The Brass Bound Box

There was much whispering that day in school, and a prompt departure from the building at close of the afternoon's session. It had been noticeable, also, that at "nooning" every scholar, old or young, had repaired to the rear of the play-ground, out of hearing of the teacher. There they had grouped themselves about Katharine Maitland, with Montgomery Sturtevant as her supporter, and had listened breathlessly to some matter she divulged. Only one sentence had reached the master's ears, as he tapped the bell for them to come in again to later lessons:

"Everybody don't forget a knife. And everybody'll get an invitation to-morrow. Then everybody will understand, and if everybody isn't perfectly delighted, I shall be surprised. Teacher will have his, too; I'm workin' on it with nice red ink."

That some exciting affair was on foot, and that he was to be included in it was evident; and being himself not many years older than his "big boys," he was patiently indulgent over the many blunders at recitations which followed.

Never had Marsden school children arrived at their respective homes so early, nor so promptly availed themselves of parents' satisfaction in this promptness. Books were bestowed in tidiness, lunch-baskets hung in place, and in every house in the village there was simultaneously preferred the request:

"May I go out to play?"

Consent obtained – and what mother could refuse it to so deserving a petitioner? – there followed a stampede of youngsters toward Eunice Maitland's south corn-field.

Late October brings early nightfall, and even playtime seems over with the dusk, but that night there were many, many empty places at waiting supper-tables, and many mothers' ears grew anxious listening for the clatter of young feet which came not.

But the late rising moon looked down upon a curious scene. Throughout that same south corn-field had been scattered hundreds of golden pumpkins ripe for the harvest; and all among them, each with his or her allotted pile of the great fruit, was every truant youngster. Corn shocks had been overturned for the more comfortable seating of the toilers, and knives gleamed in the moon-rays as the diligent fingers fashioned Jack-o'-lanterns sufficient in number, as Monty declared, to "l-l-light the w-w-wh-whole world!"

CHAPTER XX.

UNINVITED GUESTS

Katharine escaped the chiding she deserved because, when she reëntered the house, Miss Eunice was engaged with company and Susanna was preparing a tray of refreshments to be served the guests. Montgomery escaped because Madam supposed he had been at The Maples where so much of his time was now passed. He went supperless to bed, but Katharine, most guilty of all delinquents, fared sumptuously upon a portion of the dainties from the housekeeper's "company tray." The Turner trio of culprits ate wedges of cold pumpkin pie, eaten standing by the kitchen sink, and went to bed to dream that all the world was made of pumpkins which it was their destiny to consume before a general illumination began. At least, that was what Martha dreamed, and, having roused the other pair to relate it to them, they were sleepy enough to believe they had dreamed it, too.

Other children – But why prolong the story? Many of the pumpkin artists had reason to remember that night for some time to come; yet not one ever admitted that they had not found their fun outweigh their punishment.

Some days previous Katharine had put a very mild request to Aunt Eunice, in the words:

"Aunty, would you mind if I had a little Hallowe'en party? Out in the barn, where it wouldn't be any trouble to anybody?"

And the lady, always glad to make her young charge happy, had replied:

"Why, no, dear. Certainly, you may have one if you wish."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, you darling Aunty Eunice!" springing up to hug her guardian ecstatically. Then, with her young cheek against the older one: "And would it be too much to ask – Deacon Meakin to – to stay away that day?"

"Why, Katharine, that couldn't be. Besides giving him offence, how could we spare him?"

"Monty and I could do the chores. Bob Turner could milk. Bob's a first-rate milker, Martha says so."

"Well, well. Maybe it can be arranged. I'll see."

"Because, Aunt Eunice, it's to be such a beautiful benefit to – Oh, I forgot. But if he could stay at home just once; he's so what Widow calls 'pernickity,' and he says children ought to be born 'growed up.' They can't be that, can they? So I do think, I just do think they might be let to have some nice times without folks scolding and acting hateful."

"The deacon doesn't mean to be hateful, Katy. We'll see."

Fortune favored the child as it so often did. After a particularly wearisome contest of wills between the original hired man and his successor, the deacon resigned his position and left in a huff. A neighboring youth was sent for to take his place, but, as far from being a hindrance to Katharine's schemes, proved her very best ally. Montgomery knew William well, and his wheedling, if stammering, tongue soon persuaded the young man that in furthering the success of the party he was furthering his employer's also.

In due time every boy and girl in the township received a laboriously written invitation, and all accepted, of course. This was understood without the trouble of replies.

Even the schoolmaster was not forgotten, though he waited until school was dismissed before he opened his neatly folded bit of paper, and read:

"The favor of your presence is requested at the Big Barn of Miss Eunice Maitland at The Maples, on the evening of October 31st, to a Hallowe'en Corkis. At seven o'clock by the church steeple. Please bring your teaspoon with you.

    "Yours respectfully,
    "Katharine Maitland."

This unique invitation was the joint production of Katharine and Montgomery. The first part was hers, recalled from wedding-cards often seen at her old home in the city; the latter part was due to Monty's forethought. Katharine had never heard of a "corkis;" but, by way of dabbling in politics through loiterings at the village store, the boy had acquired some technical terms, and insisted that this was what best befitted their case. As he could not spell the word, and she couldn't find it in the dictionary, though she searched all the "Cor" columns through, she adopted phonetic spelling with the above result. Also, since there was as much variety in "time" as there was in clocks, the guests were advised to regulate their arrivals by the biggest one visible. As to the teaspoon clause – that was positively necessary. "How could a boy eat ice-cream without a spoon? And how could anybody, even Aunt Eunice, who had a trunk full of silver, lend a body spoons enough to go around, admitting that one dared ask for them? For if everybody came who was asked, and everybody certainly would since they hadn't been polite enough to send regrets (even before the cards were out), what would a body do, I should like to know?"

