"waal, squire, i reckon everything is done now to the turn of the key. i've packed a dozen shirts, and, if i do say it, no chang wang could have put a better shine on 'em than i've given 'em. there's two dozen pocket-handkerchiefs, as white as snow; collars and cuffs to last a month, if you're careful; and everything else all in shipshape. now i'll have lunch for you in about ten minutes, and that'll give you plenty of time to catch the train."
so spoke maria kimberly, as she stood in the doorway leading from the kitchen into the dining-room, where squire talford was sitting at his desk filling out some checks to settle his monthly bills. he was on the point of starting for washington, whither he was going on business connected with some patents in which he had recently become interested, and which would keep him away from home for about six weeks or two months.
"all right, maria. i'm about through; but what are you going to do with yourself while i'm gone?" the man responded, but without looking up from his employment.
"oh, i'll take good care o' things, and i'll find enough to do, never you fear," said the woman, with a peculiar glitter in her eyes. "i ain't cleaned house yet; i've put it off, waitin' for you to git away, so's i could have full swing. i'll see that pat and the boy don't do no loafin'; and you needn't give yourself a mite of oneasiness—things'll go on just as straight if you was goin' to be here yourself."
the squire knew this without being told, for maria was an excellent manager, an efficient housekeeper, and, barring the fact that she had a sharp tongue, and was rather more independent than was sometimes quite agreeable, no one could have suited him better as a superintendent of affairs, both on the farm and in the house.
she had been in his family for many years, and having been thoroughly trained by his wife in every department of domestic life and economy, while being honest and faithful as the day is long in the performance of every duty, she was entirely competent to assume the management as she had done upon mrs. talford's death, and everything had gone on like clockwork from that day.
squire talford had never manifested any desire to marry again. maria asserted that he was "too tight" to be willing to increase his expenses in any such way; for, although he always wanted the nicest of everything for himself, he used to grumble over the expense of clothing his wife.
he was very proud of his fine estate—his handsome mansion and broad acres, and kept them in first-class order; but, while he wanted every comfort for himself, he had dispensed with some luxuries and style after mrs. talford's demise, was close and mean with his help, and seemed to think of nothing save accumulating money.
"though goodness knows what'll ever become of it when he's gone, for he ain't a kindred soul to leave it to, as far as i know," mrs. kimberly would sometimes remark in a confidential manner to her friends.
"yes, i reckon i can trust you to keep a sharp eye out while i'm gone," the squire returned to maria's observation, "though i'm not so sure about the loafing—you're a little inclined to be too soft-hearted with the boys. i want to find that pile of wood all sawed, split, and housed when i get back."
maria sniffed audibly as she glanced through a window at the pile of wood referred to, and which comprised a good many cords of solid timber, and she had no idea of pushing "the boys" beyond a certain limit.
"waal, maybe you will, and maybe you won't," she returned after a moment, with an independent toss of her head. "it'll depend a good deal on what kind o' weather we have. i suppose you know," she continued, with a sudden softening of her face and tone, "that cliff is in washington. i hear he's got a fine position, too. do you imagine you'll feel any interest to look him up?"
"not the slightest, maria," returned squire talford, in a cold tone, and with a sudden stiffening of his angular figure. "clifford faxon is nothing to me, and i shall not concern myself in the least to learn anything about his movements."
"oh!" returned his companion, with a peculiar inflection, while she screwed her lips into a resentful pucker, "i didn't know but you'd feel a kind o' curiosity to find out if he's workin' his way along up toward the top o' the heap in washington, same's he did at college. you know you didn't prophecy anything very flatterin' to him when he started out for himself, but he got there, all the same."
the squire flushed hotly at this reminder.
"i think you'd better hurry up lunch, maria," was all the reply he deigned her, and the woman vanished, but chuckling to herself as she went:
"he pretends he ain't curious, but he is, all the same, and i'd be willin' to bet my new black silk—which i ain't had on since that day at cambridge, i'm goin' to keep it for cliff's wedding—that he will find out about the boy," she muttered to herself, while dishing up the tempting meal which she had prepared for the master of the house.
an hour later squire talford was en route for new york, and maria was left mistress of the field.
early next morning she vigorously set about preparations for the semi-annual house-cleaning, although, to all appearance, the mansion was immaculate from garret to cellar. nevertheless, twice every year every room was religiously upset, cleaned, and renovated.
she invariably began in the attic and went down in the most methodical manner, just as her mistress had done every year of her married life. every box, drawer, and trunk—excepting a couple which the squire never allowed any one to touch—had to be overhauled, their contents thoroughly brushed and shaken, for fear of moths, and every nook and corner swept and scrubbed.
for some reason maria experienced a greater sense of freedom to-day than she had ever felt before; doubtless it was because of the squire's absence, for there would be no fear of disturbing him with the noise overhead, and having no regular dinner to get, there would be nothing to interrupt operations.
she always said that the worst was over when she got through with the attic, and late in the afternoon, when she cast a satisfied glance around the clean, orderly, sweet-smelling room, every beam and rafter of which had undergone vigorous treatment, a sigh of content escaped her.
