The Fourth Watch Part 33

The exclamation was caused by the point of the shovel striking something hard. Again and again the thrust was made, and each time a hollow sound was produced.

"It's it! It's it!" shouted Tony, now much excited. "I knowed it was here," and he dug away frantically, until presently an iron box about a foot long and six inches wide was exposed to view. Throwing aside the shovel, he seized the treasure with both hands, tore it from its hiding-place and held it aloft.

"Look, Steve!" he cried, trembling with excitement, "I knowed thar was somethin' here!"

Stephen was now as much aroused as Tony. "What's in it, do you think?" he asked.

"Gold! that's what's in it! Ye'll soon see," and Tony pulled back a little iron pin and threw up the cover. As he did so he gave a cry of surprise, for the light falling upon the interior showed nothing there but a few pieces of paper. Tony rubbed his eyes in amazement, and then looked at Stephen.

"Whar's that gold?" he fiercely demanded. "What has become of it?"

Stephen scarcely heard him, for a terrible idea had flashed into his mind.

Someone had taken it, and was it--? He hardly dare let the name beat for an instant through his brain. It was cruel. No, no, it could not be! That white-haired man of G.o.d would not stoop to such a thing! But where was the gold?

The moon rose clear and full above the distant horizon. It seemed to ask silently the same question. A dog from a farm-house up the road split the air with its hoa.r.s.e bark of wonder. Stephen placed his hand to his forehead in an abstracted manner. Then he glanced at the box, and the papers lying therein arrested his attention. He reached down and took them in his hand. They were tied with an old piece of tarred twine, and were much blackened and soiled. Drawing forth the first and holding it close to the lantern, Stephen read the brief words recorded there. It took him but a minute to do this, and then followed an exclamation which gave Tony a distinct start.

"What is it, Steve?" he asked. "What hev ye found?"

"Read this, and judge for yourself," Stephen replied, thrusting the paper into his companion's hands.

As Tony spelled out the words his eyes bulged with astonishment.

"Oh, Steve!" he gasped, "I'm so glad it isn't the parson. But do ye think this is all right?"

"It. looks like it. See the date, November 10th of last year. And notice, too, these words 'for safe keeping' and 'until called for.' Why, it's as plain as day. Then, here's the amount, 'five thousand dollars, all in gold, to be left in the iron box marked with a cross in white paint.'"

"Say, Tony," Stephen asked, "did Billy have such a box, another one like this?"

"Why, yes, I do remember one very well. It was smaller than this; 'twas stouter an' had a lock an' key. He kept some papers an' loose change in it. It allus sot on the old mantel-piece over the fire-place."

"Tony!" said Stephen, looking hard at the paper, "if that box of gold is there yet, and that man has been silent and let another take the blame, it's the smallest, vilest piece of work of which I ever heard."

"Sure 'tis, an' I say let's go an' ax 'im 'bout it."

"But he's at the meeting now."

"Well, all the better. It's right that the people should hear. But say, Steve, what's that other paper?"

"Oh, I forgot it. Maybe it will explain things further."

"Why, it's Billy's will!" cried Stephen, running his eyes over the closely written sheets, "and he's left the whole of his property, gold, farm and all, to you."

"To me! To me!" exclaimed Tony. "Ye must be mistaken."

"Read it for yourself, then," and Stephen pa.s.sed over the will. "It's all there in black and white."

As Tony read, his face flushed, and his hands clutched the paper in the intensity of his feelings. His eyes flashed as he turned them hard upon Stephen.

"I understand now!" he cried. "That villain has tried to cheat me outer all this. He thought the will an' everythin' else was burned. But he was mistaken. Oh, yes, he didn't know what was beneath the ashes. Come, Steve, let's go an' ax 'im a few questions. Mebbe he'll explain things. Anyway we'll give 'im a chance. Come, let's hurry!"

Chapter XXVI

A Rope of Sand

Silas Farrington was much disturbed by Tony Stickles' arrival in Glendow.

He had always laughed at the lad, considering him a stupid, ungainly creature. Occasionally he had overtaken Tony on the road trudging wearily along, but it had never occurred to him to offer him a seat in his waggon or sleigh.

"It spiles sich people," he had often said, "to take too much notice of 'em. They have a sartin place in life, an' should be made to keep it." But standing in the store that evening after Stephen's departure, the despised Tony occupied an important place in his mind. He would have laughed to scorn anyone who had suggested such a thing. But down deep in his heart, small and narrow though it was, dwelt considerable unrest. "What had the lad come back for?" he asked himself over and over again. "What was the special business which brought him so unexpectedly? Did he know anything?"

Harrington's face twitched as he thought of these things. He strode up and down in the store. Once he paused before the safe standing in the corner, and looked long and thoughtfully upon it. A muttered curse escaped his lips. This was succeeded by a scornful laugh. "What a fool I am!" he exclaimed, "to worry about sich things! What is thar to find out? Let 'em do their best and be d.a.m.ned! We'll see who holds the stoutest and longest rope. That Steve Frenelle's a cur, an' I hate 'im. He's jist the one to stir up trouble. I've suspected 'im all along. He knows too much fer one of his age. Wait 'till I'm councillor, an' then I'll show 'im a thing or two." Waggons rattling along the road startled him. He glanced at his watch. "My! I didn't know 'twas so late; almost time for the meetin'. I must git ready."

