r
or  five  mile  they was booming mad, and gave us a cussing, and said they
wouldn't land us. But the king was ca'm. He says:
   "If  gentlemen  kin  afford to pay a dollar a mile apiece to be took on
and put off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?"
   So they softened down and said it was all right; and when we got to the
village  they yawled us ashore. About two dozen men flocked down when they
see the yawl a-coming, and when the king says:
   "Kin  any  of  you gentlemen tell me wher' Mr. Peter Wilks lives?" they
give  a  glance at one another, and nodded their heads, as much as to say,
"What d' I tell you?" Then one of them says, kind of soft and gentle:
   "I'm  sorry.  sir,  but  the best we can do is to tell you where he DID
live yesterday evening."
   Sudden  as  winking the ornery old cretur went an to smash, and fell up
against  the  man,  and  put  his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his
back, and says:
   "Alas,  alas,  our  poor brother-gone, and we never got to see him; oh,
it's too, too hard!"
   Then  he  turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot of idiotic signs to
the  duke on his hands, and blamed if he didn't drop a carpet-bag and bust
out a-crying. If they warn't the beatenest lot, them two frauds, that ever
I struck.
   Well,  the  men gathered around and sympathized with them, and said all
sorts  of  kind  things to them, and carried their carpet-bags up the hill
for  them,  and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about
his  brother's last moments, and the king he told it all over again on his
hands  to  the  duke, and both of them took on about that dead tanner like
they'd lost the twelve disciples. Well, if ever I struck anything like it,
I'm a nigger. It was enough to make a body ashamed of the human race.


        Chapter XXV.

   THE news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people
tearing  down  on  the  run  from every which way, some of them putting on
their coats as they come. Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, and
the  noise  of  the  tramping  was  like  a soldier march. The windows and
dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence:
   "Is it THEM?"
   And somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say:
   "You bet it is."
   When  we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the
three  girls  was standing in the door. Mary Jane WAS red-headed, but that
don't  make  no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her face and
her  eyes  was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles was come.
The  king  he spread his arms, and Marsy Jane she jumped for them, and the
hare-lip  jumped  for  the  duke,  and  there they HAD it! Everybody most,
leastways  women,  cried  for  joy to see them meet again at last and have
such good times.
   Then  the  king he hunched the duke private-I see him do it-and then he
looked  around  and  see  the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so
then  him  and  the  duke,  with  a hand across each other's shoulder, and
t'other  hand  to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody
dropping  back  to  give  them  room, and all the talk and noise stopping,
people  saying  "Sh!"  and  all the men taking their hats off and drooping
their heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. And when they got there they
bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then they bust
out a-crying so you could a heard them to Orleans, most; and then they put
their  arms  around  each  other's  necks,  and hung their chins over each
other's  shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, I never see
two  men  leak  the  way they done. And, mind you, everybody was doing the
same;  and  the place was that damp I never see anything like it. Then one
of  them  got  on one side of the coffin, and t'other on t'other side, and
they  kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the coffin, and let on to
pray  all  to  themselves.  Well, when it come to that it worked the crowd
like  you never see anything like it, and everybody broke down and went to
sobbing  right out loud-the poor girls, too; and every woman, nearly, went
up  to  the  girls, without saying a word, and kissed them, solemn, on the
forehead, and then put their hand on their head, and looked up towards the
sky, with the tears running down, and then busted out and went off sobbing
and  swabbing,  and  give  the  next woman a show. I never see anything so
disgusting.
   Well,  by  and  by  the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and
works  himself  up  and  slobbers  out  a  speech,  all  full of tears and
flapdoodle  about  its  being a sore trial for him and his poor brother to
lose  the  diseased,  and  to  miss  seeing  diseased alive after the long
journey  of  four  thousand  mile,  but  it's a trial that's sweetened and
sanctified  to  us  by  this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he
thanks  them  out of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out
of  their  mouths  they can't, words being too weak and cold, and all that
kind  of  rot  and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers
out  a  pious  goodygoody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying
fit to bust.
   And  the  minute  the  words were out of his mouth somebody over in the
crowd  struck  up  the  doxolojer,  and everybody joined in with all their
might,  and  it  just  warmed  you  up and made you feel as good as church
letting  out.  Music  is  a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and
hogwash  I  never  see  it  freshen  up things so, and sound so honest and
bully.
