University of Virginia Library

12. XII.
ARCHY'S SUBSTITUTE.

WHEN he recovered himself, the seeress had come
out of her trance, and the circle was dissolved.
The men crowded around him to see what wonderful
“test” he had received. But he folded the paper
carefully; it was for no eyes but his own: and, making his
way through the group, he approached the seeress.

She had thrown open a blind, and stood tying her bonnet
at the end of the room. Something had seemed to vanish
magically as the daylight streamed in. The walls and floor,
and the faces of the people present, wore no longer any hue
of illusion, but looked bare and gray in the unromantic light.
Mr. Murk's nose resembled more than ever a great lump of
putty. The fat deacon's features appeared in all their native
grossness. The large white-gleaming forehead of the silent
female showed now an unwholesome bluish tinge, where the
hair had been shaved from its summit to make it look bold
and intellectual. A sort of mystery still hung about the tall
gentleman, who appeared like some splendid personage in disguise;

his mild eyes and cautious lips smiling the intelligence
which he did not care to speak.

But Guy watched the countenance of the seeress. It was
still a fine and striking face, which could well brave the test
of daylight. But the spiritual radiance had left the brow;
the sweet, ecstatic expression of the mouth, the almost saintly
aspect of the eyes, had vanished. A pale, cold, nervous little
woman stood before him, tying her bonnet. Doctor Biddikin
introduced him.

“Did we never meet before?” Guy asked, feeling that
she must be well acquainted with his history.

She regarded him with provoking indifference. “I never
saw you till this moment, sir, nor heard your name till just
now.”

“And you knew nothing of me until I entered this
room?”

“Absolutely nothing, sir,” — busy with her gloves.

“And you never met any member of my family?” he
continued with a graciousness of manner which no coldness
on her part could disturb.

“Never to my knowledge, sir. Any thing else?”

Guy was piqued, not being accustomed to such treatment
from young ladies of any susceptibility.

“I suppose,” said he, “I ought to be satisfied with the
statements you have kindly condescended to make; but I
have been so much astonished by what I have witnessed, that
I should go on and ask a great many more questions, if I did
not see that I have annoyed you sufficiently already.”

“You have not annoyed me at all, sir.” And, for the first
time, the lady's eyes, clear and bright blue, flashed up frankly,
almost laughingly, at Guy. She appeared to him at that moment
the most artful, uncivil, capricious, tantalizing woman
he ever saw. But he was encouraged, and questioned her
with regard to her trance.

“I don't know much more about it,” said she, “than you
do. An influence comes over me; and all I have to do is to
give myself up to it. What I say is given me, sentence by
sentence, and word by word; so that I never know, when I
begin, what is to follow. The influence is sometimes very
pleasant: it was especially so to-day, after you came into
the circle. But” — she shuddered, and her brow contracted
into a frown — “the atmosphere of this house — don't you
feel it?”

“What about the atmosphere of this house?” cried Doctor
Biddikin, pressing forward, smirking politely, thumbs and
little fingers together.

“The magnetisms of the people who have lived here are
insufferable,” she answered with the previous air of impatient
disdain.

“There have been some very singular people in this house,
very singular,” said the doctor in some confusion.

“Did any one ever die a strange, unnatural death in this
room?” she asked.

“Did any one — in this room — an unnatural” —articulated
Biddikin, his features changing to a ghastly sallow hue,

but still smirking. “That were a very remarkable question!”
he hurriedly added, his matched fingers shaking themselves
asunder. “There's been strange deaths in this house,
— you know that, Deacon Pitman! — Madison!” turning
sharply on the junior, “what do you mean?”

“Ah!” aspirated Madison, his suspicious forefinger pointing
at his father with a wicked leer in his eye, “there's
been deaths, Deacon Pitman and I know; only we don't!”
he added between his teeth.

“What! are you going?” cried Biddikin. “I — I
nearly forgot myself. When shall we have another meeting?
The sooner we begin operations, the better, I suppose.”

“Brother Murk and Sister Lingham are going home with
me,” said the deacon. “We shall be ready most any time
for another setting.”

“I am impressed,” said Mr. Murk, wagging the Swedenborgian
arm, “that the medium will appoint a time” —
thwack, thwack! “What does the sister say?”

“I can make no appointment for myself,” replied the
seeress. “If necessary, we shall be brought together again.
Come!” And she took the arm of the mysterious gentleman,
turning impatiently to go.

“Madison!” cried the bustling little doctor, “go and
untie the horse for them! Quick!”

The carriage was in the rear of the house. The seeress
and her companion got into it: she gave not even a parting
look to Guy, who stood watching her with interest as they
rode away.

“That little woman,” said Madison, re-entering, “has got
a devil in her as big as a woodchuck.”

“You've got one in you as big as your skin!” snapped
his father.

“Yes: none of the little dried-up devils such as your
mummy-skin holds, but as live a devil as ever you see!”

“`Ever you see'! Can't you use better grammar than
that?”

“What should I say?”

“`Ever you sor,' of course.”

