Old portmanteau

Chapter I. Portmanteau And Story Open Together

Aj the winter afternoon the sky had been clouded, but it grew grayer and colder still toward nightfall. Joe watched it in his hurried journeys between the house and barn, and closed stable doors and looked after his poultry with extra cautiom Straggling snowflakes began to fall and a cold' wind swept up from the river before his work was done, reddening his ears and fingers; but he paused on the back steps with his last armful of wood for a final survey, of the sky.

“ Shouldn’t wonder if we had a regular old bluster to-night,” he observed as he entered.

“ Well, close the shutters and we’re snug enough/’ responded old Mr. Vance from his arm-chair.

“ Snug enough ” the great kitchen certainly looked with the polished cooking-stove and comfortable tea-table at one end of the room, while at the other a cheerful fire blazed in an old-fashioned

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fireplace. "Now and Then” the family had merrily christened the opposite extremities of the long apartment ; and while they rallied to the modern part for supper, they were sure to gather in the old-time corner afterward to enjoy the open blaze.

Joe’s prediction was verified as the darkness gathered. Wilder and fiercer the wind grew, beating upon the windows, rattling the doors, sweeping in wild gusts around the house, and retreating in long mournful sighs.

“Hear it howl?” questioned Master Benny, with his small inquisitive nose flattened against the glass in his efforts to peer into the outer world. “Walks are all white with snow, too. I like a storm ’cause it feels so good to keep out of it.”

“ I wish you liked mischief the same way,” said his mother, disconsolately. “There’s that apron all torn down the back. I don’t know but we shall have to keep Miss Prudy all the year round.”

Miss Prudy smiled — her mild, meaningless little smile, that, like her thimble, was at everybody’s service. She was sewing at the farmhouse, and there was a quilt on the frames over which she had been busy all day ; but she could not quilt well by lamplight, and in the interval between that and seeking other employment she had drawn her chair to the hearth, and was holding her brown, needleroughened fingers to the blaze. Light hair, light eyes, light figure and a general air of uncertainty constituted all of Miss Prudy that was describable.

“ Looks as if she’d been sort of flimsy goods to start with, and had faded and shrunk up in the wear and wash,” thought Joe, studying her with his keen, bright eyes.

Miss Prudy looked up and met the glance, smiled again, and repeated the appropriate little remark she had used in all the storms since she could remember ; having once grown crooked, she never could straighten it:

“ Mercy to have a roof and fire over a body’s head such times ! There’s them as hasn’t.”

Miss Prudy mentioned the latter unfortunate class very cheerfully, and no vision of them seemed to disturb any one’s comfort as, supper over, the family gradually settled to their evening avocations. Mrs. Vance drew out a small work-table, and she and her seamstress seated themselves near it with a basket of sewing between them. Mr. Vance sank back into his easy-chair and newspaper, while Joe, on a low seat near the fire, busied himself with whittling. A very wonderful and intricate piece of whittling it must have been if it occupied all his thoughts, for he paused at intervals for long reveries with his eyes fixed upon the glowing coals. The children, Teddy, Kip and Sis, had discovered rare facilities for a robber’s cave under the quilt Miss Prudy had deserted, and from that dark retreat they pounced forth upon inolfen-

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sive travelers with a vigor that aroused the local authorities into uttering an occasional “ Hush ! hush !”

Suddenly, in one of the brief lulls of the storm, Miss Prudy dropped her work with a startled look.

“ I thought I heard — ” she began ; but her sentence was broken by a long, loud summons upon the seldom-used brass knocker of the front door.

“ Oh my !” cried Miss Prudy again, with an odd blending of curiosity and alarm in her pale eyes. “ Whoever? On such a night, too !”

The robbers disbanded with remarkable rapidity, nearly overturning their cave in their desperate hurry to forsake it, and Sis established herself in close proximity to her mother.

“Take a light, Joseph,” said the farmer as the boy arose.

Joe obeyed, and made his way through the long hall, but not before the knock had been repeated. Teddy, listening eagerly, caught only a murmur of voices at the door and a stamping of snow from feet in the hall, and then Joe returned, ushering in a tall, bent figure enveloped in a long cloak and carrying an old black portmanteau.