   Then  the  king  begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his
nieces  would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the family
would  take  supper  here with them this evening, and help set up with the
ashes  of  the  diseased; and says if his poor brother laying yonder could
speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that was very dear to
him,  and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will name the same, to
wit, as follows, vizz.:-Rev. Mr. Hobson, and Deacon Lot Hovey, and Mr. Ben
Rucker,  and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and Dr. Robinson, and their
wives, and the widow Bartley.
   Rev.  Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting
together-that  is,  I  mean  the doctor was shipping a sick man to t'other
world,  and the preacher was pinting him right. Lawyer Bell was away up to
Louisville on business. But the rest was on hand, and so they all come and
shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him; and then they
shook  hands with the duke and didn't say nothing, but just kept a-smiling
and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst he made all sorts
of signs with his hands and said "Goo-goo-goo-googoo" all the time, like a
baby that can't talk.
   So  the  king  he  blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty
much  everybody  and  dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts of
little  things  that  happened  one  time  or  another  in the town, or to
George's  family,  or  to Peter. And he always let on that Peter wrote him
the  things;  but  that was a lie: he got every blessed one of them out of
that young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat.
   Then  Mary  Jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the
king he read it out loud and cried over it. It give the dwelling-house and
three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard (which
was  doing  a good business), along with some other houses and land (worth
about  seven  thousand),  and three thousand dollars in gold to Harvey and
William,  and  told  where  the  six thousand cash was hid down cellar. So
these  two  frauds  said  they'd  go  and fetch it up, and have everything
square  and  aboveboard;  and  told  me to come with a candle. We shut the
cellar  door  behind  us, and when they found the bag they spilt it out on
the  floor,  and  it was a lovely sight, all them yaller-boys. My, the way
the king's eyes did shine! He slaps the duke on the shoulder and says:
   "Oh,  THIS ain't bully nor noth'n! Oh, no, I reckon not! Why, Biljy, it
beats the Nonesuch, DON'T it?"
   The  duke  allowed  it  did. They pawed the yallerboys, and sifted them
through  their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the king
says:
   "It  ain't  no  use  talkin';  bein'  brothers  to  a rich dead man and
representatives  of  furrin  heirs that's got left is the line for you and
me, Bilge. Thish yer comes of trust'n to Providence. It's the best way, in
the long run. I've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better way."
   Most  everybody  would  a  been satisfied with the pile, and took it on
trust;  but  no,  they  must count it. So they counts it, and it comes out
four hundred and fifteen dollars short. Says the king:
   "Dern  him,  I  wonder  what he done with that four hundred and fifteen
dollars?"
   They  worried  over  that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. Then
the duke says:
   "Well,  he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake-I reckon
that's  the  way  of it. The best way's to let it go, and keep still about
it. We can spare it."
   "Oh, shucks, yes, we can SPARE it. I don't k'yer noth'n 'bout that-it's
the  COUNT  I'm  thinkin'  about.  We want to be awful square and open and
above-board  here, you know. We want to lug this h-yer money up stairs and
count it before everybody-then ther' ain't noth'n suspicious. But when the
dead man says ther's six thous'n dollars, you know, we don't want to-"
   "Hold  on," says the duke. "Le's make up the deffisit," and he begun to
haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket.
   "It's  a  most  amaz'n'  good idea, duke-you HAVE got a rattlin' clever
head on you," says the king. "Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a heppin' us
out agin," and HE begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them up.
   It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear.
   "Say,"  says the duke, "I got another idea. Le's go up stairs and count
this money, and then take and GIVE IT TO THE GIRLS."
   "Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a
man  struck.  You  have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head I ever see.
Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. Let 'em fetch
along their suspicions now if they want to-this 'll lay 'em out."
   When we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king
he  counted  it  and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile-twenty
elegant  little  piles.  Everybody  looked  hungry at it, and licked their
chops.  Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin to
swell himself up for another speech. He says:
   "Friends  all,  my  poor  brother that lays yonder has done generous by
them  that's  left  behind in the vale of sorrers. He has done generous by
these  yer  poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left
fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he would
a  done  MORE generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' his dear
William  and  me. Now, WOULDN'T he? Ther' ain't no question 'bout it in MY
mind.  Well,  then, what kind o' brothers would it be that 'd stand in his
way  at  sech a time? And what kind o' uncles would it be that 'd rob-yes,
ROB-sech  poor  sweet  lambs as these 'at he loved so at sech a time? If I
know William-and I THINK I do-he-well, I'll jest ask him." He turns around
and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke
he  looks at him stupid and leatherheaded a while; then all of a sudden he
seems  to  catch  his meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all
his  might  for  joy,  and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up.
