CHAPTER XXVIII.
BY and by it was getting-up time. ?So I come down the ladder and startedfor down-stairs; but as I come to the girls' room the door was open, andI see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'dbeen packing things in it--getting ready to go to England. ?But shehad stopped now with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in herhands, crying. ?I felt awful bad to see it; of course anybody would. ?Iwent in there and says:
"Miss Mary Jane, you can't a-bear to see people in trouble, and Ican't--most always. ?Tell me about it."
So she done it. ?And it was the niggers--I just expected it. ?She saidthe beautiful trip to England was most about spoiled for her; she didn'tknow _how_ she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother andthe children warn't ever going to see each other no more--and then bustedout bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says:
"Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't _ever_ going to see each other anymore!"
"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 shethrows 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 closeplace. I asked her to let me think a minute; and she set there, veryimpatient and excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy andeased-up, like a person that's had a tooth pulled out. ?So I went tostudying it out. ?I says to myself, I reckon a body that ups and tellsthe 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 itlooks so to me, anyway; and yet here's a case where I'm blest if itdon'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'sso kind of strange and unregular. I never see nothing like it. ?Well, Isays to myself at last, I'm a-going to chance it; I'll up and tell thetruth this time, though it does seem most like setting down on a kag ofpowder 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 youcould 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 seeeach other again inside of two weeks--here in this house--and _prove_ howI 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 justyour word--I druther have it than another man's kiss-the-Bible." ?Shesmiled 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 totell the truth, and you want to brace up, Miss Mary, because it's abad kind, and going to be hard to take, but there ain't no help forit. ?These uncles of yourn ain't no uncles at all; they're a couple offrauds--regular dead-beats. ?There, now we're over the worst of it, youcan stand the rest middling easy."
It jolted her up like everything, of course; but I was over the shoalwater now, so I went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higherall the time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struckthat young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through to where sheflung herself on to the king's breast at the front door and he kissedher sixteen or seventeen times--and then up she jumps, with her faceafire like sunset, and says:
"The brute! ?Come, don't waste a minute--not a _second_--we'll have themtarred 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 rightdown 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 thatI said I would die first. ?"I never thought, I was so stirred up," shesays; "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 soI got to travel with them a while longer, whether I want to or not--Idruther not tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this town wouldget me out of their claws, and I'd be all right; but there'd be anotherperson that you don't know about who'd be in big trouble. ?Well, wegot to save _him_, hain't we? ?Of course. ?Well, then, we won't blow onthem."
Saying them words put a good idea in my head. ?I see how maybe I couldget 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 aboardto answer questions but me; so I didn't want the plan to begin workingtill pretty late to-night. ?I says:
"Miss Mary Jane, I'll tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to stayat 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 lowtill nine or half-past to-night, and then get them to fetch you homeagain--tell them you've thought of something. ?If you get here beforeeleven 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 theway, and safe. Then you come out and spread the news around, and getthese 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 alongwith 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 saidit, too.
"If I get away I sha'n't be here," I says, "to prove these rapscallionsain't your uncles, and I couldn't do it if I _was_ here. ?I could swearthey 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'repeople that ain't going to be doubted as quick as I'd be. ?I'll tell youhow to find them. ?Gimme a pencil and a piece of paper. ?There--'RoyalNonesuch, Bricksville.' ?Put it away, and don't lose it. ?When thecourt wants to find out something about these two, let them send up toBricksville 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 herebefore 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'thave to pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auctionon accounts of the short notice, and they ain't going out of this tillthey get that money; and the way we've fixed it the sale ain't going tocount, and they ain't going to get no money. ?It's just like the wayit was with the niggers--it warn't no sale, and the niggers will beback 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 startstraight for Mr. Lothrop's."
"'Deed, _that_ ain't the ticket, Miss Mary Jane," I says, "by no mannerof 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 leather-face people. ?I don'twant no better book than what your face is. ?A body can set down andread it off like coarse print. ?Do you reckon you can go and face youruncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, 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. ?Theymight suspicion something if all of you was to go. ?I don't want you tosee them, nor your sister
s, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor wasto 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 ofthem. I'll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and sayyou've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, orto 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 tothem."
"Well, then, it sha'n't be." ?It was well enough to tell _her_ so--noharm in it. ?It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it'sthe little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below;it would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing. ?ThenI 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 fromthem; and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I'mafraid it ain't there no more. ?I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'mjust as sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest. ?Icome nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place Icome 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 allowit--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 Icouldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see thatcorpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. ?Sofor 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'tmind letting me off; but I'll write it for you on a piece of paper, andyou can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop's, if you want to. ?Do youreckon that 'll do?"
