CHAPTER XVII
A STRANGE ADMISSION
The days went by, and summer was near its end. Then, with the vacationdrawing to a close, there came a surprise for Henry Burns, in the formof a letter from his aunt. It was she with whom he lived, in aMassachusetts town; but now she wrote that she had decided to spend thewinter in Benton, and that he must enter school there at the fall term,along with Tom Harris and Bob White. "Then I stay, too," exclaimed JackHarvey, when he had read the important news--and he did. The elderHarvey, communicated with, had no objection; and, indeed, there was amost satisfactory arrangement made, later, that Jack Harvey should boardwith Henry Burns and his aunt; an arrangement highly pleasing to the twoboys, if it added later to the concern and worry of the worthy MissMatilda Burns.
The days grew shorter and the nights cool; and, by and by, with muchreluctance, the canoes were hauled ashore for the last time, of anafternoon, and stored away in a corner of the barn back of the camp; andfishing tackle for summer use was put carefully aside, also. There werelessons to be learned, and fewer half-days to be devoted to the sportfor which they cared most.
The pickerel in the stream and the trout in the brook sought deeperwaters, in anticipation of winter. The boys spent less and less of theirtime in the vicinity of the old Ellison farm.
Tim and Young Joe Warren stuck mostly by the camp, and drew the othersthere on certain select occasions. For Little Tim, by reason of longroving, had a wonderful knowledge of the resources of the country aroundthe old stream. He had a beechnut grove that he had discovered, threemiles back from the water, on the farther shore; likewise a place wherethe hazel bushes were loaded with nuts, and where a few butternut treesyielded a rich harvest. Young Joe and he gathered a great store ofthese, as the nights of early frost came on; and they spread a feast forthe others now and then, with late corn, roasted in questionable fashionover a smoky box-stove that heated the camp stifling hot.
October came in, with the leaves growing scarlet in the woods and sharpwinds whistling through the corn and bean stacks. Henry Burns and hisfriends had seen but little of the Ellisons, who were out of school forthe winter, caring for the farm; but now the night of the 31st ofOctober found Henry Burns and Jack Harvey, George Warren, Bob White andTom Harris seated in the big kitchen of the Ellison farmhouse.
It was plainly to be seen that, although the Ellisons had been reducedin circumstances through the loss of the mill, there was still anabundance of its kind yielded by the farm. On a table were dishes ofapples and fall pears; two pumpkin pies of vast circumference squattednear by, close to a platter of honey and a huge pitcher of milk.
It was dark already, though only half-past seven o'clock, and the lightsof two kerosene lamps gleamed through the kitchen windows.
As hosts on this occasion, John and James Ellison presently proceeded tointroduce their city friends to the delights of milk and honey; a dishcomposed of the dripping sweet submerged in a bowl of creamy milk, andeaten therewith, comb and all.
"Never hurt anybody eaten that way," explained John Ellison, "and thisis the real thing. The milk is from the Jersey cows in the barn, and thehoney's from the garret, where there's five swarms of bees been workingall summer."
They need no urging, however.
"Poor Joe! He'll die of grief when I tell him about this," remarkedGeorge Warren, smacking his lips over a mouthful.
"Why didn't you bring him along?" asked John Ellison. "I wanted you allto come."
"Arthur's off down town, and Joe's gone to the camp with Tim Reardon,"explained the eldest of the Warren brothers. "Tim and Joe'll besky-larking around somewhere later. They're great on Hallowe'en night,you know. They've got a supply of cabbage-stumps to deliver at thedoors."
And thus the talk drifted to Hallowe'en, the night when, if oldromances could only be believed, there are witches and evil spiritsabroad, alive to all sorts of pranks and mischief.
In the midst of which, and most timely, there came suddenly a sharp tapat one of the windows. They paused and turned quickly in that direction.James Ellison sprang to the window and peered out.
"Nothing there," he said; "one of those big beetles, I guess, attractedby the light."
They fell to eating again, when presently another smart rap at thewindow startled them.
John Ellison laughed. "It's some of fat old Benny's nonsense," he said."He wouldn't come in, because you city chaps were coming. He's rigged atick-tack; I can see the string of it. Wait a minute and I'll just steal'round the other door and catch him at it. You fellows go on eating, anddon't pay any attention. I'll catch him."
They resumed the feast; and again the sharp rap sounded upon the windowpane, caused by the clicking of a heavy nail--suspended from the windowsash by a pin and string, and yanked by somebody at the end of a longerstring attached--swinging in against the glass.