“ A — Somebody who wants to stay all night, sir,” said Joe, hesitating a little as to his form of introduction.

No very cordial gleam of welcome lighted up the faces at the fire. Mrs. Vance was suspicious of traveling strangers, and thought apprehensively of her last gift from town — a silver cake-basket. But no one could be refused shelter from such a storm ; she accepted that fact at once ; and the farmer said,

“ Ah ? Yes, we must find room. It’s a bad night to be out, surely. Did you lose your way in it ?”

“ No. Oh no !” The stranger dropped into the chair Joe placed for him, and throwing off his cloak reached his benumbed fingers toward the blaze. “ Not lost, but the snow, you see, and wind. It’s a terrible storm,” he observed, gravely, as if imparting a piece of information, and looking out from under his shaggy gray brows with a pair of dark, bright, restless eyes.

“ Traveling, eh ? And intended to reach some place near here, I suppose?” suggested Mr. Vance, inquiringly.

“Not far — no, not near, though. The next town, I suppose,” answered the stranger, absently, rubbing his purple hands together. “ Or perhaps there’s a village nearer ? I don’t know the distance; I’m new to this route.”

“ A bad time of year — and of night — to be bound for nowhere in particular,” said the farmer, dryly.

“ Yes, but I’m used to it. One can get used to ’most everything,” was the serious reply.

It occurred to Mrs. Vance that she should find it very difficult, not to say uncomfortable, to get used to a stranger in her house who refused to give any account of himself or his coming, and

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she and her husband exchanged a dissatisfied glance. The guest raised his eyes, caught the look, and seemed to comprehend it, for he started a little and said quickly, laying his hand on the old portmanteau,

“ I’ve books, you see, to sell and dispose of, so I travel here and there. It don’t make much difference what way so it’s a new way, and I don’t always know just where I am until I come to some town.”

“ Oh ! A book-peddler!” and Mr. Vance’s investigation ended suddenly in a tone of mingled satisfaction and good-natured contempt, while Mrs. Vance uttered a sigh of relief.

Heeding neither tone nor sigh, the man’s glance fixed itself on the glowing coals again. Having secured shelter and warmth, he seemed to feel no curiosity concerning his surroundings or his hosts, nor, indeed, to notice that no hospitable welcome had been extended to him.

Mrs. Vance was really kind-hearted, however, and felt, besides, something like gratitude toward the stranger for not proving a dangerous character ; so, after another survey of the spare, rather thinlyclad form, she exclaimed, as if the remark were a sequel to her thoughts,

“ And it’s mostly traveling on foot, I fancy, and you’re not likely to have stopped anywhere for supper this night. Why, you must be hungry as well as cold. I’ll have you a cup of hot coffee in a minute; that’s so good when one’s thoroughly chilled.”

She hurried away without waiting for the murmured thanks or the grateful look that flashed for a moment into the dark eyes. The cup of coffee resolved itself into a substantial supper comfortably spread upon the table near the stove. Then, her housewifely conscience satisfied and her first vague fears dispelled, Mrs. Vance dropped the stranger from her mind and returned to her sewing with only the parting injunction,

“ You wait on him, Joseph, and see if he needs anything more. It is time for me to be at my work.”

Joe’s duties at the farm were varied and numerous. He was expected to keep a watchful eye on nearly all needs, in doors and out, and to supply them, too, with prompt hands and ready feet. It was not that the family were exacting or oppressive, but only that Joe was so wide awake, skillful and heartily interested in everything that much was naturally left to his care. What the careless ones forgot and the tired or idle ones neglected, they consoled themselves concerning it with the household phrase, “ Joe’ll see to it.” Sometimes the boy privately signed his name in chalk on the barn door as “ Joseph Kenyon, General Manager, F. G. and T. L. E.” the mysterious letters standing for “ Filler of Gaps and Tier-up of Loose Ends;” but nevertheless Joe filled his position with good-

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natured cheerfulness, and did not know a hardship when he met one.

