CHAPTER XXI.
THE BOYS AND THE WIDOW.
Monday morning Charlie went over with the boys to the main land.
“I know the first thing I’ll have to do,” said John, as they neared the shore; “wash these fish and put them on the flakes.”
“We’ll help you,” said Charlie; “it’s a short job for all three of us; and you know we’ve promised to help Uncle Isaac dig potatoes one day, because he shot the arrow into the milk-pail; and to help him cut and haul some wood to Mrs. Yelf. Then these fish are to be taken to her.”
“I calculate to do my part of it,” replied John.
“So do I,” said Fred.
“I should like to know,” said Charlie, “when he wants us to come, before I go back. I am going over to see.”
Charlie had other reasons for wishing to see Uncle Isaac, which he kept to himself.
When they were building the ark, Uncle Isaac had taken much pains to teach him to hew. Charlie knew there was a great deal of small timber in the barn frame—braces, purlins, and sleepers—that he could hew as well as anybody; and, now that he had a little money, was very anxious to have a broad-axe of his own, that he might help hew the barn frame. Uncle Isaac told him there was a vessel going to Salem with timber, and he would send by the captain, who was a relative of his, and get one for him, and then grind it for him, and put in a good white-oak handle, and bend it just right. The handle of a broad-axe is bent, that the person who uses it may strike close to the timber without hitting his knuckles. He could not then tell the precise day when he should want them, but he would get John to hang a white cloth out of the garret window, as a signal, to come the next morning, or, if that was stormy, the first fair day.
Charlie and Ben had been so fully occupied during the summer, they had not caught a single fish to dry for winter; so Charlie now busied himself in fishing, while Ben continued to hew the timber for the barn, which was to be very large.
Every time Charlie went out fishing, he comforted himself with the thought of what a good time he would have when he got his new sail, and his canoe painted, which he did not intend to do till he hauled her up for the winter. He met with no squalls this autumn, for when the weather looked at all unsettled he could work with Ben in the woods, and fall down the large pines for him to hew, which he dearly loved to do; and, as it took a long time to hew out a large stick of timber, he had ample time to cut them down and trim them out. He also, after the timber was hewn, hauled it on to the spot, except the largest sticks, which were left to be hauled on the snow.
A cat never watched more narrowly for a mouse than our Charlie for the white cloth in Captain Rhines’s garret window; but day after day passed, and no signal rewarded his anxious watch.
“Mother,” said he, after more than ten days had elapsed, “perhaps Uncle Isaac has forgotten his promise, and he and the other boys have dug the potatoes.”
“Charlie, what time is it high water to-morrow?”
“Nine o’clock, mother.”
“But perhaps the tide will forget to come up.”
“O, mother! that’s impossible.”
“Well, when the tide forgets to flow, Uncle Isaac will forget his promise.”
The next day, as Charlie was coming home from fishing, about two o’clock, he thought there was something white in Captain Rhines’s window. The moment he landed, he scampered to the house to look through the glass. Sure enough, there was the signal.
“John meant you should see it,” said Sally, “for he has got his mother’s great table-cloth that father Rhines bought in Europe.”
“That means for me to come over in the morning, if it’s fair weather; if not, the first pleasant day.”
“You had better go to-night; perhaps it may blow hard to-morrow, and be a fair day, too.”
“I will, mother, as soon as I split and salt my fish.”
“I’ll salt them; you split them, and start right off, and you’ll get over there to supper. I’ll have a luncheon for you by the time you get them split.”
The boys found that Uncle Isaac had his potatoes so nearly dug, that, with their help, he finished them in a day, thus completing his harvest. He now had leisure to haul the widow’s wood.
The next day the boys went over and dug her potatoes, and threshed some beans and peas, which she had pulled and dried herself. In the mean time Uncle Isaac, and two more of the neighbors, went and chopped some wood, and the next day hauled it to her. The tears of gratitude and joy streamed down the old lady’s cheeks at the kindness of her neighbors. The only remaining work to be done, was to take the fish, which were in Captain Rhines’s shed, nicely cured, to Mrs. Yelf. The boys felt bashful about carrying them, and wanted Uncle Isaac to do it.
“I should like to catch myself doing it! you caught and cured them, and run some risk in doing it, and ought to, and shall have, the credit of it.”
“We will haul them over, and carry them into the house,” said John, “and do all the work, but you go to the door and give them to her.”
“And let her thank me for them? I shan’t do any such thing; you must go yourselves, like men; it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but something to be proud of; anybody would think you’d been stealing.”
Unable to prevail with Uncle Isaac, they put the fish in the cart, and set out. When in sight of the house they stopped for consultation.
“You go to the door and knock, Fred,” said John.
“I’m sure I can’t; I never spoke to her in my life. It’s your place to go; it’s your cart and oxen.”
“You go, Charlie, that’s a good fellow.”
“O, I don’t think I’m the one to go at all, John. I’m a stranger in these parts, and don’t know her, nor the ways of the people here.”
John, ordinarily so resolute, and the leader in all enterprises, blushed like a girl, and seemed quite frightened.