There came a yell of surprise shortly; and, in a moment, there appearedJohn Ellison clutching the culprit by the collar. Which culprit, totheir astonishment, proved to be, not Benny Ellison but Young Joe.
"Here he is," laughed John Ellison, dragging in his prisoner. "What'llwe do with him?"
"Clean him," suggested George Warren, winking at the others. "He's got adirty face."
True enough, Young Joe had, in the course of his evening's adventures,acquired a streak of smut across one cheek.
Roaring at the suggestion, they seized the struggling captive, liftedhim up bodily to the sink, where they held him face upward under astream of water, pumped with a vigour. When they had done with him,Young Joe's face was most assuredly clean.
"Now," said John Ellison, as they set Joe on his feet again, "there's atowel. Dry up and come and have some honey."
Young Joe, grinning, and with a joyous vision of honey and pumpkin piebefore him, obeyed with alacrity.
"Say," he said, cramming a spoonful of the mess into his mouth, andgulping it with huge satisfaction, "can Tim come in? He's out there."
"Sure, bring him in," assented John Ellison.
A few shrill whistles from Young Joe brought his companion to the door;and Tim Reardon was soon likewise equipped with bowl and spoon--but notbefore he had got his ducking at the kitchen pump, which he took withSpartan fortitude.
Honey and milk, pies and fruit soon disappeared rapidly at the renewedattack. A fresh pie, added largely for the benefit of Young Joe and Tim,went the way of the others. Young Joe gave a murmur of surfeited delightas the last piece of crust disappeared; while Little Tim was gorged tothe point almost of speechlessness, and could hardly shake his head atthe proffer of more.
"Well," said George Warren, at length, "what are you two chaps doingaround here, anyway--I'll bet Joe smelled the food, clear down to thecamp."
Young Joe, in reply, turned to John Ellison, and motioned toward thefarmyard. "Give us one of those pumpkins?" he asked.
The pumpkins referred to lay in a great golden heap beside one of thebarns; and there were a few scattered ones lying out in the corn-fieldbeyond.
"Why, sure," responded John Ellison. "Have as many as you want." And headded, with a sly wink at George Warren, "We give a lot of them to thepigs. You're welcome."
Young Joe, lifting himself out of his chair with some effort, due to theweight of pie and honey stowed within, disappeared through the door. Hereturned, shortly, carrying a large handsome pumpkin on his shoulder.
"What are you going to do with it?" asked John Ellison.
Young Joe grinned. "Going to give it to Witham," he said.
In preparation for this act of generosity, Young Joe proceeded to carveupon one side of the pumpkin a huge, grinning face. Having finishedwhich, with due satisfaction to artistic details, he stood off andadmired his own handiwork.
"Looks a little like Witham," he said. "Only it looks better-naturedthan he does."
"You'd better let Witham alone," said George Warren, assuming thepatronizing tone of an elder brother. "He's in a bad humour these days."
"Not going to do any harm," replied Y
oung Joe. "Going to put it up onthe flag-pole, eh Tim? Come along with us?"
"Why, if it's got to be done," said Henry Burns, speaking with theutmost gravity, "I suppose we might as well go along and see that it'sdone right and shipshape;" and he arose from his chair. So, too, theothers, save John Ellison.
"You fellows go ahead," he said, "and then come back. I don't feel likeplaying a joke on Witham. I'm too much in earnest about him."
"That's so," returned Henry Burns. "I don't blame you. We'll be back inno time."
They went down the hill, soon after, carrying the pumpkin between themby turns. They cut across the field on the hill slope, crossed the oldbridge over the brook, and went on up the road toward the Half WayHouse.
"Look out for Bess Thornton," said Jim Ellison, who had accompaniedthem. "She and the old woman are here now for the winter, keeping housefor Witham."
"She won't let on, if she comes out," said Tim.
But they saw nothing of her. Tired out with her day's work, the girl hadgone to bed and was soundly sleeping.
They arrived presently at a little plot of grass in front of the inn,from the centre of which there rose up a lofty flag-pole. It had beenerected by some former proprietor, for the patriotic purpose of flyingthe American flag; but, to Colonel Witham's thrifty mind, it had offeredan excellent vantage for displaying a dingy banner, with theadvertisement of the Half Way House lettered thereon. This fluttered nowin a mournful way, half way up the mast, as though it were a sign ofmourning for the quality of food and lodging one might expect at thehands of Colonel Witham.