The present service was quite to his mind. He was interested in the odd-looking guest whom he had ushered in, and was longing for a chance to talk with him, so he moved to the table with alacrity; and seeing the others were occupied again, he passed a plate of ham and opened conversation at once :

“ Been traveling far to-day, sir ?”

“ All day — yes,” the stranger answered, slowly.

“ Must have come through a good deal of wind and snow, then ?”

“A good deal — yes, I’ve come through a good deal in my time.” The reply was given absently, as if more to his own thoughts than to any words of his questioner.

Joe stared :

“ You’re generally out, then, through stormy weather ?”

“ Stormy ? Yes, years of storms.”

Joe pursed up his lips, but recalled his politeness in time to suppress a whistle, and only observed,

“Well, Fve seen some pretty long spells of tough weather myself, but none quite so long as that, in this region of country. I shouldn’t wonder if you went ’most everywhere, though ?”

“ Everywhere. ‘ Sowing beside all waters.’ ”

Joe’s bright eyes grew round :

“Ihis time of year? Should think you’d find the ground frozen too hard for that — hereabouts, anyhow.”

“Frozen it is,” said the stranger, sadly — “hard, careless and indifferent to the whole subject generally, unless the great sorrow has ploughed a place for it.”

“ O-h-h !” A look of comprehension flashed into Joe’s eyes. “You mean that sort of thing? — religion? I thought you meant sowing seed in real earnest.”

“ Ay, that is what religion should make us do, boy — sow in real earnest.”

“ Well, I don’t know.” Joe glanced toward the opposite fireplace and lowered his voice confidentially. “ I can’t rightly tell whether it ought to or not. Seems to me a good many folks have the same idea about religion as they have about the small-pox — to take it light as they can and be careful it don’t mark ’em so’s anybody’ll notice it.”

“ 1 As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God’ — only they,” answered the stranger, impressively.

“And you say they ’most always have great sorrow first?” pursued Joe, curiously.

“ Oh !” The man started slightly as he recalled his words. “ I meant on this subject,” pointing to the old portmanteau, that he had deposited near him. “Temperance. I’ve books on that subject to sell and to give away — tracts, stories, lectures,

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medical arguments, anything to interest, warn, and save if possible.”

His eyes lost their restlessness and his manner its strangeness and abstraction as soon as he spoke of his work. He had finished his supper, and turned his chair from the table and toward the stove. Joe was becoming interested, and his busy brain was conjuring up a host of questions, when the children edged up to the stove. They had been holding a whispered consultation concerning the possible character of the visitor and the probable wonders contained in his baggage, and a suggestion from Teddy that “ maybe he might have ’Laddin’s lamp,” together with the safety promised by Joe’s presence, induced them to draw near.

“ Do you got any lamps in your trunk ?” inquired Sis, her hands behind her and her face very solemn, as befitted the hazardous undertaking in which she was engaged, while Kip and Teddy were ranged in single file at her back, regarding her boldness with mingled awe and admiration.

“ Lamps? No. It may bring light to some, but that is all.”

Sis cast a disappointed glance over her shoulder, and then, recalling another of Kip’s “ maybes,” ventured a second query :

“Do you be Jack the Giant-killer, or anybody ?”

The stranger did not smile ; he seemed to consider the question as gravely as it was put :

“ Perhaps. Yes, that is what I am trying to do — kill a giant.”

“ Mister, could you tell us about one?” asked Teddy, his desire to hear the wonderful adventures overcoming his timidity.

“ Tell you ? Oh yes ! I hope he’ll never attack you, child ; he is a fearful giant.”

“Does he live anywhere about here?” asked Teddy, with an apppehensive glance toward the windows.

“ He travels everywhere. No home so rich that he dare not make his way into it — no home so poor that he cannot find it out ; and where he enters, all comfort and happiness go — all safety.”

“Do he kill folks?” asked Sis, her two flaxen braids standing out almost straight from her head as she bent forward in her eager listening.

“Ay, indeed! With the worst of deaths, little girl — with a double death.”