“Ever you sor, then! — if that makes any difference.
I tell ye, I like that little woman. But t'other one, with
her shaved forehead, — bah! And the cutwater that Murk
craft carries!” — a figure of speech applied to the philanthropist's
nose, which was just then dividing the air between Miss
Lingham and the deacon, as the three walked down the road.
“I shall run afoul of that some time! I shall get it in my
fist, and twist it hard, I know I shall!” And Madison
laughed maliciously.

“Did you ever hear such talk from any sane being?” the
senior Biddikin appealed to Guy. “He don't know half
the time what he is saying, — not half!”

“Look a here!” returned the junior, “you half-pint of
cider, — sour at that! — ye'll get spilt over if ye don't take
ca-a-re!”

“Hear that?” said the senior. “He abuses me! He
shows no respect to his venerable father!”

“Respect! I've no more respect for you than for a griddlecake
the cat has left!” spitting contemptuous tobacco-juice,
and sprawling on the bench.

“See that! — on my floor!” ejaculated the doctor. “He
chews tobacco!” — with immense disgust.

“His dander is up at what I said of deaths in this house,”
sneered the son. “But I could tell a thing or two!” menacingly.
“That gal made one good hit, if she never did
another.”

“I — ah! — don't you think,” stammered the doctor,
“there's a great deal of imposture — guess-work, to say the
least — with these mediums?”

“What she said was law and gospel, though, till she made
that last hit,” said Madison.

“Don't mind a word he says,” whispered the doctor. “I
think he's a little insane: don't he seem so to you? —
Madison, I want to converse with Mr. Bannington alone a
few minutes.”

“Think I'm going to be turned out of doors so easy as
that, you last year's puff-ball!” replied the dutiful Madison.

“Insolent!” Biddikin rushed upon him, shaking his fist.
“Quit this house im-MEDIATELY!” — these final syllables
being capitalized by Madison's boot, which was suddenly
projected against the paternal diaphragm.

“For shame, for shame!” cried Guy, receiving the reeling
doctor in his arms.

“You sor it, didn't you?” gasped Biddikin. “He shall
rue that kick, he shall rue that kick!” he exclaimed furiously;
then began to groan. “Oh, my abdomen, my abdomen!”
— nursing the afflicted part with both hands piteously.
“He has done me some internal injury!” — faintly. “I
am dying!” — more faintly. “I — I” —

Guy eased him down upon a chair: by which time rage
had got the better of pain; and, springing up, he flew at his
dear son with renewed fury. Guy held them asunder, while
Madison jeeringly invited his progenitor to come on.

“Shame, shame!” repeated Guy. “Father and son at
blows!”

“Dreadful, isn't it?” said the doctor. “He provokes my
life out of me! What do you advise me to do?”

“I advise you two to live as far apart as possible.”

“Just my opinion! But I can't get rid of him.”

“Can't? You won't let me go!” said Madison; “or, if
I do, you're crazy as a loon till you coax me back again.”

“Try it, and see!”

“I will; and you won't catch me in this house again.”

“I don't wish to, if you can't behave yourself,” said Biddikin,
softening a little as his son grew earnest.

“Why don't you go to work somewhere, Mad, and earn
your living?” asked Guy. “You're a man in bone and
muscle: it's time you were beginning to show yourself a man
in character. I'd do any thing, if I were you, rather than
live this miserable cat-and-dog life.”

“I will: I'll find a place somewhere.”

“Will you promise to behave yourself if I will get you
one?”

“I can behave myself well enough, only take me away
from that dressed-up mouldly doughnut! that pine-knot on
pegs! that pair of scissors in a rag!” — rhetorical flourishes
with which the fanciful junior adorned the elder's meagre
anatomy. “Jest gi' me something to do, and see if I won't
be something besides the loafer you think I am.”

“That's precisely what I intend.” And Guy proposed
the situation behind the colonel's chair. It was at once
accepted.

“I object!” said the doctor, short and sharp.

Guy looked at him in amazement.

“Yes, emphatically! Don't you go to getting away my
son! He sha'n't go! he sha'n't go!” — very decidedly,
shaking his head, and compressing his lips.

“What did I tell you?” roared out Madison with savage
scorn.

“Pray, doctor, what objection can you have?”

“It's a menial occupation. My son sha'n't disgrace himself
by engaging in it. Just think of him, heir to the largest
property, probably, in the State, wheeling a sick man's chair!
It's preposterous! I forbid it! Madison, don't you sign any
papers with regard to that treasure. There'll be half a dozen
men at work digging again, within a week, under the direction
of the spirits; but I shall retain the control of it. Remember

what I charge you, — be careful how you write your
name! — Mr. Bannington, can you accommodate me with the
loan of thirty-seven cents for a few days? I shall be in a
way to repay it very soon.”

“He'll pay ye when they find the money, — the day after
doomsday!” jeered Madison. “I'd sell all my right and
title to it for a pack of jack-straws. I'll see ye,” — significantly
to Guy; and he swaggered out of the house.

“What I wanted to say to you,” whispered the doctor,
pocketing Guy's loan, — “don't you think you and I can
take hold now, and find that money just as well as a large
company can? There's a fortune to be made; and the fewer
to share it, the better. We can get a medium somewhere:
I think Archy would make a good one. I — I don't like
these impudent young women!”