A dim light shone in the two front office windows of the inn, but theshades were drawn so that they could not see within. Other than thelamplight, there seemed to be a flickering, uncertain, intermittentgleam, or variation of the light, indicating probably a fire in the openhearth.
The boys waited now for a moment, till Henry Burns, who had volunteered,went quietly up toward the hotel, to reconnoitre. He came backpresently, saying that there was a side window, shaded only by a blind,half-closed on the outside, through which he had been able to make outold Granny Thornton and Colonel Witham seated by the fire.
"Run up the pumpkin," he said; "I'll go back there again and keep watch.If Witham starts to come out, I'll whistle, and we'll cut and run."
He went back to the window, and took up his place there.
"Cracky!" exclaimed Young Joe; "who's going to shin that pole? It's ahigh one. Wish I hadn't eaten that last piece of pie. How about you,Tim?"
"I can do it," asserted Tim, stoutly.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Harvey. "There's the halyards. What more do youwant? You cut a hole through the pumpkin, George, clear through themiddle, so we can pass an end of the rope, and I'll see that it goes up,and stays."
The pumpkin being duly pierced, one free end of the halyard was passedthrough the hole. Then Harvey proceeded to tie a running knot, throughwhich he passed the other free end of rope. They took hold with a will,and hoisted. Quickly, the golden pumpkin was borne aloft; when itbrought up at the top of the pole, the running knot drew tight, and thepumpkin was fast--with the difficulty presenting itself to whomevershould seek to get it down, that the harder one pulled on the loose endof rope, the tighter he would draw the knot that held the thing high inair.
Now it shone forth in the darkness like an evil sort of beacon, itssilly grotesque face grinning like a true hobgoblin of Hallowe'en; for,having scooped out its pulp and seeds, they had set a candle therein andlighted it just before they sent it aloft.
"Great, isn't it?" chuckled Young Joe. "Now let's get Henry Burns, andgive Colonel Witham notice." But, strangely enough, Henry Burns did notrespond to their whistles, low at first, then repeated with louderinsistence.
"That's funny," said George Warren. "Wait here a minute and I'll go andget him." But, to his surprise, when he had approached the corner ofthe inn, where he could see Henry Burns, still crouching by thehalf-opened blind, the latter youth turned for a moment and motionedenergetically for him to keep away.
"Come on," whispered George Warren, "the thing's up; we want to getWitham out to see it."
But Henry Burns only turned again and uttered a warning "sh-h-h," thenresumed his place at the window.
George Warren crept up, softly.
It was not surprising that Henry Burns had been interested by what hesaw in the old room of the inn, and by what he at length came to hear.At first glance, there was Colonel Witham, fat and red-faced, strangelyaroused, evidently labouring under some excitement, addressing himselfvigorously to the old woman who sat close by. His heavy fist came down,now and then, with a thump on the arm of the chair in which he sat; andeach time this happened poor old Granny Thornton jumped nervously asthough she had been struck a blow. Her thin, peaked face was drawn andanxious; her eyes were fixed and staring; and she shook as though herfeeble old frame would collapse.
Henry Burns, surprised at this queer pantomine, gazed for a moment,unable to hear what was being said. Then, the voice of Colonel Witham,raised to a high pitch, could be clearly distinguished. What he saidsurprised Henry Burns still more.
"I tell you I'll have her," cried Colonel Witham; "you've got to giveher to me. What are you afraid of? I won't starve her. Where'll she gowhen you die, if you don't? Let her go to the poorhouse, will you?"
And he added, heartlessly, "You can't live much longer; don't you knowthat?"
Old Granny Thornton, half lifting herself from her chair, shook her headand made a reply to Colonel Witham, which Henry Burns could not hear.But what she said was perhaps indicated by Colonel Witham's reply.
"Yes, I do like her," he said. "She's a flyaway and up to tricks, butI'll take that out of her. I'll bring her up better than you could. Ineed her to help take care of the place."
Again the woman appeared to remonstrate. She pointed a bony finger atColonel Witham and spoke excitedly. Colonel Witham's face flushed withanger.
"I tell you you've got to give her to me," he cried. "I'll swear you puther in my charge. I'll take her. It's that, or I'll pack you both off tothe poorhouse. I'll make out the papers for you to sign. You'll do it;you've got to."
Old Granny Thornton sprang from her chair with a vigour excited by heragitation. She clutched an arm of the chair with one hand, while sheraised the other impressively, like a witness swearing to an oath incourt. And now, her voice keyed high with excitement, these words fellupon the ears of Henry Burns:
"You'll never get her, Dan Witham. You can't have her. She's been heretoo long already. She's going back, now. I can't give her away,because--because she's not mine to give. She's not mine, I tell you.She's not mine!"