“Don’t b’lieve it,” said Kip, stoutly. “Cats have nine lives ; folks don’t have but one.”

“ Hush J” interposed Teddy ; “ I want to hear. — Did he ever come to your house?”

“Yes; he killed nearly all our family. He met my father first, and hurt his head so that he didn’t know what he was about. He used to come home with him and abuse my mother and beat the children, and sometimes, in cold nights, he drove us all out of the house. He kept my father from work, so that he earned no money for us ; he took away 2

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our good clothes and left us only rags to wear. Sometimes we were without food and fuel because that cruel giant had to be supported. My poor mother worked night and day to keep us from want, but oftentimes he stole even her hard earnings or made her give up a part of them. It was dreadful ! My father tried to fight him sometimes, but the giant seemed to have taken all his strength. Now and then he thought he was rid of him, but he always came back again ; and at last, when the giant had made him crazy one day, my father took his own life.

“ But the giant had hold of my eldest brother by that time, and it was the same thing over again. My little sister was killed by cold and neglect, and my poor mother died broken-hearted. The giant did it all. He hurt me also. The strangest part of it is that no one knows him for an enemy and giant until he begins to feel his iron fingers. He left me wrong here.” The stranger tapped his forehead. “ I was in a hospital — an asylum — for a long time ; and now I hate him, and travel about warning every one against him.”

Joe noticed that as the speaker’s tones had grown louder and more earnest the talk by the fireplace had ceased and Mr. Vance had dropped his paper; but the stranger sat with his back toward them, and seemed scarcely to see even his youthful listeners.

“ Ho you s’pose he’s alive yet ?” questioned Kip. iC Christopher ” he had been grandly christened, but

“Kip” was all that constant use had left of the name.

“Yes, I see his work everywhere. He is burning houses, filling prisons, wrecking ships and railroad trains, murdering souls, Suffering, tears and death wherever he goes! How long? how long?” The last words were a mournful monotone not unlike the wailing of the storm without.

“Children, it’s time you were in bed, every one of you !” exclaimed Mrs. Vance with sudden sharpness of tone and manner, rising from her seat and taking up a lamp.

The stranger started as if abruptly recalled to a consciousness of his surroundings, and then spoke hurriedly to his little audience :

“ Do you know the name of that wicked giant ? It is Intemperance. He steals into houses in innocent-looking glasses and bottles. Never let him come to yours; never send him to your neighbors. I will give you some books to-morrow that will tell you more about him.”

But the mother’s imperative call was repeated, and the little people followed her away before they fairly comprehended the explanation, their eyes still round with wonder and alarm.

Miss Prudy’s eyes were in nearly the same condition when she sought the small room appropriated to her use.

“ He’s crazy or he’s something, and I don’t know whether it’s one or t’other,” she said to herself, era-

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phatically. "Such wild talk fairly made my hair stand up — or ’twould if it hadn’t been for the hairpins. He’s a lunacy yet, most likely, or a pickpocket. Anyhow, I ain’t goin’ to be murdered in my sleep without I’m wakened up to know it — not if I can help it.”

In pursuance of which resolution she carefully locked her door, drew an old trunk against it, and laboriously piled on top of that two chairs and a wash-pitcher. Then, her barricade completed, she removed from her ears two little worn earrings and deposited them, together with an old bead purse containing seventy-five cents in silver, in the toe of her stocking, and secreted that receptacle between the feather bed and straw mattress.

"I didn’t know what he was talking about till he said that last, and I shouldn’t wonder if he said that to keep folks from thinking. Maybe he was sort of trying to prepare us for murders and things. Makes me shiver! Well, he can’t get in here without cracking the pitcher — that’s one comfort.”

Having taken all possible precautions, Miss Prudy carefully covered her head, and finally fell asleep. The household was undisturbed all the night, notwithstanding her dire forebodings, and she viewed the book-agent rather more leniently when she met him at the breakfast- table next morning. Mrs. Vance’s tone had lost its sharpness also, but she watched the stranger thoughtfully. She declined rather coldly to look at any of his books when he opened his old portmanteau. She “ had no need of anything of the kind,” she said, but she offered no objection when he bestowed some little volumes upon the children.

