University of Virginia Library

5. V.
MR. DUCKLOW'S ADVENTURES.

Mr. Ducklow had scarcely turned the corner of the
street, when, looking anxiously in the direction of his homestead,
he saw a column of smoke. It was directly over the
spot where he knew his house to be situated. He guessed
at a glance what had happened. The frightful catastrophe
he foreboded had befallen. Taddy had set the house afire.

“Them bonds! them bonds!” he exclaimed, distractedly.
He did not think so much of the house: house and furniture
were insured; if they were burned, the inconvenience
would be great indeed, and at any other time the thought
of such an event would have been sufficient cause for trepidation,
— but now his chief, his only anxiety was the
bonds. They were not insured. They would be a dead
loss. And what added sharpness to his pangs, they would
be a loss which he must keep a secret, as he had kept their
existence a secret, — a loss which he could not confess, and
of which he could not complain. Had he not just given
his neighbors to understand that he held no such property?
And his wife, — was she not at that very moment, if not
serving up a lie on the subject, at least paring the truth
very thin indeed?

“A man would think,” observed Ferring, “that Ducklow
had some o' them bonds on his hands, and got scaret, he
took such a sudden start. He has, — has n't he, Mrs.
Ducklow?”

“Has what?” said Mrs. Ducklow, pretending ignorance.

“Some o' them cowpon bonds. I ruther guess he 's got
some.”

“You mean Gov'ment bonds? Ducklow got some?

'T a'n't at all likely he 'd spec'late in them, without saying
something to me about it! No, he could n't have any
without my knowing it, I 'm sure!”

How demure, how innocent she looked, plying her knitting-needles,
and stopping to take up a stitch! How little
at that moment she knew of Ducklow's trouble, and its
terrible cause!

Ducklow's first impulse was to drive on, and endeavor
at all hazards to snatch the bonds from the flames. His
next was, to return and alarm his neighbors, and obtain
their assistance. But a minute's delay might be fatal; so
he drove on, screaming, “Fire! fire!” at the top of his
voice.

But the old mare was a slow-footed animal; and Ducklow
had no whip. He reached forward and struck her
with the reins.

“Git up! git up! — Fire! fire!” screamed Ducklow.
“O, them bonds! them bonds! Why did n't I give the
money to Reuben? Fire! fire! fire!”

By dint of screaming and slapping, he urged her from
a trot into a gallop, which was scarcely an improvement as
to speed, and certainly not as to grace. It was like the
gallop of an old cow. “Why don't ye go 'long!” he cried
despairingly.

Slap, slap! He knocked his own hat off with the loose
ends of the reins. It fell under the wheels. He cast one
look behind, to satisfy himself that it had been very thoroughly
run over and crushed in the dirt, and left it to
its fate.

Slap, slap! “Fire, fire!” Canter, canter, canter! Neighbors
looked out of their windows, and, recognizing Ducklow's
wagon and old mare in such an astonishing plight,
and Ducklow himself, without his hat, rising from his seat,
and reaching forward in wild attitudes, brandishing the

reins, at the same time rending the azure with yells,
thought he must be insane.

He drove to the top of the hill, and looking beyond, in
expectation of seeing his house wrapped in flames, discovered
that the smoke proceeded from a brush-heap which
his neighbor Atkins was burning in a field near by.

The revulsion of feeling that ensued was almost too much
for the excitable Ducklow. His strength went out of him.
For a little while there seemed to be nothing left of him
but tremor and cold sweat. Difficult as it had been to get
the old mare in motion, it was now even more difficult to
stop her.

“Why! what has got into Ducklow's old mare? She 's
running away with him! Who ever heard of such a
thing!” And Atkins, watching the ludicrous spectacle
from his field, became almost as weak from laughter as
Ducklow was from the effects of fear.

At length Ducklow succeeded in checking the old mare's
speed, and in turning her about. It was necessary to drive
back for his hat. By this time he could hear a chorus of
shouts, “Fire! fire! fire!” over the hill. He had aroused
the neighbors as he passed, and now they were flocking to
extinguish the flames.