Then, her strength exhausted by the utterance, she sank back once moreinto her seat.
Colonel Witham, his face blank with amazement, sought now to rouse heronce more. He arose and grasped her by an arm. He shook her.
"Whose is she, then, if she's not yours?" he asked. "Whom does shebelong to?"
What answer Granny Thornton made--if any--to this inquiry, was lost toHenry Burns; for, at this moment, George Warren, stealing to the window,tripped over a running vine and fell with a crash, amid a row of milkpans that Henry Burns had carefully avoided.
Henry Burns got one fleeting glimpse of the two by the fire springing upin alarm, as he and George Warren fled from the spot. A moment more, theothers had joined them in flight, whooping and yelling to bring ColonelWitham to the door.
Looking back, as they ran, they saw presently a square patch of lightagainst the dark background of the house, where Colonel Witham hadthrown wide the front door; and, in the light that streamed forth fromwithin, the figure of the colonel stood disclosed in full relief. He wasgesticulating wildly, with angry gaze directed toward the grinning faceof the pumpkin.
Colonel Witham strode down from the piazza and walked rapidly to thefoot of the flag-staff. He seized the one end of the halyards thatdangled within reach, and jerked hard upon it, endeavouring to shake thepumpkin from its lofty position. But
it was of no avail. Every tug uponthe rope served only to tighten the knot. The colonel glared helplesslyfor a moment, and then returned into the inn.
Again he emerged, bearing something in his hand, which he raised andaimed directly at the gleaming face. A report rang out. The echoes ofthe sound of Colonel Witham's shotgun startled the crows in all thenests around. But the pumpkin stayed. The shot had only buried itselfwithin its soft shell. The colonel would not give up so easily, however.Again and again he fired, hoping to shatter the pumpkin, or to sever therope that held it.
Presently a shot extinguished the light within; and it was no longer aneasy mark to see. Breathing vengeance upon all the boys for milesaround, Colonel Witham finally gave it up, and retired, vanquished, tothe inn, to await another day. The pumpkin was still aloft.
"Say, Henry," asked George Warren, as they started off up the hillagain, "what did you see in there, anyway? What did you want me to keepaway for?"
Henry Burns, sober-faced and puzzled, gave a groan of disappointment."Oh, if you'd only kept away for a moment," he exclaimed. "I can't tellyou now; wait till by and by."
"Jack," he added, addressing his friend, "I'm going down to Benton. TellJohn I couldn't come back. I've got something to do." And, to thesurprise of his companions, Henry Burns left them abruptly, and wentdown the road at a rapid pace.
He had something to think over, and he wanted to be alone. What he hadheard puzzled and astounded him. There was a mystery in the old inn, ofwhich he had caught a fleeting hint. What could it all mean? He turnedit over in his mind a hundred different ways as he walked along; as towhat he had best do; whom he should tell of his strange discovery--whatwas the mystery of Bess Thornton's existence?
Certainly the air was full of mystery and strange surprises, thisHallowe'en night; and the old Ellison house up on the hill was not freefrom it. An odd thing happened, also, there. For, passing by the oldcabinet where Benny Ellison hoarded his treasures, something impelledMrs. Ellison to pause for a moment, open the doors and look within.
She smiled as she glanced over the shelves, with the odds and ends ofboyish valuables arranged there; a book of stamps; some queer oldcoloured prints of Indian wars; birds' nests; fishing tackle; acollection of birds' eggs and coins. There were some two score of theselast, set up endwise in small wooden racks. She glanced them over--andone, bright and shiny, attracted her attention. She took it up and heldit to the light. Then she uttered a cry and sank down on the floor.
Strangely enough, when John and Benny Ellison rushed in, at the sound ofher voice, she was sitting there, sobbing over the thing; and theythought her taken suddenly ill. But she started up, at the sight ofBenny Ellison, and asked, in a broken voice, how he had come by it. Andwhen he had told her, she seemed amazed and strangely troubled.
"Then someone must have dropped it there recently," she exclaimed. "Howcould that be? It must be the same. I never saw another like it. Oh,what can it mean?"
Strangest of all to Benny Ellison, she would not return the coin to hiscollection; but held it fast, and only promised that she wouldrecompense him for it. He went to bed, sullen and surly over the loss ofhis treasure. Mrs. Ellison held the coin in her hand, gazing upon it asthough it had some curious power of fascination, as she went to her roomand shut the door.