The storm had ceased, the sun shone brightly over the snow, and the guest of the night took his departure early. Mrs. Vance watched him from her window with the same thoughtful, half-troubled look in her eyes.

“ I sometimes wish — almost — that George was in some other business,” she said, hesitatingly, as she turned back to the fire.

“Eh? Who?” asked the farmer, looking up from the almanac he was consulting.

“ Our George,” repeated Mrs. Vance, more faintly, as if the words sounded even in her own ears like a near approach to heresy.

“Son George? Why, he’s doing well enough as he is, I can tell you. Making money hand over fist. He’s a rich man already.”

“ Yes, I know; but that business ! Liquor does bring a deal of misery into the world.”

“Oh ho! that’s it? That fellow’s talk set you to worrying?” Mr. Vance laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “ Why, by his own tell, he’s been in an asylum, and I don’t believe he’s rightly fit to be out yet. Any way, it’s nothing to do with George. He don’t drink nor keep a grog-shop. A distillery and a wholesale house is very different from that, don’t you see? Of course drinking is

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bad — I don’t see what anybody wants to do it for, for my part — and temperance is all right; but there’s reason in all things.”

Mrs. Vance brightened a little; she had only wanted to be reassured. She was very proud of her stepson, who was doing a flourishing business in the city, and who frequently sent substantial tokens of his interest back to his father and the old homestead. He was already a prosperous man when Mrs. Vance came into the family, blit he had always treated her with a kindness and attention that had won her regard, and she delighted also in the &dat his brief home-visits created in that country neighborhood. It was always with a little amiable ruffling of plumage that she spoke of “ our George,” his prospects, opinions and doings generally. After all, it was probable that a bright, sensible man like George Vance would be as good a judge of right and wrong as any traveling book-peddler. Besides, he had nothing to do with it, any way ; and with that concluding thought the stepmother’s clouded brow cleared, and she began to rinse the breakfast-cups.

" A bright man George is — an extraordinary man — if I do say it myself,” continued the old farmer, fairly launched on a favorite topic.. “ Not one in a hundred could have got ahead as he has. And he’s generous, too; always remembers me and all his friends. A whole-souled fellow. Look at the way he adopted your sister Emily— just as if she’d been his own aunt; couldn't have treated her any differently. Not that it was any more than right, but many wouldn’t have thought of it. When she was left a widow, he managed she should get work and helped her in various ways, and then found a place for Rick in his own business. Mere boy, too, when he took him first, and he couldn’t have been of much use.”

“ It’s so long since I’ve heard from Emily that I do wonder she don’t write,” said Mrs. Vance, musingly. “I’m afraid something is the matter; and I couldn’t help thinking she seemed sick or uneasy, or something, the last time she was here.”

“There you go again! What won’t a woman fret about?” laughed Mr. Vance, good-humoredly. “ I didn’t see but she looked lively enough ; and as for not hearing, ‘ No news is good news,’ you know.”

Out behind the woodpile Joe also watched the thin, bent figure wrapped in the long cloak as it made its way through the drifts in the lane and down to the road.

“ I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Joe, thoughtfully, “ if the kind of luggage he carries in that old traveling-bag was of more ’count in this house some day than it is now. It may be craziness — such talk — but it sounds a precious sight like sense. Mr. Vance, he says there’s reason in all things, but there ain’t any in a man’s head when

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whisky gets there — that’s sure. Here’s a crossroad; which way’ll I go?”