As there was altogether too much body in this argument for Montgomery he yielded the point and waited the great event with what patience he might. Not so much patience was required, however, since there was much labor to accomplish. William hitched up the team, thoughtfully taking an opportunity when Miss Maitland had gone to pay a visit to the distant Mansion, and brought the field full of Jack-o'-lanterns up to the barn; into which, carefully keeping the sound sides of the pumpkins toward the kitchen windows and Susanna's eyes, he conveyed them. Then the doors were closed and the decorating began.

"C-c-can't make 'em hang," lamented Montgomery, after a few moments' unsuccessful effort.

"Course not. That string's too light. Wait. I'll fetch something," said Katharine, as decorator in charge. Then she sped into the house and borrowed Susanna's clothes-line.

"My clothes-line, child? What on earth for?"

"Oh, you'll see sometime. I sha'n't hurt it!" returned the eager girl, skipping away.

The widow was glad to have "the children" out of the way for the time being. She, also, was planning a "surprise," for Eunice had told her of Katharine's "little Hallowe'en party," and the good housekeeper determined that not a single young guest should return home after that event without carrying a report of a fine repast.

As she said to Moses, when fixing him up for the day:

"It does seem good after all our worries lately to do somethin' just plain plumb foolish, like lettin' young ones have a nice time. Me an' Eunice, we have more on our minds 'an we let on to you, but I'm goin' to forget 'em."

"Forgettin' your mind won't be no great job, nor loss nuther. Wouldn't be much matter if 'twasn't never found again," he retorted, half-facetiously, and half-vexed that, as she hinted, there were still confidences withheld from him.

Susanna ignored his playfulness, and went on as if he had not interrupted:

"I'm goin' to make jumbles, an' little frosted cakes, an' teeny-tiny riz biscuit, an' raisin-loaf. I've got a ham on b'ilin', an' – my suz! It most makes me feel a dozen years younger, just the mere idee of havin' a childern's party. We hain't had none sence Johnny run away, an' – "

"Oh, hum! An' here I must lie like a log o' wood an' no share in it. Me that always thought more of young ones 'an you did. Anyhow, I don't see what great call you got to mix up in it. S'pose you expect to be invited, don't you? What you goin' to wear? White with pink ribbons, like all the other little girls?" demanded the imprisoned man.

"Well, I hain't thought much about my clothes, but I did lay out to wear my common sense an' trim it with a wreath o' good nature, an' maybe a sprig of patience fastenin' the hull. Never mind, Moses. Maybe you'll get more share in it 'an I shall. Somethin' may happen to keep me from enjoyin' myself any more'n you are this minute. An' – my suz! I smell that ham water b'ilin' over this instant. An' – what next! There's Kitty Keehoty comin' out the tool-house with that roll o' grapevine wire that you put away so careful – an' it's most more'n she can lug. But she'd tackle it. She'd tackle it if it was twicet as heavy. She's got more ambition an' gumption than ary young one I ever knowed. My suz! She couldn't carry it, after all, so she's put it down an' is draggin' it. She looks a pictur'! Her hair blowin' all 'round her head, her cheeks like roses, her feet fairly dancin' with happiness, her eyes like stars. Well, a body'd ought to take a bit o' trouble, now an' then, whilst they're little. It does take such a mere mite to make childern pleased. She – "

Poor Uncle Moses could bear no more. There had never been so many interesting things happening as since he had been in bed, unable to take part in them. Within his age-worn body beat the heart of a little child, and he was nearly frantic, imagining what might be going on beyond those closed barn doors and he shut out.

"Clear out, Susanna Sprigg. Get away from that winder. Don't ye let me hear another word about that party. If a miracle happens so's I can go to it, all right. If not – the sooner you look after that ham the better."

Susanna turned from the pane, saying quite gently:

"I don't know as the days of miracles is past. Seems if there was some been done right here in Marsden township. I am sorry for ye, Moses. I'd almost ruther stay to home myself than have you miss the fun. Maybe you won't. Maybe a fresh miracle will be done. Maybe I shall see you the chief sinner in the synagogue, I mean the most invited comp'ny – My suz! You know what I mean better'n I can say it. I'll fetch you up a sandwich, soon's that ham is cooked."

She hurried below, and the unhappy hired man turned his face from the light and went to sleep, or tried to, though the odors of good things wafted to him from the kitchen beneath kept his thoughts on the disturbing party and angered him against the two children he loved.

"Should ha' thought they'd waited till I was up an' 'round again. 'Twouldn't have hurt 'em an' would ha' been showing some decent feelin' fer me," he grumbled. And little did the old man dream that he was, indeed, the very heart and centre of the whole festivity!

Oh, what a day that was! The toilers in the barn sent in word that they were too busy to stop for any dinner, and Susanna retorted that she was herself fully too busy to cook it for them. Everybody had a slice of bread and butter and a glass of milk, which didn't take a minute to dispose of. Even the mistress, who had returned, fared thus.

That afternoon Reuben Smith tooted up to Miss Maitland's front gate and handed out a paste-board box, very large and weighty, which Susanna hastily received and carried into the house. There it was hurriedly opened behind closed doors by Aunt Eunice, with her housemate to assist, and was found to contain a new suit of men's clothing, with all accessories needful.

"I'll carry them to poor Nathan at once, and make sure he puts them on. Then, if you're willing, we'll light a fire in your stove and burn all his old rags," said the mistress.