"Oh, yes."
So I wrote: ?"I put it in the coffin. ?It was in there when you wascrying there, away in the night. ?I was behind the door, and I wasmighty sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane."
It made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all byherself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her ownroof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give itto her I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by thehand, hard, and says:
"_Good_-bye. ?I'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and ifI don't ever see you again, I sha'n't ever forget you and I'll think ofyou a many and a many a time, and I'll _pray_ for you, too!"--and she wasgone.
Pray for me! ?I reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was morenearer her size. ?But I bet she done it, just the same--she was just thatkind. ?She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the notion--therewarn't no back-down to her, I judge. ?You may say what you want to, butin my opinion she had more sand in her than any girl I ever see; inmy opinion she was just full of sand. ?It sounds like flattery, but itain't no flattery. ?And when it comes to beauty--and goodness, too--shelays over them all. ?I hain't ever seen her since that time that I seeher go out of that door; no, I hain't ever seen her since, but I reckonI've thought of her a many and a many a million times, and of her sayingshe would pray for me; and if ever I'd a thought it would do any goodfor 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 seeher 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 thatyou 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 shetold me to tell you she's gone over there in a dreadful hurry--one ofthem'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 MaryJane 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 themumps."
"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, andyaller 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 takepison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brainsout, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskullup and say, 'Why, he stumped his _toe_.' ?Would ther' be any sensein that? _No_. ?And ther' ain't no sense in _this_, nuther. ?Is itketching?"
"Is it _ketching_? ?Why, how you talk. ?Is a _harrow_ catching--in thedark? 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 thewhole harrow along, can you? ?Well, these kind of mumps is a kind of aharrow, as you may say--and it ain't no slouch of a harrow, nuther, youcome to get it hitched on good."
"Well, it's awful, I think," says the hare-lip. ?"I'll go to UncleHarvey and--"
"Oh, yes," I says, "I _would_. ?Of _course_ I would. ?I wouldn't lose notime."
"Well, why wouldn't you?"
"Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. ?Hain't your unclesobleegd to get along home to England as fast as they can? ?And do youreckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all thatjourney by yourselves? ?_you_ know they'll wait for you. ?So fur, sogood. 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 deceivea _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 agreat pity, but my church matters has got to get along the best way theycan; 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 monthsit takes to show on her if she's got it.' ?But never mind, if you thinkit's best to tell your uncle Harvey--"
"Shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having goodtimes in England whilst we was waiting to find out whether Mary Jane'sgot 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'tyou _see_ that _they'd_ go and tell? ?Ther' ain't no way but just to nottell 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 togive Uncle Harvey and William my love and a kiss, and say I've run overthe river to see Mr.'--Mr.--what _is_ the name of that rich family youruncle 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 toremember them, half the time, somehow. ?Yes, she said, say she has runover for to ask the Apthorps to be sure and come to the auction a
nd buythis house, because she allowed her uncle Peter would ruther they hadit than anybody else; and she's going to stick to them till they saythey'll come, and then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; andif she is, she'll be home in the morning anyway. ?She said, don't saynothing about the Proctors, but only about the Apthorps--which 'll beperfectly true, because she is going there to speak about their buyingthe house; I know it, because she told me so herself."
"All right," they said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, andgive them the love and the kisses, and tell them the message.
Everything was all right now. ?The girls wouldn't say nothing becausethey wanted to go to England; and the king and the duke would rutherMary Jane was off working for the auction than around in reach ofDoctor Robinson. ?I felt very good; I judged I had done it pretty neat--Ireckoned Tom Sawyer couldn't a done it no neater himself. ?Of course hewould a throwed more style into it, but I can't do that very handy, notbeing brung up to it.
Well, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the endof the afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old manhe was on hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of theauctioneer, and chipping in a little Scripture now and then, or a littlegoody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooingfor sympathy all he knowed how, and just spreading himself generly.
But by and by the thing dragged through, and everything wassold--everything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. ?Sothey'd got to work that off--I never see such a girafft as the king wasfor wanting to swallow _everything_. ?Well, whilst they was at it asteamboat landed, and in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whoopingand yelling and laughing and carrying on, and singing out:
"_Here's_ your opposition line! here's your two sets o' heirs to oldPeter Wilks--and you pays your money and you takes your choice!"