University of Virginia Library

21. XXI.
BIM'S DISCOVERIES.

“Come, Phœbe,” said Mrs. Jackwood, “empty the water out
of the p'taters; your father 's come, and he 'll want his dinner.
How absent-minded you be!”

Phœbe stood looking vacantly out of the window, towards the
village.

“I 'd like to know whether I 'm lazy, or what 's the matter with
me! Ever since Charlotte went, I can't do anything,— not even
pare apples.”

“It 's a little more Robert Greenwich than Charlotte, I guess!”

“I don't care — he 's treated me real mean! He has n't been
near the house since Charlotte went; and I bet he 's followed her,
wherever she 's gone!”

“Let Robert Greenwich go, and 'tend to what you 're doin'!”

Phœbe was on the point of pouring the potato-water into the
churn.

“What on arth has got into the child?” cried Mr. Jackwood,
scraping his feet at the door.

“I don't know; she does everything wrong-eend foremost. Jest
now, she come within an inch of emptyin' the cream-pot into the
swill-tub! If I had n't screamed, 't would a' gone, sure as the
world! Put on that churn-cover, now, 'fore you forgit it! You
took it, and what you done with 't, I don't know.”

“I 'm sure I don't,” replied Phœbe, thoughtfully, holding the
potato-kettle. “I remember putting something on the pump, and
it must be that.”

“There 's nothing here but the butcher-knife,” said Mr. Jackwood,
from the pump-room.

“Do tell if that 's there! and here I 've been huntin' for 't
this quarter of an hour! I never see! Be you crazy, child?”

Phœbe, chagrined: “I don't know but I be! for, here, I 've
been emptying potatoes and all into the sink! — What 's that
Rover 's got to play with?”

Mr. Jackwood: “I warrant, if Rover 's in the question, your
eyes 'll be sharp enough! I declare, — what is it, mother? It 's
suthin' 't must a' got lost off the line last washin'-day! Strange,
folks can be so careless! Here, you pesky pup!”

“That 's nothin' from the line,” retorted Mrs. Jackwood; “we
an't so careless as all that comes to. It 's some of Phœbe's work,
if anybody's.”

“Everything will be laid to Phœbe now, I suppose! Well, I
can stand it! — Why don't you git it away, father?”

The dog having paid no attention to his first summons, Mr.
Jackwood made an onset upon him with a short switch. But
Rover, if he did not actually think it was a sham-fight, meant to
make it one, and began to whisk and caper about the yard; sometimes
stopping to shake the garment playfully, or lying upon it
with his paws, and growling valorously, until Mr. Jackwood came
within reach; then, seizing it in his teeth, darting away just in
time to avoid a capture.

“I declare!” cried Phœbe, “it looks like Charlotte's white
cape!”

“Can't be!” said Mr. Jackwood, “for Charlotte 's miles away.”

“May be she is, and may be she an't!” replied Phœbe, significantly.
“But that 's her cape, true 's the world! Now you
can get it!”

Rover had dropped the article beside the path, and gone to roll
himself in the dust, as if nothing had happened. But this was
only a ruse; and as Mr. Jackwood approached, he snuffed, shook
the dirt from his ears, and lay, with his nose upon the ground,
ready for a spring. Mr. Jackwood frowned; Rover winked and
looked knowing.

“Rover! behave!”

“G-r-r-r-r-r-r!” said Rover.

Mr. Jackwood measured his distance, and rushed suddenly upon

the disputed property. But Rover, at a pounce, was there before
him. He caught the cape in his teeth; as it happened, however,
somebody's foot was on one corner of it; and the next moment
somebody's hand clutched the loose hide about his neck. Rover
pleaded; Rover whined; but the hand held fast.

“Come here, sir!” said Mr. Jackwood. “If you can't tell
when folks are in arnest, an' when they 're in play, I 'll larn ye,
so 's 't you 'll know, in futur'!”

“I 'll try! I 'll try! I 'll try!” yelped Rover, plainly as
talking.

“It 's Bim 's to blame!” interposed Phœbe. “He 's always
fooling with him!”

Mr. Jackwood appeared to consider that Phœbe was not far
from right; and, having bestowed a few light cuts across Rover's
back, dismissed him, with a grave admonition. The dog ran off,
rubbing his left ear with his paw, and lay down, dejectedly, under
the wagon.

Meanwhile Phœbe had possessed herself of the garment, and
taken it to the house. Had it been a common article of apparel,
it would have attracted very little attention; but it was a light
and graceful cape of Charlotte's own manufacture, and the fair
figures her needle had wrought, together with its original delicate
white color, rendered its recent cuts and stains all the more striking
by contrast. What surprised the family most was the discovery
that some of the stains were of blood.