Then  the  king says, "I knowed it; I reckon THAT 'll convince anybody the
way  HE  feels  about  it.  Here,  Mary  Jane,  Susan,  Joanner,  take the
money-take  it  ALL.  It's  the  gift  of  him  that lays yonder, cold but
joyful."
   Mary  Jane  she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the duke,
and  then  such another hugging and kissing I never see yet. And everybody
crowded  up  with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of
them frauds, saying all the time:
   "You DEAR good souls!-how LOVELY!-how COULD you!"
   Well,  then,  pretty  soon  all hands got to talking about the diseased
again,  and  how  good  he  was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and
before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and
stood  a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody saying
anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was all busy
listening.  The king was saying-in the middle of something he'd started in
on-
   "-they  bein'  partickler  friends  o' the diseased. That's why they're
invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want ALL to come-everybody; for
he  respected  everybody,  he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that his
funeral orgies sh'd be public."
   And  so  he  went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and
every  little  while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke
he  couldn't  stand  it  no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper,
"OBSEQUIES,  you  old  fool,"  and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and
reaching  it  over people's heads to him. The king he reads it and puts it
in his pocket, and says:
   "Poor  William,  afflicted as he is, his HEART'S aluz right. Asks me to
invite  everybody to come to the funeral-wants me to make 'em all welcome.
But he needn't a worried-it was jest what I was at."
   Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropping in his
funeral  orgies  again  every  now and then, just like he done before. And
when he done it the third time he says:
   "I   say   orgies,  not  because  it's  the  common  term,  because  it
ain't-obsequies  bein'  the  common  term-but  because orgies is the right
term.  Obsequies  ain't  used in England no more now-it's gone out. We say
orgies now in England. Orgies is better, because it means the thing you're
after  more  exact.  It's  a  word  that's  made  up out'n the Greek ORGO,
outside,  open,  abroad;  and the Hebrew JEESUM, to plant, cover up; hence
inTER. So, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public funeral."
   He  was  the  WORST  I  ever struck. Well, the ironjawed man he laughed
right  in  his face. Everybody was shocked. Everybody says, "Why, DOCTOR!"
and Abner Shackleford says:
   "Why, Robinson, hain't you heard the news? This is Harvey Wilks."
   The king he smiled eager, and shoved out his flapper, and says:
   "Is it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician? I-"
   "Keep  your  hands  off  of  me!"  says  the  doctor. "YOU talk like an
Englishman,  DON'T  you?  It's the worst imitation I ever heard. YOU Peter
Wilks's brother! You're a fraud, that's what you are!"
   Well, how they all took on! They crowded around the doctor and tried to
quiet  him  down,  and  tried to explain to him and tell him how Harvey 'd
showed in forty ways that he WAS Harvey, and knowed everybody by name, and
the names of the very dogs, and begged and BEGGED him not to hurt Harvey's
feelings and the poor girl's feelings, and all that. But it warn't no use;
he  stormed  right  along,  and  said  any  man  that  pretended  to be an
Englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what he did was a
fraud  and  a liar. The poor girls was hanging to the king and crying; and
all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on THEM. He says:
   "I  was  your father's friend, and I'm your friend; and I warn you as a
friend,  and  an  honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of
harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing to
do  with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic Greek and Hebrew, as he
calls  it. He is the thinnest kind of an impostor-has come here with a lot
of  empty names and facts which he picked up somewheres, and you take them
for  PROOFS,  and  are  helped to fool yourselves by these foolish friends
here,  who  ought  to  know  better. Mary Jane Wilks, you know me for your
friend,  and  for  your unselfish friend, too. Now listen to me; turn this
pitiful rascal out-I BEG you to do it. Will you?"
   Mary  Jane  straightened  herself up, and my, but she was handsome! She
says:
   "HERE  is  my  answer."  She hove up the bag of money and put it in the
king's hands, and says, "Take this six thousand dollars, and invest for me
and my sisters any way you want to, and don't give us no receipt for it."
   Then  she  put  her  arm around the king on one side, and Susan and the
hare-lip  done  the  same  on the other. Everybody clapped their hands and
stomped  on  the  floor  like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his
head and smiled proud. The doctor says:
   "All  right;  I  wash MY hands of the matter. But I warn you all that a
time  's  coming when you're going to feel sick whenever you think of this
day." And away he went.
   "All  right, doctor," says the king, kinder mocking him; "we'll try and
get  'em to send for you;" which made them all laugh, and they said it was
a prime good hit.