“A false alarm! a false alarm!” said Ducklow, looking
marvellously sheepish as he met them. “Nothing but
Atkins's brush-heap!”

“Seems to me you ought to have found that out 'fore
you raised all creation with your yells!” said one hyperbolical
fellow. “You looked like the Flying Dutchman!
This your hat? I thought 't was a dead cat in the road.
No fire, no fire!” — turning back to his comrades, — “only
one of Ducklow's jokes.”

Nevertheless, two or three boys there were who would
not be convinced, but continued to leap up, swing their

caps, and scream “Fire!” against all remonstrance.
Ducklow did not wait to enter into explanations, but, turning
the old mare about again, drove home amid the laughter
of the bystanders and the screams of the misguided
youngsters. As he approached the house, he met Taddy
rushing wildly up the street.

“Thaddeus! Thaddeus! where ye goin', Thaddeus?”

“Goin' to the fire!” cried Taddy.

“There a'n't any fire, boy!”

“Yes, there is! Did n't ye hear 'em? They 've been
yellin' like fury.”

“It 's nothin' but Atkins's brush.”

“That all?” And Taddy appeared very much disappointed.
“I thought there was goin' to be some fun. I
wonder who was such a fool as to yell fire jest for a darned
old brush-heap!”

Ducklow did not inform him.

“I 've got to drive over to town and git Reuben's trunk.
You stand by the mare while I step in and brush my hat.”

Instead of applying himself at once to the restoration of
his beaver, he hastened to the sitting-room, to see that the
bonds were safe.

“Heavens and 'arth!” said Ducklow.

The chair, which had been carefully planted in the spot
where they were concealed, had been removed. Three or
four tacks had been taken out, and the carpet pushed from
the wall. There was straw scattered about. Evidently
Taddy had been interrupted, in the midst of his ransacking,
by the alarm of fire. Indeed, he was even now creeping
into the house to see what notice Ducklow would take
of these evidences of his mischief.

In great trepidation the farmer thrust in his hand here
and there, and groped, until he found the envelope precisely
where it had been placed the night before, with the tape

tied around it, which his wife had put on to prevent its
contents from slipping out and losing themselves. Great
was the joy of Ducklow. Great also was the wrath of him
when he turned and discovered Taddy.

“Did n't I tell you to stand by the old mare?”

“She won't stir,” said Taddy, shrinking away again.

“Come here!” And Ducklow grasped him by the collar.
“What have you been doin'? Look at that!”

“'T wa'n't me!” — beginning to whimper, and ram his
fists into his eyes.

“Don't tell me 't wa'n't you!” Ducklow shook him till
his teeth chattered. “What was you pullin' up the carpet
for?”

“Lost a marble!” snivelled Taddy.

“Lost a marble! Ye did n't lose it under the carpet,
did ye? Look at all that straw pulled out!” — shaking
him again.

“Did n't know but it might 'a' got under the carpet,
marbles roll so,” explained Taddy, as soon as he could get
his breath.

“Wal, sir!” Ducklow administered a resounding box
on his ear. “Don't you do such a thing again, if you lose
a million marbles!”

“Ha'n't got a million!” Taddy wept, rubbing his cheek.
“Ha'n't got but four! Won't ye buy me some to-day?”

“Go to that mare, and don't you leave her again till I
come, or I 'll marble ye in a way you won't like!”

Understanding, by this somewhat equivocal form of expression,
that flagellation was threatened, Taddy obeyed,
still feeling his smarting and burning ear.

Ducklow was in trouble. What should he do with the
bonds? The floor was no place for them, after what had
happened, and he remembered too well the experience of
yesterday to think for a moment of carrying them about

his person. With unreasonable impatience, his mind
reverted to Mrs. Ducklow.

“Why a'n't she to home? These women are forever
a-gaddin'! I wish Reuben's trunk was in Jericho!”

