nate sank his voice to a whisper. "You keep on the track and I'll slide alongside in the scrub."
Dido nodded. He slipped into shelter and she went on at a good pace, but walking as silently as she could on the sandy path.
When she reached the fork, easily visible in the cloud-filtered moonlight, she squatted down by a wild-plum thicket, cupped her hands round her mouth, and let out a gentle croak. This was answered almost at once, and somebody moved out of the thicket. It was not possible to see him very clearly, but Dido recognized the small, bald man of Pen's description.
"Is it little kindgirl?" he whispered. "You boots with?"
"Yus," Dido whispered back. "I brung 'em."
"But you are unsame
child!" Alarm and suspicion could be heard in his voice.
"I'm her friend, guvnor," Dido reassured him. "She was a-seeing to her pa and couldn't come out. Sorry we ain't been here sooner—it warn't so easy to get aholt o' the boots. This here's candy."
"Ah, miracle, nobleness! All the time is only to eat fish, fish, fish! You are a heaven-sentness," he whispered. His language was both guttural and hissing; Dido found it very hard to follow. He was already sitting in a bayberry bush and pulling on the boots with little grunts of satisfaction. "Gumskruttz! Forvandel! Zey are of a fittingness! I am all obligation."
He fervently kissed Dido's hand, much to her astonishment, dropped his old shoes in the bush, then, whispering "Plotslakk! Momentness—I bring you—" vanished back into the thicket. Almost at once he reappeared, thrust a prickly, wriggling bundle into Dido's arms, tried to kiss her hand again, thought better of it, said urgently, "Each nat will be a bringness. Hommens. For you. If you bring kaken?"
"Kaken?"
"Pankaken. Appelskaken. Siggerkaken."
"Cakes," Dido guessed. "I'll try," she whispered.
"Is good, noblechild! Wunderboots! Blisscandy! I say good nat."
Before she could stop him, he faded back into the bush as if something had startled him. "Hey!" Dido whispered as loud as she dared. "Mister! Come back!"
But he was gone.
After a few moments Nate rose soundlessly out of the shrubs where he had been lying, almost at Dido's feet.
"Well," she whispered. "What did you make of that lot? And what in tarnation's he given me?"
"Lobsters." Nate identified the wriggling mass. "Big 'uns too. He was a rum job, wasn't he?"
"One thing's for certain." Dido was disappointed. "He ain't English. Pen was right. Dear knows what peg-legged lingo that was he spoke."
"I'd sure like to know what he's doing in Nantucket," Nate muttered. "Up to no good, I bet. I've a good mind to nip into the forest and scout around."