“Le' me see it!” said Mr. Jackwood, taking the article in his
hand, for the twentieth time. “Suthin' here!” with a profound
expression. “Mother, look an' see if that wan't cut with a
knife!”

Mother looked; Phœbe looked; and Mr. Jackwood looked
again.

“What do you think, father?” asked the excited Phœbe.

“The dog never tore that in this world! It 's been cut; an'
this blood on 't an't four-'n-twenty hours old, or I miss my
guess! Where in the world could the dog git holt on 't? Where 's
Bim'lech? Does anybody know?”

“O, I 'm real frightened!” stammered Phœbe. “I — I 'm

afraid I 've been to blame, some way. But — I 'm sure — I
did n't think I was doing any wrong.”

“What do you mean? What have you done?”

“I told Robert when Charlotte was going away, — I don't
know what I did it for, — but he made me think —”

Mr. Jackwood: “He made ye think the moon was made o'
green cheese, if he tried to, I 've no doubt! Did n't I tell ye
Cha'lotte wanted it kep' from everybody? — But what has that to
do with the cape?”

“If anything has happened to her, it 's all owing to me!” said
the remorseful Phœbe. “She was afraid of him, an' one day they
had a dreadful quarrel down by the crick. He said 't was because
she was jealous of me.”

Mrs. Jackwood: “Jealous of you! That 's an idee! For my
part, I never imagined Robert cared a snap of his finger for
you!”

“Where 's Bim'lech, I wonder?” said Mr. Jackwood. “That
boy never 's in sight when he 's wanted!”

“What boy never 's in sight when he 's wanted?” cried a
blustering voice at the door.

Phœbe: “Here he is!”

Abimelech, stoutly: “Yes, here he is! An' he 'd like to find
out who 's ben lickin' Rove'?”

Mr. Jackwood: “S'posin' I have? What then?”

“Wal!” — began the younger Jackwood, with a belligerent
shake of the head.

“Wal, what?”

“I 'd — like to know what he 'd ben doin', — that 's all!”

“He was tearin' this 'ere cape; an' what I want of you is, to
tell how he come by it.”

Bim looked ignorant: “What cape?”

“Charlotte's cape,” cried Phœbe. “It 's been cut, and tore,
and there 's blood on it! Where did you find it?”

“Jes' if I found it! What you talkin' 'bout?”

Mr. Jackwood, sternly: “Look a' here, Bim'lech!”

“An't I lookin' hard 's I can?”

“Don't speak so! I 'll have that dog killed, if you 're goin'

to be so pudgicky when he 's whipped for gitt'n' into mischief;
mind, I tell ye! Now, speak the truth, and tell us what you know
about this 'ere cape!”

Bim: “What should I know about it?”

Phœbe: “He does know! I can tell.”

Bim: “You can tell, a sight! Rove found it down in the
meadow.”

Mr. Jackwood: “Bim'lech, 'tend to me! Tell me how it come
cut?”

“Rove tore it; I was goin' to lick him for 't, if I could ketched
him.”

“But that was done with a knife!”

“'T was jes' so when I found it, — perty nigh.”

Phœbe: “You said Rove found it!”

“Wal, — what if I did? Wan't Rove an' me together? And
an't Rove my dog? — say!”

“That 'll do, Phœbe! Bim'lech, do you know anything about
this blood?”

Bim, interested: “What blood? O! that! You make a
great fuss about an old rag, I should think! An't we goin' to
have no dinner to-day? Where 's the wash-basin?”

“Bim'lech,” said Mrs. Jackwood, “come here!”

Bim, scowling: “What ye want?”

Mrs. Jackwood held the young gentleman by the collar, and,
wetting the corner of her handkerchief with her tongue, rubbed it
on his cheek.

“Come!” exclaimed Bim, jerking away; “what 's that for?”

“Hold still! what 's on your face?”

“I d'n' know! what? — O, Pheeb! you can't guess what I
got!” and Bim pulled something from his pocket.

“A letter! Where did you git it?”

Bim, triumphantly: “I found it with the cape!”

Phœbe: “It 's Robert Greenwich's name on the back! And
there 's blood on the letter! Are you sure you found them
together?”

“Of course I be! Wan't the letter under the cape? And
did n't it drop out when I picked it up?”

“I guess I can tell somethin' 'bout the blood,” said Mrs. Jackwood.
“Hold here agin, Bim'lech. — Han't you ben havin' the
nose-bleed?”

