The Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts (Literature) (30 page)

"Well, he was; en dey ain't no comb ner bresh ner nothing in dat
room. How you reckon he done it?"

"I don't know."

"En I don't. But dem is de facts. Did you notice his clo'es,
honey?"

"No. Only that they were neat and handsome."

"Now den, I did. Dey warn't de same dat he come in."

"Why, Rachel-"

"Nemmine, I knows what I's a talkin' 'bout. Dey warn't de
same. Every rag of 'em jist a little diffunt; not much, but diffunt.
His overcoat uz on a cheer by him, en it uz entirely diffunt. Las'
night it uz long en brown, dis mawnin' it uz short en blue; en dah
he sot, wid shoes on, not boots-I swah to it!"

The explosions of astonishment that followed this charmed Mrs.
Hotchkiss's ear; the family's shares in the wonder-market were
accumulating satisfactorily.

"Now, den, Miss Hannah, dat ain't all. I fotch him some mo'
batter-cakes, en whilst I uz a butterin"em for him I happens to look
around, en dah uz ole Sanctified Sal, as Marse Oliver calls her, a
loafin' along in, perfeckly comfortable. When I see dat, I says to
myself, By jimminy dey's bewitchment here som'ers, en it's time for me to light out, en I done it. En I tole Jeff, en he didn't b'lieve me,
so me en him slip back en peep, for to see what uz gwyne to
happen. En Jeff uz a sayin' `She'll tah de livers en lights outer him,
dat's what she'll do; she ain't friendly to no stranger any time, en
now she's got kittens, she won't stan' 'em nohow.'

"Rachel, it was shame of you to leave her there; you knew
perfectly well ,vat could happen."

"I knowed it warn't right, Miss Hannah, but I couldn't he'p it, I
uz scairt to see de cat so ca'm. But don't you worry, honey. You
'member 'bout de dog? De dog didn't fly at him, de dog uz glad to
see him. Jist de same wid de cat. Me en Jeff seen it. She jump' up
in his lap, en he stroke her, en she uz happy, en raise her back up
en down comfortable, en wave her tail, en scrape her head along
under his chin, en den jump on de table en set down, en den dey
talk together."

"Talk together!"

"Yes'm. I wisht I may die if it ain't so."

"The foreign talk that he began with, last night?"

"No'm. Cat-talk."

"Nonsense!"

"Shore's you born. Cat-talk. Bofe of 'em talked cat-talk-sof' en
petting-jist like a ole cat en a young cat-cats dat's relations.
Well, she tuck a chance at de vittles, en didn't like 'em, so den he
tuck truck outer his pocket en fed it to her-en you bet you she
didn't go back on dat! No'm-'deed she didn't. She laid into it like
she hain't had nothin' to eat for four years. He tuck it all outer de
same pocket. Now, den, Miss Hannah, I reckon you knows how
much Sanctified Sal kin hold? Well, he loaded her chock up to de
chin-yes'm, till her eyes fairly bug out. She couldn't wag her tail
she's so full. Look like she'd swallered a watermillion she uz dat
crammed. Tuck it all outer dat one pocket. Now, den, Miss Hannah, dey ain't no pocket, en dey ain't no saddle-bags dat kin hold
enough to load up Sanctified Sal, en you knows it. Well, he tuck it
all outer de one pocket-I swah to it."

Everybody was impressed; there was a crackling fire of ejaculations; sister Dawson walled her eyes again, and Dr. Wheelright, that imposing oracle, nodded his head slowly up and down, as one
who could deliver a weighty thought an' he would.

"Well, a mouse come a-running, en run up his leg en into his
bosom, en Sanctified Sal was nodding, but she seen it en forgot she
uz loaded, en made a jump for it en fell off the table, en laid there
on her back a-waving her hands in the air, en waved a couple of
times or so en went to sleep jist so-couldn't keep her eyes open.
Den he loaded up de mouse-outer dat same pocket; en put his
head down en dey talked mouse-talk together."

"Oh, stop-your imagination's running away with you."

"Fo' Gawd it's true. Me en Jeff heard 'em. Den he put de mouse
down en started off, en de mouse was bound she'd foller him; so
he put her in de cubberd en shet de do'; den he cler'd out de back
way.

"How does it come you didn't tell us these things sooner,
Rachel?"