        Chapter XXVI.

   WELL,  when  they  was all gone the king he asks Mary Jane how they was
off  for  spare rooms, and she said she had one spare room, which would do
for  Uncle William, and she'd give her own room to Uncle Harvey, which was
a  little  bigger,  and  she would turn into the room with her sisters and
sleep on a cot; and up garret was a little cubby, with a pallet in it. The
king said the cubby would do for his valley-meaning me.
   So  Mary  Jane  took  us up, and she showed them their rooms, which was
plain  but  nice.  She said she'd have her frocks and a lot of other traps
took  out  of her room if they was in Uncle Harvey's way, but he said they
warn't.  The frocks was hung along the wall, and before them was a curtain
made  out  of  calico  that  hung down to the floor. There was an old hair
trunk  in one corner, and a guitar-box in another, and all sorts of little
knickknacks  and  jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room with. The
king  said  it  was  all  the  more  homely  and more pleasanter for these
fixings,  and so don't disturb them. The duke's room was pretty small, but
plenty good enough, and so was my cubby.
   That night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there,
and  I stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them, and
the  niggers  waited  on  the  rest.  Mary Jane she set at the head of the
table, with Susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits was, and
how  mean  the  preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried chickens
was-and  all  that  kind  of rot, the way women always do for to force out
compliments;  and  the  people  all knowed everything was tiptop, and said
so-said  "How  DO  you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and "Where, for the
land's  sake,  DID  you  get  these  amaz'n pickles?" and all that kind of
humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a supper, you know.
   And  when it was all done me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen
off  of  the  leavings, whilst the others was helping the niggers clean up
the things. The hare-lip she got to pumping me about England, and blest if
I didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin sometimes. She says:
   "Did you ever see the king?"
   "Who?  William  Fourth?  Well,  I  bet I have-he goes to our church." I
knowed  he  was dead years ago, but I never let on. So when I says he goes
to our church, she says:
   "What-regular?"
   "Yes-regular.  His  pew's  right over opposite ourn-on t'other side the
pulpit."
   "I thought he lived in London?"
   "Well, he does. Where WOULD he live?"
   "But I thought YOU lived in Sheffield?"
   I  see  I  was up a stump. I had to let on to get choked with a chicken
bone, so as to get time to think how to get down again. Then I says:
   "I  mean  he  goes to our church regular when he's in Sheffield. That's
only in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths."
   "Why, how you talk-Sheffield ain't on the sea."
   "Well, who said it was?"
   "Why, you did."
   "I DIDN'T nuther."
   "You did!"
   "I didn't."
   "You did."
   "I never said nothing of the kind."
   "Well, what DID you say, then?"
   "Said he come to take the sea BATHS-that's what I said."
   "Well, then,  how's  he  going to take the sea baths if it ain't on the
sea?"
   "Looky here," I says; "did you ever see any Congress-water?"
   "Yes."
   "Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?"
   "Why, no."
   "Well,  neither  does William Fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea
bath."
   "How does he get it, then?"
   "Gets  it the way people down here gets Congresswater-in barrels. There
in  the  palace  at Sheffield they've got furnaces, and he wants his water
hot.  They can't bile that amount of water away off there at the sea. They
haven't got no conveniences for it."
   "Oh,  I  see,  now.  You might a said that in the first place and saved
time."
   When  she  said  that  I see I was out of the woods again, and so I was
comfortable and glad. Next, she says:
   "Do you go to church, too?"
   "Yes-regular."
   "Where do you set?"
   "Why, in our pew."
   "WHOSE pew?"
   "Why, OURN-your Uncle Harvey's."
   "His'n? What does HE want with a pew?"
   "Wants it to set in. What did you RECKON he wanted with it?"
   "Why, I thought he'd be in the pulpit."
   Rot him, I forgot he was a preacher. I see I was up a stump again, so I
played another chicken bone and got another think. Then I says:
   "Blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one preacher to a church?"
   "Why, what do they want with more?"
   "What!-to  preach  before  a  king? I never did see such a girl as you.
They don't have no less than seventeen."
   "Seventeen! My land! Why, I wouldn't set out such a string as that, not
if I NEVER got to glory. It must take 'em a week."
   "Shucks, they don't ALL of 'em preach the same day-only ONE of 'em."
   "Well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?"
   "Oh,  nothing  much.  Loll  around,  pass  the  plate-and  one thing or
another. But mainly they don't do nothing."
   "Well, then, what are they FOR?"
   "Why, they're for STYLE. Don't you know nothing?"