"you can't put your finger on a speck o' dust anywhere," she soliloquized, "and everything is in shipshape. it's a good job done, too, and i'm not sorry it's over."
she gathered up her brushes, pail, and mop and turned to leave the place, when her glance fell upon a small hair trunk which she had dragged out into the hall at the head of the stairs, and had neglected to replace in its accustomed corner. it was one of those which the squire never allowed to be opened and overhauled.
"i s'h'd jest like to know what's in the old thing," maria remarked as she sat down her utensils and picked it up in her strong arms. "it looks's if it had been made in the year one, and it's always locked tighter'n a drum—goodness! goodness me!"
the latter explosive ejaculations were occasioned by an unlucky slip of the antiquated receptacle, then a resounding crash upon the floor, when the hinges snapped, the cover flew off, and a promiscuous assortment of things were scattered in every direction in the attic, which but a moment previous had presented such an orderly appearance.
maria stood for a moment looking ruefully upon the havoc she had made, her arms akimbo, her temper ruffled in view of the work of gathering up the débris before her.
"waal," she at length observed, with a sigh of resignation, "i guess i'm likely to find out what was in it, after all, though"—with a contemptuous sniff—"i don't imagine i'm going to be very much entertained by the operation."
the trunk had been packed full of papers—deeds, letters, bills, etc., which had been tied up in separate bundles, but the strings having given way in the force of the fall, they now lay in confused heaps and irretrievably mixed, as far as maria was concerned.
she sat down upon the floor and began to gather them up, restoring them in as orderly a manner as possible to the trunk. among other things she came upon a box which had slid a little to one side of the heap. this, also, had burst open, and its contents were partially spilled out. reaching for it, she drew it toward her, and was attracted by a pungent odor which clung to it.
it was made from some sweet-smelling, fine-grained wood, and the corners were ornamented with heavily wrought silver, although the metal was badly tarnished from having lain so long unused. there were numerous letters in it, some being addressed in a woman's delicate handwriting and others in a bold, clear, masculine chirography.
"miss belle abbott," maria read from one of the envelopes addressed in the bold hand.
then she gave a violent start.
"goodness—gracious! how came this here?" she ejaculated. "belle abbott! why, that was cliff's mother's name afore she was married. but i wonder who w. f. t. wilton was?" she continued as she closely inspected the handwriting on another envelope. "i'm sure mis' faxon must have writ these letters, for the writin' looks just like what i've seen in some of cliff's books that he told me she gave him. but it beats me to know how these things ever got into squire talford's old trunk, 'less mis' faxon gave them to him to keep for the boy, 'n' if she did he'd oughter had 'em long ago. what's this, i wonder?"
"this" comprised two pieces of parchment attached to each other by a pin. they were folded long and narrow, like legal documents, and were also bound about with a narrow blue ribbon.
with firmly compressed lips and a flushed face, maria sat regarding them intently, and as if deliberating a point within herself for a few moments.
"i'm going to know," she said at last, in tones of stern decision, and, suiting the action to the words, she deliberately removed the ribbon and pin, unfolded one of the papers, and began to read it with eager interest.
every bit of color faded out of her face by the time she reached the bottom of the sheet, and with staring eyes and bated breath she seized its mate and proceeded to read that.
"good land!" she ejaculated at length. "now i understand some things that have always puzzled me afore! so this is belle atwood's marriage-bill, and this tells about cliff's baptism! and faxon isn't his last name, either!" she went on, with a gasp of excitement. "it is—he is—why, good lord!—now i know why squire talford has always hated him so; though i never did take much stock in that story i heard when i first came here—that he was in love with her once, and she jilted him for some one else."
she sat thinking deeply for some time, a look of perplexity on her plain, honest face.
"there's some things i can't quite see through, after all," she resumed after a time; "if what i suspect is true—and there ain't much doubt about it—why on earth did mis' faxon ever bind that boy to the squire? aha!" a flash of intelligence sweeping over her face, "i begin to see—it was a trick of his. he is not a man that ever forgives a wrong—he hated her and the boy's father and the boy himself, because of what they'd done. he meant to crush 'em all, and so he pretended to befriend mis' faxon—wormed himself into her confidence, so got her to sign them bond papers, and then, when she died, stole this box, so the boy could never find out who he really is. i remember now that she sent for him the night she died. i'll bet he stole these papers at that time. oh! he's a tricky one, squire talford is! he thought he'd fixed things so that nobody'd ever find out the truth; but it's a long lane that hasn't any turn in it, and i'm goin' to prove it to you, you miserly, gray-headed, hard-hearted old rascal!"
and mrs. kimberly emphasized her words by angrily shaking the papers in her hand at the demolished old trunk, in lieu of the man himself, until they rattled noisily.