But Guy declined the tempting proposition. He was in
haste to depart.

“There's Madison waiting for you at the gate,” said the
doctor. “Don't you hire him. I've my reasons. Don't try
to shake me: I'm firm as a rock.”

“I've no wish to shake you, doctor,” — Guy smiled;
“but I tell you frankly, if you don't give your consent, I
shall venture to hire him without it,” — going.

“You do it at your peril! I've the lor on my side, I
warn ye!” Biddikin called after him.

Guy said a few words to Madison as he mounted his horse;
and, whistling to his dogs, rode down the mountain-side.

The open air of the peaceful summer afternoon was refreshing
to him, coming from that house. Superb scenery spread
around him. Far to the north and west stretched the vales
and slopes of the sun-spotted mountain region. Close on his
left arose the gray and shattered crags among which Doctor
Biddikin's treasure was concealed. Still nearer, on his right,
opened an immense ravine; through which, far down, visible
from the ridge-side where he rode, wound a tortuous highway,
and a still more tortuous brook, descending from a woody
notch in the eastern hills, and disappearing again in woods
a mile farther on.

Those were the woods in which he had hunted Lucy with
his hound. That was the brook, which, joined by another
from beyond the crags, filled the woods with its noises.
And Guy, with tremulous sweet memories, was soon riding
where the roads united, and the streams flowed into one,
and the sun-flushed foliage overbowered him with solitude
and shadow. Amongst rocks and trees, through picturesque
leafy vistas, by the wild watercourse, he passed pensively.
His dogs ran before and behind him noiselessly. His horse's
tread fell muffled in the powdery bed of the road. One or
two birds chirped to him at intervals in the green umbrage,
with long-drawn plaintive notes. Fresh to his nostrils came
the peculiar smell of the woods, breathing of moss-banks, cool
and damp recesses, roots and lichens and old leaves. Now
and then the pervading sylvan odor was crossed by a faint
streak of pine-fragrance astray in the forest; and all the

while, now near, now farther off, poured and plashed and
gurgled the torrent.

Poured and plashed and gurgled, too, the waters of Guy's
soul. Full of music, sweetly, strongly, onward hasting,
impetuous, bubbling, whirling, in light and gloom, rushed
the emotions and thoughts of that wilder stream.

Now he takes from his bosom a miniature, which he gazes
at and kisses with fond eyes and lips. Then the profile the
seeress drew for him he unfolds, and regards long with wondering,
yearning, awed, and misty eyes. What new fire is this
kindling his nerves, burning him with sweet raptures, sighs,
hopes, visions of the future? what vast ambition vaguely
taking form in his swelling breast?

Emerging from the woods, he stopped at a plain little
brown house in a sequestered nook, a little removed from
the wayside. The approach to it was across a large grassy
door-yard shaded by butternuts and elms. He alighted at
the door, where he was met by the honest-faced young farmer,
Jehiel Hedge.

“Well, Jehiel, how do you get on?”

“Just you come in and see! I tell ye, that wife of mine
is a treasure. She's got the carpet made; and hark! that's
the hammer! — she's putting it down.”

The two ascended to a pleasant chamber, half sunny, half
shaded by the boughs of trees, where a young woman knelt,
and drove tacks. She lifted her face, — a plain, rather large,
but somehow tender and luminous face, — which blushed
quite charmingly at sight of Guy.

“It's all her doings,” said Jehiel, pointing out the progress
that had been made in new-furnishing the room.

“Only he has done the hardest part of it. He would
work his hands off for you, Mr. Bannington,” added Mrs.
Hedge.

“That reminds me: when I told her we was to get a
room ready to-day for a new boarder, she wouldn't hear to
it, she couldn't think of it, till I mentioned your name.
`Oh, yes!' says she: `any thing for him! I'll go right to
cleaning!' And here you see evidence of zeal!”

Guy smiled with heartfelt pleasure, observing the gratitude
of these kind hearts, and remembering that they owed
their happiness to him.

As he went out with Jehiel, he saw a child, just large
enough to run about, boldly playing with Ranger.

“Why, Teddy! you'll get eaten up!”

“No, me won't!” said Teddy earnestly.

“His mother can't have him in the room; for he gets the
tacks, and swallows them.”

“Puts down the nails, while she puts down the carpet, —
eh, Teddy? See if you will swallow this.” And Guy gave
the child a half-dollar.

“By tell ye!” said Teddy proudly. “Papa! see!”

“That name comes natural to him,” suggested Guy.

“I'm all the papa he ever had,” answered Jehiel with a
grave, pitying expression. “I loved him for her sake at first:
I love him for Teddy's sake now!” And he folded the
child in his arms.

There was something in the scene, and in the history
which the scene recalled, which made Guy's breath come
quick and somewhat chokingly for a moment: then, silently
kissing the rosy-cheeked child, he sprang upon his horse.

He galloped home, saw the colonel, drank a cup of Mrs.
Burble's tea, and, exchanging his saddle for a light-wheeled
vehicle, departed again at sunset, driving south.