FullReads

An’ them fellers at the mill, listenin’ ter the letter, could sca’cely git thar consent ter wait fur old man Bates ter git through his talk ter Loralindy, that he kin talk ter every day in the year! But arter awhile he settled his spectacles agin, an’ tuk another tussle with the spellin,’ an’ then he rips out the main p’int o’ the letter. “This stranger-man he ‘lowed he war bold enough ter ax another favior. The cuss tried ter be funny. ‘One good turn desarves another,’ he said. ‘An’ ez ye hev done me one good turn, I want ye ter do me another.’ An’ old man Bates hed the insurance ter waste the time a-laffin’ an’ a-laffin’ at sech a good joke. Them fellers at the mill could hev fund it in thar hearts ter grind him up in his own hopper, ef it wouldn’t hev ground up with him thar chance o’ ever hearin’ the end o’ that thar interestin’ letter. So thar comes the favior. Would she dig up that box he treasured from whar he told her he hed buried it, arter he escaped from the attack o’ the miners? An’ would she take the box ter Colb’ry in her grandad’s wagin, an’ send it ter him by express. He hed tole her once whar he hed placed it–an’ ter mark the spot mo’ percisely he hed noticed one Chilhowee lily bulb right beside it. An’ then says the letter, ‘Good bye, Chilhowee Lily!’ An’ all them fellers stood staring.”

A light wind was under way from the west Delicate flakes of red and glistening white were detached from the clouds. Sails–sails were unfurling in the vast floods of the skies. With flaunting banners and swelling canvas a splendid fleet reached half way to the zenith. But a more multitudinous shipping still swung at anchor low in the west, though the promise of a fair night as yet held fast.

“An’ now,” said Ozias Crann in conclusion, “all them fellers is a-diggin’.”

“Whut’s in the box!” demanded Swof-ford, his big baby-face all in a pucker of doubt.

“The gold an’ silver he ought ter hev paid the miners, of course. They always ‘lowed they never tuk a dollar off him; they jes’ got a long range shot at him! How I wish,” Ozias Crann broke off fervently, “how I wish I could jes’ git my hands on that money once!” He held out his hands, long and sinewy, and opened and shut them very fast.

“Why, that would be stealin’!” exclaimed Kinnicutt with repulsion.

“How so? ‘t ain’t his’n now, sure–he war jes’ the agent ter pay it out,” argued Crann, volubly.

“It belongs ter the mine owners, then–the company.” There was a suggestion of inquiry in the younger man’s tone.

“‘Pears not–they sent it hyar fur the percise purpose ter be paid out!” the specious Crann replied.

“Then it belongs ter the miners.”

“They hedn’t yearned it–an’ ef some o’ them hed they warn’t thar ter receive it, bein’ out on a strike. They hed burnt down the company’s office over yander at the mine in Tanglefoot Cove, with all the books an’ accounts, an’ now nobody knows what’s owin’ ter who.”

Kinnicutt’s moral protests were silenced, not satisfied. He looked up moodily at the moon now alone in the sky, for only a vanishing segment of the great vermilion sphere of the sun was visible above the western mountains, when suddenly he felt one of those long grasping claws on his arm. “Now, Rufe, bubby,” a most insinuating tone, Crann had summoned, “all them fool fellers air diggin’ up the face of the yearth, wharever they kin find a Chilhowee lily–like sarchin’ fur a needle in a haystack. But we uns will do a better thing than that. I drawed the idee ez soon ez I seen you an’ Pete hyar this evenin’ so onexpected. ‘Them’s my pardners,’ I sez ter myself. ‘Pete ter holp dig an’ tote ef the box be heavy. An’ you ter find out edzac’ly whar it be hid.’ You uns an’ Loralindy hev been keepin’ company right smart, an’ ye kin toll Loralindy along till she lets slip jes’ whar that lily air growin’. I’ll be bound ez she likes ye a sight better ‘n that Renfrow–leastwise ef ‘t warn’t fur his letter, honeyin’ her up with complimints, an’ she hevin’ the chance o’ tollin’ him on through doin’ him sech faviors, savin’ his life, an’ now his money–shucks it’s mo’ our money ‘n his’n; ‘t ain ‘t his ‘n! Gol-darn the insurance o’ this Renfrow! His idee is ter keep the money his own self, an’ make her sen’ it ter him. Then ‘Good-bye, Chilhowee Lily!'”