Joe had a fashion of coming to “ cross-roads,” a better fashion still of recognizing them when he did — of choosing his path and persevering in it. He stood with his head bent for a minute, kicking a chip up from the snow ; then he looked up again and observed, as if taking the woodpile into confidence,

“ Shouldn’t be surprised if a temperance society would be a good thing hereabouts. Pretty near here, in fact — not so far off as the house ; say behind the woodpile. One member wouldn’t do so bad if he was an out-and-out honest one — sort of like Joseph Kenyon, Esq. Small society, but wonderful unanimous, and no trouble about getting ’em together. ‘ Great oaks from little acorns grow.’ Well, there ought to be a pledge or something.” He drew a pencil from his pocket, picked up a smooth white chip, and after a minute’s reflection wrote: “I’ll nevtr be a drunkard. I’ll never make other folks so. I’ll never begin to do either, not by the first drop.” It seemed very short and simple. The boy turned the chip and wrote on the other side: “This means all that I can’t put down. This is my solemn promise. Amen ! Joseph Kenyon.”

“There ain’t any witnesses, only me — and God. I shouldn’t wonder if that was about enough,” said Joe, soberly.

He slipped the pledge into his pocket, and when he went into the house threw it into the blazing fire.

“What you burning up that chip for?” demanded inquisitive Benny.

“For safekeeping,” answered Joe, quietly. “I mean it shall be kept safe enough.”

Chapter II. Emily’s Folks

HE sunshine banished the storm ; the books with which the children had been pleased soon lost their novelty and were tossed aside, and with them vanished all thought of the giver. Christmas drew near, and a large box from George Vance delighted the household with its contents, and seemed to them an undeniable proof that the sender was, as his father reiterated, “ a whole-souled fellow/’ though “ whole-souled ” means a great deal when one comes to study the phrase.

There was a new overcoat, a package of books and a liberal check for the father ; a handsome dress for tlie stepmother ; bright, soft material for children’s clothing, with “ city patterns” by which to cut them, and toys by the quantity. Even Miss Prudy, who was often at the farmhouse, was not forgotten. A warm shawl had been' added for her, and a pair of skates for Joe. This last gift was received with a burst of genuine pleasure at frst, but afterward it was viewed very thoughtfully.

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“ They’re nice — a sight better than my old ones — and I’ll have a lot of fun with ’em, unless I happen to find their owner/’ Joe whispered to himsfelf at the conclusion of his reverie.

Joe’s skating-times were not of frequent recurrence. He went down to the river for a little while the day after the box came, and did not find another opportunity for more than a week. The second time, when he had been gliding up and down the smooth ice until his face wras all aglow and the low-dropping sun warned him that it was time to turn homeward, he noticed a boy near him who was casting admiring glances upon his new acquisition. As Joe unbuckled the skates the boy picked up one of them :

“ Did you buy these yourself, Joe?”

“ N(5^” answered Joe; “ they’re a present.”

“You’re lucky! Nobody makes me that kind of presents — nor any other kind.”

The last words were added with a laugh, but one that had more of bitterness than merriment in it.

“ Don’t? Why, you’ve folks of your own — ” Joe suddenly stopped. “ Folks of your own ” meant a great deal in his vocabulary generally, representing a treasure he had never possessed since he could remember; but this boy’s dress told plainly enough that not luxuries only, but even comforts, often missed him. His mother sometimes helped in the housecleaning at the farm, and his

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father — Joe had seen him reeling homeward from the tavern many a time; he remembered that in a moment.

“Well, you can have these,” he said, soberly. “ They’re too big for you, but I guess you can make ’em do.”

“ May I ? Can I try ’em ?” The boy looked doubtfully at Joe and longingly at the skates. “ Tell you I’d like to ! I’ll take the best kind of care of ’em, and bring ’em back all right, if you mean it earnest. AVill you lend ’em?”

“ No ; I’ll give ’em to you.”

“ I don’t see any fun in that kind of joke,” said the boy, sullenly. “ That’s the way with you fellers that have anything. You like to torment anybody that hain’t.”

“No, I don’t,” said Joe, positively. “Fact is, I didn’t rightly know whether the skates belonged to me, anyhow. I sort of suspected somebody else’s ’nitials was on ’em all the time, and now I think it’s yours. You see, it’s this way : Whisky don’t owe me anything, and it does you, I take it. Nobody’s any right to take money they’ve cheated you out of to make me a present with. ‘ Be just before you’re generous ’ is what they used to write in the copy-books, you know.”