“What shall I say?” he inquired of his companions, who were by no means backward in telling him what to say, as long as they had not to say it themselves.
“You get out! you make it too long; I can’t say half of that.”
John went to the door and knocked, while the others hid behind the cart. The old lady knew John right well; he had been there on many an errand of mercy, sent by his mother.
“Fred Williams, Charlie Bell, and me, he stammered out, have brought you some dry fish; we expect they are first rate, because Uncle Isaac slack-salted them, and told us how to cure them.”
Now, Mrs. Yelf was very deaf, and as John, being diffident, spoke low and quick, she heard nothing distinctly but the name of Uncle Isaac, and took it for granted that he had given her the fish. After showing the boys where to put them, she expressed her most unbounded gratitude to Uncle Isaac, begging the boys to thank him for her; thanked them for bringing them, and would not let them go till they had eaten a custard pie and some seed cakes.
“I should know Mr. Williams’s son, for I can see his father’s looks in him; but this other youngster quite beats me. Dear me, how young folks do grow out of old people’s knowledge!”
“This,” said John, “is Charlie Bell; he’s an English boy, and lives with our Ben on Elm Island.”
“I remember now hearing Hannah Murch tell about him; she said he was a nice, steady boy, and that Ben and Sally set great store by him. He looks like a good boy.”
“He’s a real smart boy, too,” said John (giving Fred a punch under the table); “he catches all the fish they eat, and a good many to sell, and has made lots of baskets, and sent them to the West Indies by father.”
“Yes,” broke in Fred (who was by no means slow to take a hint), “and cut down an awful great pine, and made the canoe that we came over in, out of it.”
Under this cross-fire Charlie’s face grew red as a fire-coal, and he was glad to escape from his tormentors by leaving the house.
When Uncle Isaac found what turn matters had taken, he was thoroughly vexed, and went directly to explain, and set the affair right. The good lady was no less troubled to find what a blunder she had made, and set off for Captain Rhines’s, to thank John in person, and ask him to apologize for her to the others.
John and Fred went home, but Uncle Isaac insisted upon Charlie’s staying with him all night. After supper he produced Charlie’s broad-axe, with a good white-oak handle, and nicely ground; he also gave him an excellent whetstone, which he told him came from the Gut of Canso. Charlie had now a favorable opportunity to consult him about a matter that had occupied his thoughts from the moment he found himself in possession of a little money.
“Uncle Isaac,” said he, “mother hasn’t got any crane; all the way she hangs her pot over the fire is by a birch withe, with a chain at the end; and sometimes it burns off above the chain: the other day it broke, and liked to have scalded the baby to death. I want to get her a crane,—hooks and trammels all complete,—and put it in the fireplace before she knows anything of it.”
“The first thing to be considered is, whether you ought to spend your money in this way; if you spend all you earn, you will never have anything.”
“Don’t think that I don’t know the value of money,—misery has taught me that; but what would have become of me if mother had not taken me in? for it was all her doings. When the island is paid for, I shall begin to look out for myself. Will anybody have to send to Boston to get one?”
“Send to Boston! Peter Brock, the blacksmith, can make it.”
“And what will it all cost—hooks and trammels?”
Charlie was delighted to find that it came within his means. He said nothing to Uncle Isaac of the Indian relics, meaning to show them to him when he came on the island, but told him about the paint.
“The Indians used to get it there,” said Uncle Isaac, “to paint their faces red, when they went on the war-path.”
“It isn’t red—it’s yellow.”
“But if you heat it, it will become red.”
“It will?”
“Yes. Put a little in a skillet, and heat it gradually, so as not to scorch it, and it will turn red.”
“How glad I am! now I can have two colors—red and yellow—to paint my canoe. Don’t tell John—will you? I want to astonish him.”
“He won’t ask me; he isn’t such an inquiring, thinking, contriving critter as you are. You can have another color—black.”
“Yes; if I could send to Salem and buy lampblack.”
“You can make it right on the island.”
“Make it?”
“Yes; it’s nothing but ‘sut.’ Get a whole lot of pitch wood, and burn it in some tight thing, so as to keep in the smoke; the black will stick to the sides, and you can scrape it off, as good lampblack as you can buy, and better than half of it.”
“We have got plenty of oil,—hake, cod, and seal.”
“I wouldn’t use that; it is almost impossible to make it dry; you can get linseed oil at the store.”
Wonderfully delighted with this discovery, Charlie borrowed a jug, procured his oil, some cloth to make a sail for his canoe, and went back determined to create a sensation both at home and abroad. He hid the oil in his house, and kept all the knowledge he had obtained a secret in his own breast.
How he astonished John and Fred, when he appeared out in his canoe,—how he was astonished himself by obtaining, in a most unexpected manner, three more colors, with many more adventures, we shall inform our readers in the next volume. They will also want to know how it fared with Captain Rhines and the Ark; and whether Ben was benefited or ruined by his great speculation; and how Charlie came out with his baskets, turnips, and chickens.