Thinking of the trunk reminded him of one in the garret,
filled with old papers of all sorts, — newspapers, letters,
bills of sale, children's writing-books, — accumulations of
the past quarter of a century. Neither fire nor burglar
nor ransacking youngster had ever molested those ancient
records during all those five-and-twenty years. A bright
thought struck him.

“I 'll slip the bonds down into that wuthless heap o'
rubbish, where no one 'u'd ever think o' lookin' for 'em, and
resk 'em.”

Having assured himself that Taddy was standing by the
wagon, he paid a hasty visit to the trunk in the garret, and
concealed the envelope, still bound in its band of tape,
among the papers. He then drove away, giving Taddy a
final charge to beware of setting anything afire.

He had driven about half a mile when he met a pedler.
There was nothing unusual or alarming in such a circumstance,
surely; but as Ducklow kept on, it troubled him.

“He 'll stop to the house now, most likely, and want to
trade. Findin' nobody but Taddy, there 's no knowin'
what he 'll be tempted to do. But I a'n't a-goin' to worry.
I 'll defy anybody to find them bonds. Besides, she may
be home by this time. I guess she 'll hear of the fire-alarm,
and hurry home: it 'll be jest like her. She 'll be
there, — and — trade with the pedler?” thought Ducklow,
uneasily. Then a frightful fancy possessed him. “She
has threatened two or three times to sell that trunkful of
old papers. He 'll offer a big price for 'em, and ten to one
she 'll let him have 'em. Why did n't I consider on 't?
What a stupid blunderbuss I be!”

As Ducklow thought of it he felt almost certain that
Mrs. Ducklow had returned home, and that she was bargaining
with the pedler at that moment. He fancied her
smilingly receiving bright tin-ware for the old papers; and
he could see the tape-tied envelope going into the bag with
the rest. The result was that he turned about and whipped
the old mare home again in terrific haste, to catch the
departing pedler.

Arriving, he found the house as he had left it, and Taddy
occupied in making a kite-frame.

“Did that pedler stop here?”

“I ha'n't seen no pedler.”

“And ha'n't yer Ma Ducklow been home, neither?”

“No.”

And with a guilty look, Taddy put the kite-frame behind
him.

Ducklow considered. The pedler had turned up a cross-street:
he would probably turn down again and stop at the
house after all: Mrs. Ducklow might by that time be at
home: then the sale of old papers would very likely
take place. Ducklow thought of leaving word that he did
not wish any old papers in the house to be sold, but feared
the request might excite Taddy's suspicions.

“I don't see no way but for me to take the bonds with
me,” thought he, with an inward groan.

He accordingly went to the garret, took the envelope
out of the trunk, and placed it in the breast-pocket of his
overcoat, to which he pinned it, to prevent it by any
chance from getting out. He used six large, strong pins
for the purpose, and was afterwards sorry he did not use
seven.

“There 's suthin' losin' out of yer pocket!” bawled
Taddy, as he was once more mounting the wagon.

Quick as lightning, Ducklow clapped his hand to his

breast. In doing so, he loosed his hold of the wagon-box
and fell, raking his shin badly on the wheel.

“Yer side-pocket! it 's one o' yer mittens!” said Taddy.

“You rascal! how you scaret me!”

Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up
his trousers-leg to look at the bruised part.

“Got anything in yer boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?”
asked Taddy, innocently.

“Yes, a barked shin! — all on your account, too! Go
and put that straw back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye
let me hear ye speak of my boot-leg again, or I 'll boot-leg
ye!”

So saying, Ducklow departed.

Instead of repairing the mischief he had done in the
sitting-room, Taddy devoted his time and talents to the
more interesting occupation of constructing his kite-frame.
He worked at that, until Mr. Grantley, the minister, driving
by, stopped to inquire how the folks were.

“A'n't to home may I ride?” cried Taddy, all in a breath.

Mr. Grantley was an indulgent old gentleman, fond of
children; so he said, “Jump in”; and in a minute Taddy
had scrambled to a seat by his side.