A CHAPTER X. A STRANGE BEAST. Imagination works; how can she frame Things which are not; methinks she stands before me. Were my skill pregnant, I could draw her picture. -Webster. FTER their guest had retired, Mrs. Haywood asked her husband if he thought Mr. Smith was suspected of wrong doing. Mr. Haywood said he did not think so, but you could not expect a detective to give away his business. Mr. Sharp was very tired, and would have gone to sleep immediately, but somehow that queer, old horse seemed to haunt him. Once during the night, he awoke after a kind of nightmare. That veritable white eye seemed to be glaring at him, and her hoofs were on the point of trampling him down, when he awoke, and strangely enough, it flashed across his mind, where he had seen the animal before, the same old mare, with the same leathern saddle-bags, and the circumstance as he remembered it was not unlike his dream. He was on the track of some counterfeiter in a distant town, and had really captured a man with some of the queer in his possession and was having considerable difficulty in holding him, he being surrounded by his friends, who were ready to vouch for his honesty and respectability. While he was struggling with the apparently desperate, but really indignant individual in the middle of the street, a man on horseback rode by, and that so near to the two men that they were compelled to step one side, when Mr. Sharp caught a glimpse of that glaring white eye, but of course, being excited he took no farther note of the strange animal or of the rider. The man who was arrested by him, proved to be a worthy citizen who had sold some produce and taken some of the counterfeit coin, in payment. The same party afterwards finding another purchaser took his good money at a trifling reduction from what he had given for the produce only the day before and departed no one knew whither Mr. Sharp could not sleep, tired and all as he was, but he thought of that old horse and of the old man; and what if he should really be the one who was making the counterfeit money, and going to distant parts in order to dispose of it with safety and without suspicion? And might he not have accomplices in all those places where the stuff had been so freely circulated? Our detective was out in good season the next morning, and enjoyed his breakfast very much. Mrs. Haywood, after the custom of hostesses, asked how he had rested. Mr. Sharp said if he did not sleep, it was not the fault of the room or the bed, for he never remembered having lain upon a nicer one. He kept his counsel, and after looking around the place, Mr. Haywood concluded it was about time for them to set out for their ride. The vehicle was a commodious one, with two broad seats, so that Mrs. Haywood and both children were comfortably seated on the back seat, while Mr. Haywood and Mr. Sharp occupied the front. Their first drive was around the road by which the detective had come the night before. He readily remembered the bars where the old man had dismounted, but they did not go in sight of the mysterious house. About dinner time, which has always been at mid-day in New England farm houses, they reached Mr. Ivers', who was delighted to see them; and Mrs. Ivers, always at ease, soon put them all so. Dinner was soon ready-and such a dinner! They are enjoyed nowhere except in good old New England; and even the dinners now, do not seem to be like what they then were. Such pork, such beef, such vegetables, such brown bread, such Johnny cakes, such pies, such puddings-such everything, that was put upon a farmer's table, at the time of which we write! And to-day even, notwithstanding the general decay of our old homes, there are many good housewives, and many good dinners served. Even the poorest have not lost the art of making Johnny-cakes, which, with their good, sweet butter, is food for the gods. After dinner, while Mr. Ivers showed the gentlemen around the place, Mrs. Ivers entertained Mrs. Haywood in the parlor, and the children romped together on the green. Those were halcyon days for New England. Happi ness and contentment abounded, and prosperity sat smiling o'er the land. After being most agreeably entertained and well rested, our tourists bade good-bye to their kind friends, and went on their way. Mr. Sharp was much interested in everything he saw, and as Mr. So-and so's place was pointed out, he could seem to understand the character of the men by the appearance of their houses and their surroundings; and he was not far from being correct. They were driving along a road well on their way home when Mr. Haywood called his friend's attention to a house nearly hidden in the woods, apparently a mile or so from the highway they were on. He told him that was Mr. Smith's house, his traveling companion of the night before. Mr. Sharp took his bearings and mentally resolved that he would know more of the strange trio, namely, the man, the horse and the