University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

Punctual to her promise, Nurse Agnes, or as she
was commonly called, Aunt Agnes, visited Granny
Gammon on the ensuing day. Agnes thought the old
crone very ill; so much so that she determined to remain
with her. It was the first day of the fall races;
and Bobby, with the assistance of Pompey, who had
laid up the odd change which his master and others
had given him, had established a booth on the ground
for the double purpose of seeing the sport of which
he was passionately fond, notwithstanding the injury
he had received in indulging in it, and at the same
time of making a little money.

Peggy and Aunt Agnes were the watchers by the
humble bed of Granny Gammon. The light of life
in the invalid was waning fast to extinction. She
seemed like one who was sinking to sleep after a
long and toilsome day's work, but whom the excess
of labour had made restless, for she moved at intervals,
and would open her eyes languidly for a moment
as she tried to change her position. The wrinkled
face, the freckled forehead, the cheeks and chin
covered with large moles, the thin and hueless lips,

over which its muscles had no control, all betokened
bodily debility, that could not under any circumstance
hold the vital spark long, and which now was about
to yield it without nature having the strength to make
an effort to hold it.

The old woman's mind evidently wandered at intervals
throughout the day; for at times she would
pick the bed-clothes as though she were picking cotton;
and when Towzer, that Bobby had left behind,
barked as the numerous carriages and other vehicles
rattled to the races, Granny Gammon would in a
querulous tone call to Bobby not to teaze the dog, or
bid the animal be still and let her go to sleep. Then,
again, she would rouse herself, ask after Bobby, speak
reprovingly of the races, and turn and talk to Agnes
upon religious topics, as if she sought ghostly consolation.

“You must not be cast down, child;” said Agnes,
in a low voice to Peggy, in one of those periods when
the patient appeared to sleep; “you must not be cast
down, but it is not in the nature of things that your
grandmother could live long; and yet,” she continued,
in a musing tone to herself, “I thought I should go first
as I am the oldest, but all in God's appointed time.
Peggy, let this be a lesson to you, that when you grow
old you may look back without regret, and forward
with hope. (Peggy was weeping, bitterly.) Child! it
is natural that you should weep, for your grandmother
is near and dear to you, but we're all in the hands of
a merciful God. He knows what is best for us, and
what we take for evil is meant for good.”

“What shall I do, what shall I do; what will
Bobby do?” said Peggy, sobbing aloud, “if Granny
dies.”

“Don't laugh so, child,” said the old grandmother,
making a restless movement with her hands, “when
you know I'm ailing.” Then opening her eyes and

casting them on Agnes, she continued after a pause,
“Aunty, you're kind to come and see me—do you
know I am like to die. Now ain't it strange that the
youngest should die first, ain't it a strange ordering of
Providence.”

“We are all in God's hands,” said Agnes, reverently
looking up.

Thus passed the day. Half an hour after night
Bobby returned from the races, and stealing in quietly
to his Cousin Peggy's side, he asked how his Granny
was.

“Awful bad, Bobby,” said Peggy, “awful; what
did you do at the races?”

“First rate,” said Bobby; “I had such a run from
fellows that spent money like water—see here (producing
a handful of money tied up in the end of a pocket
handkerchief). Poor Granny, you know Cousin Peggy,
she was always wishing as how that we had a cow of
our own? Well, there was a first rate cow and calf
raffled for at the races, for fifty dollars. Jack Gordon
was there knocking round and spending money like
dirt, and corned at that; so he takes a chance for five
dollars—he's always good luck—so he wins her.
Then he come to me and made friends, you know,
that is, he wanted to—he spent money, hard silver,
treating the fellows at my booth all day. So I could'nt
but be civil to him, inasmuch as he said as how he
was in a pet when he said them aggravating things.
Well, he stuck to it that I should take the cow and
calf; he'd let'em go, he said, at twenty, cash. There'd
been a fellow treating round at my booth, an' I had
changed a twenty for him; there, said Jack Gordon,
give me that note and take the cow and calf. Well,
you know, Cousin Peggy, if I don't like Jack Gordon,
a bargain's a bargain, an' I'd just as lieve get one out
of him as any body. Now Granny 'll have a cow,
won't she?”

The bed of the invalid was in the corner of the
only room that the cabin contained; a rough pair of
stairs led to a loft where Bobby slept; and it was in
the corner, by the stairs, that he held this conversation
in a whisper with his cousin. His granny was
in a lethargy, from which his entrance had not roused
her. Agnes sat beside her, watching, anxiously, her
countenance.

At this moment, without the inmates of the cabin
having heard the least sound of approaching footsteps
or voices, the door was thrown suddenly open,
and a constable and several other persons roughly
entered.

The constable glanced round the room, and on
beholding Bobby, who was in the act of exhibiting
his money to Peggy, he walked up to him, and
seizing him by the shoulder, said:

“Come, young man, give me up that money: I'm
sorry for you, but you're caught at last.”

“In God's name, what's the matter?” asked Agnes,
“have you no respect for the aged and the dying, to
break in the house in this way.”

Here Gordon entered the cabin, and said, in a tone,
of which he could not stifle the malignity:

“He'll not deny it: where is it?” The constable
handed Gordon a bank bill; “there,” said Gordon,
“did you not give me that note for my cow—look at
that other money, damn me, if it ain't the same kind.
Peggy, how do you do? Didn't you give me that
note, Cousin Bobby?”