   "Well,  I  don't  WANT  to  know  no  such  foolishness as that. How is
servants  treated  in  England?  Do  they treat 'em better 'n we treat our
niggers?"
   "NO! A servant ain't nobody there. They treat them worse than dogs."
   "Don't  they give 'em holidays, the way we do, Christmas and New Year's
week, and Fourth of July?"
   "Oh,  just listen! A body could tell YOU hain't ever been to England by
that. Why, Hare-l-why, Joanna, they never see a holiday from year's end to
year's  end;  never  go  to the circus, nor theater, nor nigger shows, nor
nowheres."
   "Nor church?"
   "Nor church."
   "But YOU always went to church."
   Well,  I  was  gone up again. I forgot I was the old man's servant. But
next  minute  I  whirled  in  on a kind of an explanation how a valley was
different  from a common servant and HAD to go to church whether he wanted
to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the law. But I
didn't  do it pretty good, and when I got done I see she warn't satisfied.
She says:
   "Honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a lot of lies?"
   "Honest injun," says I.
   "None of it at all?"
   "None of it at all. Not a lie in it," says I.
   "Lay your hand on this book and say it."
   I  see  it warn't nothing but a dictionary, so I laid my hand on it and
said it. So then she looked a little better satisfied, and says:
   "Well,  then,  I'll  believe some of it; but I hope to gracious if I'll
believe the rest."
   "What  is  it you won't believe, Joe?" says Mary Jane, stepping in with
Susan  behind her. "It ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him, and
him  a  stranger  and  so  far  from  his people. How would you like to be
treated so?"
   "That's always your way, Maim-always sailing in to help somebody before
they're  hurt.  I hain't done nothing to him. He's told some stretchers, I
reckon,  and  I  said  I wouldn't swallow it all; and that's every bit and
grain  I  DID  say.  I reckon he can stand a little thing like that, can't
he?"
   "I  don't  care whether 'twas little or whether 'twas big; he's here in
our  house and a stranger, and it wasn't good of you to say it. If you was
in  his place it would make you feel ashamed; and so you oughtn't to say a
thing to another person that will make THEM feel ashamed."
   "Why, Maim, he said-"
   "It  don't  make  no  difference what he SAID-that ain't the thing. The
thing  is  for you to treat him KIND, and not be saying things to make him
remember he ain't in his own country and amongst his own folks."
   I  says  to myself, THIS is a girl that I'm letting that old reptle rob
her of her money!
   Then  Susan  SHE  waltzed  in;  and  if you'll believe me, she did give
Hare-lip hark from the tomb!
   Says  I to myself, and this is ANOTHER one that I'm letting him rob her
of her money!
   Then  Mary  Jane  she took another inning, and went in sweet and lovely
again-which  was  her  way;  but  when  she  got  done there warn't hardly
anything left o' poor Hare-lip. So she hollered.
   "All right, then," says the other girls; "you just ask his pardon."
   She  done  it, too; and she done it beautiful. She done it so beautiful
it was good to hear; and I wished I could tell her a thousand lies, so she
could do it again.
   I  says  to myself, this is ANOTHER one that I'm letting him rob her of
her  money. And when she got through they all jest laid theirselves out to
make  me feel at home and know I was amongst friends. I felt so ornery and
low down and mean that I says to myself, my mind's made up; I'll hive that
money for them or bust.
   So then I lit out-for bed, I said, meaning some time or another. When I
got by myself I went to thinking the thing over. I says to myself, shall I
go to that doctor, private, and blow on these frauds? No-that won't do. He
might tell who told him; then the king and the duke would make it warm for
me.  Shall  I go, private, and tell Mary Jane? No-I dasn't do it. Her face
would  give  them  a  hint,  sure; they've got the money, and they'd slide
right  out and get away with it. If she was to fetch in help I'd get mixed
up  in  the  business before it was done with, I judge. No; there ain't no
good  way  but one. I got to steal that money, somehow; and I got to steal
it  some  way that they won't suspicion that I done it. They've got a good
thing  here,  and  they  ain't  a-going  to leave till they've played this
family  and  this  town  for all they're worth, so I'll find a chance time
enough.  I'll  steal it and hide it; and by and by, when I'm away down the
river, I'll write a letter and tell Mary Jane where it's hid. But I better
hive  it  tonight if I can, because the doctor maybe hasn't let up as much
as he lets on he has; he might scare them out of here yet.
