Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"Let him alone for livin'," said Doane. "He can ketch more fish than any
other two men in the place--allers seemed to kind o' hev a knack o'
whistlin' 'em right into the boat. And then Nelson Briggs, that settled
up his mother's estate, allows he's got over a hundred and ten dollars
for him, after payin' debts and all probate expenses, and that and the
place is all he needs to start on."
"I will go to see him," said the doctor to himself, as he went out upon
the requisition of a grave man in a red tippet, who had just come for
him. "He doesn't look so very dangerous, and I think he can be tamed. I
remember that his mother told me about him."
Late that night, returning from his seven miles' drive, as he left the
causeway, built across a wide stretch of salt-marsh, crossed the
rattling plank bridge and ascended the hill, he saw a light in the
cottage window, where he had often been to attend Aunt Lois. "I will
stop now," said he. And, tying his horse to the front fence, he went
toward the kitchen door. As he passed the window, he glanced in. A lamp
was burning on the table. On a settle, lying upon his face, was
stretched the convict, his arms beneath his head. The canvas bag lay on
the floor beside him. "I will not disturb him now," said the doctor.
A few days later Dr. Burt was driving in his sleigh with his wife along
the Salt Hay Road. It was a clear, crisp winter forenoon. As they neared
Eph's house, he said:
"Mary, suppose I lay siege to the fort this morning. I see a curl of
smoke rising from the little shop in the barn. He must be making himself
a jimmy or a dark-lantern to break into our vegetable cellar with."
"Well," said she, "I think it would be a good plan; only, you know, you
must be very, very careful not to hint, even in the faintest way, at his
imprisonment. You mustn't so much as _suspect_ that he has ever been
away from the place. People hardly dare to speak to him, for fear he
will see some reference to his having been in prison, and get angry."
"You shall see my sly tact," said her husband, laughing. "I will be as
innocent as a lamb. I will ask him why I have not seen him at the
Sabbath-school this winter."
"You may make fun," said she, "but you will end by taking my advice,
all the same. Now, do be careful what you say."
"I will," he replied. "I will compose my remarks carefully upon the back
of an envelope and read them to him, so as to be absolutely sure. I will
leave on his mind an impression that I have been in prison, and that he
was the judge that tried me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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