"Open the gate, Hiram. Then give the door-bell a good sharp ring, so that Mandy will come quickly."

He took her in his arms and went up the path, by the astonished Mandy, and upstairs to Alice's room, where he laid her tenderly upon her bed.

Turning to Mandy, who had followed close at his heels, he said:

"She is not sick, only nervous and worn out. If you need me, call me."

He went into his own room and thanked Heaven that he had been at hand to render her the service that she so much needed. When he went down to supper Mandy told him that Miss Alice was asleep, and she guessed she'd be all right in the morning.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

AN INHERITANCE.

Quincy reached his room at Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house about midnight of the day of the town meeting. About the same hour Mrs. Heppy Putnam awoke from a troubled sleep and felt a pain, like the thrust of a knife blade, through her left side. The room was dark and cold, the wood fire in the open grate having died out a couple of hours before, while a cool wind was blowing with great force outside.

Mrs. Putnam came of the old stock which considered it a virtue to suffer and be silent, rather than call out and be saved. So she lay for five long hours suffering intense pain, but declaring to herself, with all the st.u.r.diness of an old Roman warrior or an Indian chief, that she would not ask for any a.s.sistance "till it wuz time for folks to git up."

This delay was fatal, or was destined to become so, but she did not know it; she had had colds before, and she had always got well. Why should'nt she now? It is a strange vagary of old people to consider themselves just as young as they used to be, notwithstanding their advanced years.

To the majority of the old people, the idea of death is not so appalling as the inability to work and the incapacity to enjoy the customary pleasures of life.

Mrs. Putnam had always been an active, energetic woman until she had lost her power to walk as the result of rheumatic fever; in fact, it was always acknowledged and said by the country folk that she was the better half of the matrimonial firm of Silas and Hepsibeth Putnam. Since her husband's failure to mount to Heaven on the day fixed for the Second Advent she had had entire control of the family finances. Her investments, many of which had been suggested by her deceased son, J.

Jones Putnam, had been very profitable.

She owned the house in which she lived, which was the largest, best finished, and best furnished one in the town of Eastborough. It occupied a commanding position on the top of a hill, and from its upper windows could be obtained a fine view of the surrounding country. The soil at Mason's Corner was particularly fertile, and this fact had led to the rapid growth of the village, which was three miles from the business centre of Eastborough, and only a mile from the similar part of the adjoining town of Montrose.

Back of the Putnam homestead were the best barns, carriage houses, sheds and other outbuildings to be found in the town, but for years they had been dest.i.tute of horses, cattle, and other domestic animals.

Mr. Putnam had disliked dogs because they killed sheep, and Mrs. Putnam detested cats. For years no chanticleer had awakened echoes during the morning hours, and no hens or chickens wandered over the neglected farm.

The trees in the large orchard had not been pruned for a long time, and the large vegetable garden was overrun with gra.s.s and weeds.

Back of the orchard and the vegetable garden, and to the right and left of the homestead, were about a hundred and sixty acres of arable pasture and wood-land, the whole forming what could be easily made the finest farm in the town.

The farm had been neglected simply because the income from her investments was more than sufficient for the support of the family. The unexpended income had been added to the princ.i.p.al, until Mrs. Putnam's private fortune now amounted to fully fifty thousand dollars, invested in good securities, together with the house and farm, which were free from mortgage.

When the first streaks of morning reached the room in which Mrs. Putnam lay upon her bed of pain, she seized one of her crutches, and pounded vigorously upon the floor. In a short time Samanthy Green entered the room. She was b.u.t.toning up her dress as she came in, and her hair was in a dishevelled condition.

"Why, what on earth's the matter? You wheeze like our old pump out in the barn. You do look real sick, to be sure."

"Wall, if you don't like the looks of me," said Mrs. Putnam sharply, "don't look at me."

"But didn't you pound?" asked Samanthy. "Don't you want me to go for the doctor?"

"No," replied Mrs. Putnam, "I don't want no doctor. The fust thing that I want you to do is to go and comb that frowzy pate of yourn, and when you git that done I want yer to make me a mustard plaster 'bout as big as that;" and she held up her hands about a foot apart. "Now go, and don't stand and look at me as though I wuz a circus waggin."

Samanthy left the room quickly, but she had no sooner closed the door when Mrs. Putnam called out her name in a loud voice, and Samanthy opened the door and looked in.

"Did you call, marm?" she asked.

"Of course I did," said Mrs. Putnam testily. "I guess ye wouldn't have come back if yer hadn't known I did."

Mrs. Putnam was evidently in a bad temper, and Samanthy had learned by years of experience to keep a close mouth under such circ.u.mstances, so she waited for Mrs. Putnam's next words without replying. Finally Mrs Putnam spoke. "I wish you'd bring up some wood and start a fire, the room's kinder cold."

When Samanthy reached the kitchen she found Lindy there.

"Why, Miss Lindy," said she, "what are you up so early for?"

"I heard mother pounding and I thought she might be sick."

"She is awful sick," rejoined Samanthy; "I never saw her look so poorly afore; she seems to be all choked up. She wants a big mustard plaster and a fire up in her room, and I don't know which to do fust. Oh!" she cried, "I must comb my hair before I go back;" and she wet a brush and commenced brushing out her long brown hair, which, with her rosy cheeks, formed her two princ.i.p.al claims to good looks.

"Sit down," said Lindy, "and I'll fix your hair up much quicker than you can do it yourself."

"And much better, too," added Samanthy thankfully.

"While you're building the fire," continued Lindy, "I'll mix up the mustard plaster."

When Samanthy entered the chamber with the materials for the fire, Mrs.

Putnam opened her eyes and said sharply, "Did yer bring that plaster?"

"No," said Samanthy, "I thought I would build the fire fust."

"Wall," said Mrs. Putnam, "I want the plaster fust, and you go right down stairs and mix it up quick."

When Samanthy returned to the kitchen she found that Lindy had the plaster all ready. Samanthy took it, and started upstairs.

Lindy said to her, "Don't tell her that I made it." As she said this she stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door.

As Samanthy approached the bedside with the plaster, Mrs. Putnam looked up and asked, "Did you make that plaster, Samanthy?"

"Yes'm," replied Samanthy.

"You're lyin', Samanthy Green, and you know yer are. You can't fool me.

Didn't I hear yer talkin' to somebody in the kitchen?"

"Yes'm," a.s.sented Samanthy.

"Wall," rejoined Mrs. Putnam, "of course I know who it wuz yer wuz talkin' to. Did she make the plaster?"

"Yes'm," again a.s.sented Samanthy.

"Give it to me," said Mrs. Putnam.

Samanthy pa.s.sed it to her, and the old lady crumpled it in her hand's and threw it across the room. "Now go down stairs, Samanthy Green, and make me a mustard plaster, as I told yer to, and when I git up outer this I'll see if I can't git somebody to wait on me that kin tell the truth 'thout my havin' to help 'em."

In the course of half an hour the new plaster was made and applied, and a bright fire was shedding its warmth into the room.