The constable, rough as he appeared, was struck
with compassion on beholding the aged and sick
grandmother, as she opened her eyes, and gazed on
them in bewilderment, and the unutterable astonishment
and anguish depicted in Peggy's features; he
therefore said to Bobby:

“See, Bob Gammon, I just say to you, that you

needn't say anything to criminate yourself unless you
choose.”

“Criminate myself!” said Bobby, in seeming
amazement, “I don't understand: let me look at it—
yes, I did give Jack Gordon that bill for his cow;
at any rate a bill a good deal like, for it had just such
a cross on the corner.”

“Who did you get it from?” asked the constable.

“That's what I don't exactly know,” said Bobby.
“I never saw the man before, to my knowledge, but
I could tell him if I was to see him again.”

“Well,” exclaimed Gordon, “you passed that note
on me, didn't you?”

“Yes,” said Bobby, “I think that is the note.”

“Gentlemen, you hear that,” said Gordon. “Mark!
he don't deny it. My little lark, you're a bright one.
That note I went to pass at the tavern, and they had
a warrant out on me for passing counterfeit money.
I just want to saddle the right horse, that's all. Look
if that money ain't like this,” said Gordon to the constable,
who had taken from the boy the money he
had been showing to his cousin when they entered.

“Yes,” said the constable, “these notes are on the
same bank. I'm sorry for you, young man, but you
must go with me.”

“Where, where?” asked Peggy, taking, imploringly,
the hand of the officer.

“Before Squire Norris, Miss Peggy—I must do
my duty—I'm 'fraid it's all up with him.”

“All up with who?” said Granny Gammon, rousing
herself, and speaking in a tone that was strangely sharp
and hollow by turns. “No, I'm ailing; but I'm younger
than Aunty Agnes. So I thought I'd set up with the
old woman—it's going hard with her. John Gordon,
what do ye want,” she exclaimed, now first recognising
Gordon; “did'nt I forbid you coming here?”

“Granny, I had to come here, or else go to jail.
Some people wanted to cry mad dog at me, as Peggy
knows. That hurt my character with a good many.
I'm for saddling the right horse. Where did Bobby
get all this counterfeit money from?”

The old Granny uttered a shrill scream, and raising
herself up in bed, gazed at Gordon with a look from
which all mental wandering had fled.

“It's you, is it, John Gordon; and you accuse my
Bobby of this. You lay it at his door, and my door,
and I a dying woman, and his grandmother. You
know, John Gordon, in your heart—I see it in your
face—you know he is as innocent as the babe unborn.
No, you've beset him, and you've beset my
Peggy—and you've come in my dying hour—and all
in hate. You'll think of this when your time comes,
John Gordon—an' it will not come to you in your
bed. I'm dying, an' I tell ye so—it will not come to
you in your bed. Go out of my house, an' let me die
in peace, if ye don't I'll curse you with my dying
breath at my own door-stone. Bobby is innocent
as a lamb,” he continued, addressing the constable,
but in a faltering tone, and gasping for breath; “he's
as innocent as a lamb,” she muttered again, and sunk
back upon her pillow a corpse. The excitement and
exertion had exhausted the little remnant of life.

Bobby broke away from the officer, who had in
fact released his grasp at the horror of the scene, and,
with his Cousin Peggy, threw himself by the lifeless
body of his grandmother. He spoke not a word,
while Peggy's screams rent the air.

Gordon looked on conscience-smitten, and appalled,
but on Aunt Agnes saying to him:

“That if Bobby was innocent he had an awful sin
to answer for,” he rallied and replied:—

“Did he deny passing the money on me? As for

the old woman, how did I know she was sick; damn
her—her time was come, any how!”

“Come, said the constable,” going up to Bobby,
and raising him from the bed; “this is hard, but I
must do my duty.”

“For God's sake,” exclaimed Peggy, “have a little
pity on us!—on me, must I be all alone? You heard
what Granny said, they were her dying words! indeed
he is innocent.”

“Cousin Peggy,” said Bobby, in a tone strangely
calm and decided for one of his years and character
under the circumstances—“I'll go; Aunt Agnes will
stay with you. As sure as Granny is dead, there, I'm
innocent,—she spoke the truth. You stay by poor
Granny,—I'll go.” He walked up to his cousin, embraced
her with a long and passionate embrace,
while she sobbed as though her heart was bursting.
He then stepped up to the corpse, took it's hand in
his, gazed upon the relaxed features intensely, as if
to satisfy himself that the spirit had departed; and
pressing his lips to its forehead, said, calmly, “I'm
ready,” and walked firmly out, followed by all of the
party, save Gordon, who lingered a minute, when
Aunt Agnes told him he had better go.

“Peggy, let me speak to you; just one moment,”
said he.

“Peggy, come here, I tell you,” he said, again, in a
commanding tone, and stamping with his foot upon
the floor.

“You're enough to make the dead body rise and
drive you out,” said Aunt Agnes in deep indignation;
“begone, or I'll call the constable and bid him take
you.”

Doggedly Gordon left the cabin, and Agnes rose
and fastened the door after him. The persons
who had left with Bobby in custody, stood within a
few steps of the cabin, seemingly waiting for him.

As the door closed on him, he called out, and asked
with an oath, “If they were not agoing to search
the house.”

“Not now, Gordon,” said the constable; “here's
enough of proof—outside here between the logs,—
this chap found a tin box full of it.”

“Go ahead, then,” said Gordon, “to the squire's.”
The whole party accordingly proceeded to the village,
to the residence of Squire Norris.