“Yes, — I had the nose-bleed a little! What of it?”

“An' you got blood on the cape!”

“Mebby I got a little on.”

“Bim'lech!” said Mr. Jackwood, solemnly, “step this way!
Look me in the eye! Now le's have the truth, the hull truth,
and nothin' but the truth.”

“Wal, don't I?”

“I wan't goin' to punish ye; we only wanted to know the truth
of the matter; for we was afraid suthin' had happened to Charlotte.
Now, was there, or was there not, blood on the cape when
you found it?”

Bim, hesitating: “The rain, or suthin', had spotted it, any
way.”

“And you cut it with your knife a little, did n't ye?” in a
coaxing tone.

Bim, doubtfully: “Le' me think! Yes, now I remember! I
did cut it a little; but 't was an old thing!”

Phœbe: “O, what stories!”

“Phœbe! I 'm dealin' with him! What 'd ye cut it for?”

“Wal,” — Bim scratched his head, — “I cut it! — 't wan't
good for nothin'!”

Mr. Jackwood, tapping the floor with his foot: “Answer my
question!”

“I d'no, — I thought —” Bim began to grin — “'t would
make a good jacket for Rove, — like that the little monkey had
on to the caravan.”

“Boy! Then you made these holes?”

Bim looked foolish: “Wal, — I had to make some holes for
his legs, or it would n't stay on to him.”

“That 's right!” said Mr. Jackwood, approvingly; “always
tell the truth, my son; for liars never prosper.”

Phœbe: “I should n't think he 'd prosper, then!”

“'Sh! never mind! he 's done perty well. — How did you git
the nose-bleed, my son?”

“He did n't like the jacket; an' when I held him to put his
legs in the holes, he jumped, an' kicked, — till by 'n' by he hit my
nose the awfullest tunk with the back of his head! I hung on,
though, till I see the blood runnin'; then he cut for the house,
with the cape hangin' by his neck an' one leg.”

“Why could n't ye a' told this in the fust place?”

Bim, giggling: “'Cause you was all makin' sich a fuss about
the ol' rag, an' I did n't know how hard I 'd have to take it! I
meant to tell, all the time; but I thought 't would n't do no hurt
to let on a little to once.”

“That don't explain how the cape come in the meader, arter
all. And Green'ich's letter with it, too! — I don't s'pose 't 'll do
no harm to open it, sence the wafer 's broke, an' find out who
wrote it. — What name 's that 'ere, Phœbe? Your eyes are better
'n mine.”

“Why, it 's Hector Dunbury's!”

“Hector Dunb'ry's, hey? Wal, I guess we 'll set up to the
table, now; and arter dinner, Bim'lech, you can go 'n' carry the
letter over to Mr. Dunb'ry's folks. If it 's from Hector, they 've
a better right to it than we have. Don't be readin' it, Phœbe!”

Phœbe: “I an't, — but, — how strange! Hector 's gone to
Californy!”

Mr. Jackwood: “Here, here! you shan't read it! Give it to
me. Can't be he 's gone to Californy! His folks 'u'd know
suthin' 'bout it, if he had.”

Phœbe: “Just let me make out this sentence. It 's something
about Charlotte.”

Mrs. Jackwood: “Come, Bim'lech, take off your cap, an' wash
your face, if you 're goin' to Mr. Dunbury's. Don't throw your
cap! I declare for 't!”

Bim, flinging his cap at the sink-shelf, had missed his aim, and
sent it plump into the churn. A tumult ensued, as Mrs. Jackwood,
in great trepidation, fished it out, and hastened to hold it,
with the dripping cream, over a milk-pan.

Bim, with bravado: “You might keep the churn covered up!”

Mrs. Jackwood: “How many times did I tell you, Phœbe! —
It 's well for both of ye 't I 've got my hands full!”

“I don't know what I did with the cover,” said Phœbe, still
clinging to the letter.

“Come, come!” exclaimed Mr. Jackwood. “Have I got to
take it away from you by main force?”

Phœbe, relinquishing her hold: “I don't think Hector speaks
very well of Charlotte, anyhow! That 's the way with men,
though; and I suppose Robert will write to him the same about
me!”

Mrs. Jackwood: “Father, do set that child to doin' suthin'!
If you can't think of anything else, take the pie out of the oven.
Then hunt for that churn-cover till you find it.”

Phœbe opened the oven-door. There was no pie there; but in
its place she found the missing churn-cover, baked brown, and so
hot that she dropped it on the floor with a scream.