The big public hall of Glendow was packed to the door. People came from all over the parish to this political meeting, for lively scenes were expected. The two candidates opposed to each other were to be there to discuss various problems of local interest. On the front seat sat Mrs.

Farrington, Eudora and d.i.c.k.

Philip Gadsby was the first speaker. He was a man tall and somewhat thin, with a kind, thoughtful face. His voice was soft, well modulated, and his words carefully chosen. There was nothing of the orator about him, in fact his speech was somewhat of a hesitating nature. But he was possessed of a convincing manner, and all who were there knew they were listening to a man who was more than his words, and that what he said he would endeavour to accomplish to the best of his ability. He spoke about the needs of the parish, better roads, improvement of the schools, and the efforts which should be made to form an agricultural society in Glendow, which was essentially a farming community.

"Our watchword," he said in conclusion, "should be progress. Look at our roads. Money is spent upon them every season, but not in an intelligent way. We find men at times appointed roadmasters who seldom drive over the highway. Mud and sods are heaped up in the centre in a confused fas.h.i.+on, late in the fall. Let us do less, do it well, and use more gravel. Look at our schools. The buildings are old, ill equipped, and sometimes fifty to sixty children are crowded into one room fitted only to accommodate twenty, and one teacher to manage all. And we do need an agricultural society. We are farmers. We need to read, study, meet together and hear addresses from experts. New methods are employed elsewhere, while we are behind the times. Yes, we must advance. I have the welfare of the parish at heart, and whether elected or not I shall still take my part in the forward movement."

Often during the speech Gadsby was greeted with cheers and clapping, for those present realized the effectiveness of what he said, and he sat down amid great applause.

It was then that Farrington rose to his feet and mounted the platform. He had listened to Gadsby's speech with amused tolerance, and occasionally whispered something to his wife sitting by his side. He was a man possessed of an abundance of words, and he turned his attention at once upon the first speaker. Gadsby had made no personal allusion to his opponent. He simply stated his case and ceased. But not so Farrington.

From the first word he uttered he began to pour forth contempt and ridicule. He laughed at Gadsby's ideas of progress.

"I think we're purty well advanced," he shouted. "The schools an' roads are good enough fer me. Progress means more money, an' more money means bigger taxes. The children of Glendow are well supplied, an' as fer the roads they're good enough. As fer an agricultural society--well," and here he cast a significant look at Gadsby, "them who talk sich things had better look at their own farms. Before I go out shoutin' about progress I had better be sure that my own bizness is on a good footin'. I generally find that sich people spend too much time gaddin' about instid of attendin' to their own home affairs."

And thus Farrington talked for over an hour. He wandered off into all kinds of subjects, made jokes at which the boys laughed, and told funny stories. He imagined he was putting his hearers in good humour, and he took their cheers and stamping as signs of approval. But he little knew what the serious-minded were thinking about. They were slow of speech, but they were keen observers, and they were mentally comparing the two candidates before them. Farrington knew nothing of this. He was in a rollicking, fine humour. He felt pleased with the people for their apparent approval, but more pleased with himself for the speech he was making. "I'm real glad to see so many of yez here," he said in conclusion.

"I think nearly all the voters are present, at any rate every family is represented. Now if any of yez would like to ax a question I shall be glad fer 'im to do so. I take it that the meetin' is open fer free discussion."

"Guess I've made a hit," Farrington whispered to his wife as he resumed his seat by her side. "The people know a good thing when they find it."

"Ye done well, Si," was the reply. "I'm sartinly proud of ye. Thar's no doubt now about yer election."

The clapping and stamping had not ceased ere a man was noticed pus.h.i.+ng his way through the crowd to the front of the hall. As he mounted the platform the noise suddenly stopped, for all were much surprised to see Stephen Frenelle standing there. Never before had he been known to do such a thing, especially at a political meeting. What could he have to say? All wondered. And Stephen, too, was surprised. He was not accustomed to public speaking, and shrank from the thought of facing so many people. But he was very calm now, and in his eyes flashed a light which bespoke danger. In his right hand he clutched several papers, which all noted. He looked steadily over the heads of the people before speaking, and an almost breathless silence ensued.

"You wonder why I am here," he began at length. "I am not used to the platform, and only a matter of great importance would ever make me mount it. The last speaker has given permission for all to ask questions. He has said that nearly all the voters are here, and that every family is represented. I will tell you of one voter who is not here, one who on an occasion like this was generally present. I need hardly mention his name, for you all know. I now ask why isn't Parson John with us to-night?" He paused as if for an answer, and looked into the faces before him. "You all know," he continued, "as well as I do. Because he was actually driven from the parish. He left it almost a heart-broken man."

At these words, Farrington sprang to his feet.

"What has all this nonsense to do with the election?" he cried. "He's out of order, an' I appeal to the chairman to stop 'im."

"Hear! hear!" yelled several. "Go ahead, Steve!" shouted others.

"Yes, I intend to go ahead," replied the latter. "You will find out, Mr.

Farrington, before I am through the meaning of my words, and perhaps I will not be the only one out of order. It's more likely to be disorder.

"I was asking the question when I was interrupted, 'Why was Parson John driven from the parish?' Because of vile stories which were circulated about him. And what were those stories? You know as well as I do. I need not mention them all; of one only shall I speak. When old Billy Fletcher's house was burned to the ground, and the gold which he was supposed to have could not be found, what did some say? That Parson John took it. Yes, that's what they said, and you all know it. I've heard it ever since then.