house. Returning to the village all were well pleased, they having had a delightful day. The next day after enjoying a good night's rest Mr. Sharp took his departure, promising to call again if he happened to be in those parts. After Mr. Sharp had left it was vaguely whispered who he was and what he was. A quartette of good Christians met at Mr. Tartar's. There were Miss Cramp and Miss Cutting and Deacon Garner and Mr. Cribbe. "Well," said Mrs. Tartar to Mr. Cribbe, "what do you think of the goings on? What do you think of your nice gentleman now, the man whom you thought had as much right to his belief as any of us, going around with nobody knows who, and doing all sorts of things, even to playing the fiddle on the Sabbath day, and teaching his children to dance?" Mr. Cribbe said he did not think there was any law against fiddling on Sunday or on any other day he might choose. "I suppose he can drive around the country with strangers and bad characters if he has a mind to," put in Miss Cramp. "And go to people's houses and spread his wicked doctrine among the neighbors," said Miss Cutting. "As for that," put in Mrs. Tartar, "I do not believe the Ivers are much better than he is." "If I remember aright, Squire Ivers helped your son out of a little difficulty once." "You needn't throw that up to me, for that affair was settled long ago, and the miserable fellow was not half so badly hurt as he pretended." "Besides it was the Old Squire we asked a favor of and not Walter, who had enough to do to get out of scrapes of his own at that time." "Perhaps I may have forgotten, but I do not remember that Walter had any very bad scaapes to get out of." "No scrapes indeed! What was he doing with that woman in New York, when he was caught and arrested on the spot? I should like to know what you call a scrape if that was not one." "Yes, but if I mistake not, she proved to have been one of the gang who had robbed him, and she was sent to seduce him or buy him off, and when she found she could not she took advantage of her situation and alarmed the house. It was proved afterwards that she was a bad woman, and she was tried and imprisoned with her confederates." "All very well, but what business had he being in company with such characters ? " "The same business that you have living in the same village with that wicked man, Mr. Haywood." "You may talk all you have a mind to, Peter Cribbe, but you can't make me believe Walter Ivers is the nice young man you pretend he is." "For my part," said Miss Cutting," "I should not want him for a husband." "Perhaps that may account for his taking up with Miss Dubrow," said Mr. Cribbe. Deacon Garner said it was better not to be too personal. For his part he had nothing against Walter Ivers; and as for the trouble he had in New York he did not think Walter was to blame. Mrs. Cramp said he had no business in New York, and there was One thing was no knowing whether the truth had been told or not. certain a man may be known by the company he keeps. "At that rate, what do you make me out?" said Mr. Cribbe. "There's that poor gal, Sally Vic, who lives with the Ivers'. They make a slave of her and she is so weakly," said Mrs, Cramp. "They do say she has the consumption," said Miss Cutting. "And yet they make her take care of those children who are humored like two great babies. And she does their washing, I'm told, and cook's, and waits on the family just like a nigger," said Mrs. Tartar. Mrs. Cramp said it was awful, and she heard that they threatened to expose her to everybody because her father was in the State prison. Mr. Cribbe said he knew better. That whatever other people might say, he knew that the girl was treated tenderly, and that Mrs. Ivers was all the time trying to make her work light by assisting in everything, and that he had heard Mrs. Ivers say she should not wash the clothes. But she would work all the time in spite of Mr. or Mrs. Ivers. "Oh, yes, when you are there they pretend to be very kind to her, no doubt," said Mrs. Tartar. "And what about that poor Mr. Carter who had a note at the bank and could not pay, and Walter made him sign over part of his farm. Was that done like a Christian," said Mrs. Cramp. "I don't know about its being Christianlike," said Mr. Cribbe, but two of the most prominent members of your church were the directors of the bank who were anxious to have the debt secured, even against the pleadings of Walter Ivers, who they said was too young to advise men like them who had had more experience in such matters." "Well, I should think so," said Mrs. Tartar. "The idea of that upstart, just because his father was well to do, daring to advise such men as Mr. Lantern and Deacon Snow!" "I don't know how it is," said Mrs. Cramp, "but you allers stick up for them Ivers, Mr. Cribbe. "And I would for you, too, Mrs. Cramp, if I thought you were in the right, and were being talked about." "That's another thing," said Mrs. Cramp. |