"Me tell you! Hm! You reckon you'd a b'lieved me? You reckon
you'd a b'lieved Jeff? We b'lieves in bewitcliments, caze we knows
dey's so; but you-all only jist laughs at'em. Does you reckon you'd a
b'lieved me, Miss Hannah?-does you?"

"Well-no."

"Den you'd a laughed at me. Does a po' nigger want to git
laughed at any mo' d'n white folks? No, Miss Hannah, dey don't.
We's got our feelin's, same as you-all, alldough we's ign'ant en
black."

Her tongue was hung in the middle and was easier to start than
to stop. It would have gone on wagging, now, but that the wax
candle had long ago been waiting for exhibition. Annie Fleming sat
with it in her hand, with one ear drinking in aunt Rachel's fairytales, and the other one listening for the click of the gate-latch; for
she had lost her tender little inexperienced heart to the new boy
without suspecting it; awake and asleep she had been dreaming of
his beautiful face ever since she had had her first glimpse of it and
she was longing to see it again and feel that enchanting and
mysterious ecstasy which it had inspired in her before. She was a dear and sweet and pretty and guileless creature, she was just
turned eighteen, she did not know she was in love, she only knew
that she worshiped-worshiped as the fire-worshipers worship the
sun, content to see his face and feel his warmth, unworthy of a
nearer intimacy, unequal to it, unfitted for it, and not requiring it or
aspiring to it. Why didn't he come? Why had he not come to
dinner? The hours were so slow, the day so tedious; the longest she
had known in her eighteen years. All were growing more and more
impatient for his coming, but their impatience was pale beside hers;
and besides, they could express it, and did, but she could not have
that relief, she must hide her secret, she must put on the lie of
indifference and act it the best she could.

The candle was passed from hand to hand, now, and its material
admired and verified; then Annie carried it away.

It was well past mid-afternoon, and the days were short. Annie
and her aunt were to sup and spend the night with sister Guthrie
on the hill, a good mile distant. What should be done? Was it
worth while to wait longer for the boy? The company were reluctant to go without seeing him; sister Guthrie hoped she might have
the distinction of his presence in her house with the niece and the
aunt, and would like to wait a little longer and invite him; so it was
agreed to hold on a while.

Annie returned, now, and there was disappointment in her face
and a pain at her heart, though no one detected the one nor
suspected the other. She said-

"Aunty, he has been here, and is gone again."

"Then he must have come the back way. It's too bad. But are you
sure? How do you know?"

"Because he has changed his clothes."

"Are there clothes there?"

"Yes; and not the ones he had this morning, nor the ones he wore
last night."

"Dah, now, what I tell you? En dat baggage not come yit!"

"Can we see them?"

"Can't we see them?"

"Do let us go and look at them!"

Everybody wanted to see the clothes, everybody begged. So,
sentries were posted to look out for the boy's approach and give
notice-Annie to watch the front door and Rachel the back oneand the rest went up to Forty-four's chamber. The clothes were
there, new and handsome. The coat lay spread upon the bed. Mrs.
Hotchkiss took it by the skirts and held it up to display it-a flood
of gold and silver coin began to pour out of the inverted pockets;
the woman stood aghast and helpless; the coin piled higher and
higher on the floor-

"Put it down!" shouted her husband; "drop it, can't you!" But she
was paralysed; he snatched the coat and threw it on the bed, and
the flood ceased. "Now we are in a fine fix; he can come at any
moment and catch us; and we'll have to explain, if we can, how we
happen to be here. Quick, all you accessories after the fact and
before it-turn to; we must gather it up and put it back."

So all those chief citizens got down on their hands and knees and
scrambled all around and everywhere for the coins, raking under
the bed and the sofa and the wardrobe for estrays, a most undignified spectacle. The work was presently finished, but that did not
restore happiness, for there was a new trouble, now: after the coat's
pockets had been stuffed there was still half a peck of coin left. It
was a shameful predicament. Nobody could get command of his
wits for a moment or two; then sister Dawson made a suggestion-

"No real harm is done, when you come to look at it. It is natural
that we should have some curiosity about the belongings of such a
wonderful stranger, and if we try to satisfy it, not meaning any
harm or disrespect-"

"Right," interrupted Miss Pomeroy, the school m'am; "he's only
a boy, and he wouldn't mind, and he wouldn't think it anything
odd if people as old as we are should take a little liberty which he
mightn't like in younger folks."

"And besides," said Judge Taylor the magistrate, "he hasn't suffered any loss, and isn't going to suffer any. Let us put the whole of
the money in his table drawer and close it, and lock the room door;
and when he comes we will all tell him just how it was, and apologise. It will come out all right; I think we don't need to
worry.

It was agreed that this was probably as good a plan as could be
contrived in the difficult circumstances of the case; so the company
took all the comfort from it they could, and were glad to get out of
the place and clear for their homes without waiting longer for the
boy, in case he shouldn't arrive before they got their wraps on.
They said Hotchkiss could do the explaining and apologising, and
depend upon them to indorse and stand by all his statements.

"And besides," said Mrs. Wheelright, "how do we know it is real
money? He may be a juggler out of India; in that case the drawer is
empty, or full of sawdust by this time."

"I am afraid it's not going to happen," said Hotchkiss; "the
money was rather heavy for sawdust. The thing that mainly interests me is, that I shan't sleep very well with that pile of money in
the house-I shan't sleep at all if you people are going to tell about
it, and so I'll ask you to keep the secret until morning; then I will
make the boy send it to the bank, and you may talk as freely as you
please, then."

Annie put on her things and she and her aunt departed with the
rest. Darkness was approaching; the lodger was not come. What
could the matter be? Mrs. Hotchkiss said he was probably coasting
with his schoolmates and paying no attention to more important
things-boy-like. Rachel was told to keep his supper warm and let
him take his own time about coming for it; "boys will be boys, and
late by nature, nights and mornings; let them be boys while they
can, it's the best of life and the shortest."

It had turned warm, and clouds were gathering fast, with a
promise of snow-a promise which would be kept.

As Doctor Wheelright, the stately old First-Family Virginian and
imposing Thinker of the village was going out at the front door, he
unloaded a Thought. It seemed to weigh a good part of a ton, and it
impressed everybody-

"It is my opinion-after much and careful reflection, sir-that
the indications warrant the conjecture that in several ways this
youth is an extraordinary person."

That verdict would go around. After such an endorsement, from
such a source, the village would think twice before it ventured to
think small potatoes of that boy.

As THE darkness closed down an hour later, what is to this day
called the Great Storm began. It was in reality a Blizzard, but that
expressive word had not then been invented. It was this storm's
mission to bury the farms and villages of a long narrow strip of
country for ten days, and do it as compactly and as thoroughly as
the mud and ashes had buried Pompeii nearly eighteen centuries
before. The Great Storm began its work modestly, deceptively. It
made no display, there was no wind and no noise; whoever was
abroad and crossed the lamp-glares flung from uncurtained windows noticed that the snow came straight down, and that it laid its
delicate white carpet softly, smoothly, artistically, thickening the
substance swiftly and equably; the passenger noticed also that this
snow was of an unusual sort, it not coming in an airy cloud of great
feathery flakes, but in a fog of white dust-forms-mere powder; just
powder; the strangest snow imaginable. By 8 in the evening this
snow-fog had become so dense that lamp-glares four steps away
were not visible, and without the help of artificial light a passenger
could see no object till he was near enough to touch it with his
hand. Whosoever was abroad now was practically doomed, unless
he could soon stumble upon somebody's house. Orientation was
impossible; to be abroad was to be lost. A man could not leave his
own door, walk ten steps and find his way back again.

The wind rose, now, and began to sing through this ghastly fog;
momently it rose higher and higher, soon its singing had developed
into roaring, howling, shrieking. It gathered up the snow from the
ground and drove it in massy walls ahead of it and distributed it
here and there across streets and open lots and against houses, in
drifts fifteen feet deep.

There were disasters now, of course. Very few people were still
out, but those few were necessarily in bad case. If they faced the
wind, it caked their faces instantly with a thick mask of powder
which closed their eyes in blindness and stopped their nostrils and
their breath, and they fell where they were; if they tried to move
with the wind they soon plunged into a drift and the on-coming
wall of snow buried them. Even in that little village twenty-eight
persons perished that night, some because they had heard cries of
distress and went out to help, but got lost within sixty seconds, and
then, seeking their own doors, went in the wrong direction and
found their graves in five minutes.