   So,  thinks  I,  I'll  go  and search them rooms. Upstairs the hall was
dark,  but  I  found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with my
hands;  but I recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let anybody
else  take care of that money but his own self; so then I went to his room
and  begun  to paw around there. But I see I couldn't do nothing without a
candle,  and  I dasn't light one, of course. So I judged I'd got to do the
other  thing-lay  for  them  and  eavesdrop. About that time I hears their
footsteps  coming,  and was going to skip under the bed; I reached for it,
but  it wasn't where I thought it would be; but I touched the curtain that
hid Mary Jane's frocks, so I jumped in behind that and snuggled in amongst
the gowns, and stood there perfectly still.
   They  come  in and shut the door; and the first thing the duke done was
to get down and look under the bed. Then I was glad I hadn't found the bed
when  I  wanted  it. And yet, you know, it's kind of natural to hide under
the  bed when you are up to anything private. They sets down then, and the
king says:
   "Well,  what  is it? And cut it middlin' short, because it's better for
us  to  be down there a-whoopin' up the mournin' than up here givin' 'em a
chance to talk us over."
   "Well,  this  is  it,  Capet.  I  ain't easy; I ain't comfortable. That
doctor  lays  on  my mind. I wanted to know your plans. I've got a notion,
and I think it's a sound one."
   "What is it, duke?"
   "That we better glide out of this before three in the morning, and clip
it  down  the  river  with  what we've got. Specially, seeing we got it so
easy-GIVEN  back to us, flung at our heads, as you may say, when of course
we  allowed  to  have  to steal it back. I'm for knocking off and lighting
out."
   That  made me feel pretty bad. About an hour or two ago it would a been
a little different, but now it made me feel bad and disappointed, The king
rips out and says:
   "What!  And  not  sell  out  the rest o' the property? March off like a
passel  of  fools  and  leave  eight  or  nine  thous'n' dollars' worth o'
property  layin'  around  jest  sufferin'  to be scooped in?-and all good,
salable stuff, too."
   The  duke  he  grumbled; said the bag of gold was enough, and he didn't
want  to  go  no  deeper-didn't want to rob a lot of orphans of EVERYTHING
they had.
   "Why,  how  you talk!" says the king. "We sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at
all  but  jest  this  money.  The  people  that  BUYS  the property is the
suff'rers;  because  as  soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own it-which
won't  be long after we've slid-the sale won't be valid, and it 'll all go
back  to  the estate. These yer orphans 'll git their house back agin, and
that's  enough  for  THEM;  they're  young  and  spry, and k'n easy earn a
livin'. THEY ain't a-goin to suffer. Why, jest think-there's thous'n's and
thous'n's  that  ain't nigh so well off. Bless you, THEY ain't got noth'n'
to complain of."
   Well, the king he talked him blind; so at last he give in, and said all
right,  but  said  he believed it was blamed foolishness to stay, and that
doctor hanging over them. But the king says:
   "Cuss the doctor! What do we k'yer for HIM? Hain't we got all the fools
in town on our side? And ain't that a big enough majority in any town?"
   So they got ready to go down stairs again. The duke says:
   "I don't think we put that money in a good place."
   That  cheered me up. I'd begun to think I warn't going to get a hint of
no kind to help me. The king says:
   "Why?"
   "Because Mary Jane 'll be in mourning from this out; and first you know
the  nigger  that does up the rooms will get an order to box these duds up
and  put 'em away; and do you reckon a nigger can run across money and not
borrow some of it?"
   "Your  head's level agin, duke," says the king; and he comes a-fumbling
under the curtain two or three foot from where I was. I stuck tight to the
wall  and  kept  mighty  still,  though  quivery; and I wondered what them
fellows  would say to me if they catched me; and I tried to think what I'd
better do if they did catch me. But the king he got the bag before I could
think  more  than  about  a half a thought, and he never suspicioned I was
around.  They took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw tick that
was  under  the  feather-bed,  and crammed it in a foot or two amongst the
straw  and  said  it was all right now, because a nigger only makes up the
feather-bed,  and  don't turn over the straw tick only about twice a year,
and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now.
   But  I  knowed  better.  I had it out of there before they was half-way
down  stairs. I groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till I could
get  a chance to do better. I judged I better hide it outside of the house
somewheres,  because  if  they  missed it they would give the house a good
ransacking: I knowed that very well. Then I turned in, with my clothes all
on;  but  I  couldn't  a gone to sleep if I'd a wanted to, I was in such a
sweat to get through with the business. By and by I heard the king and the
duke  come  up; so I rolled off my pallet and laid with my chin at the top
of  my  ladder,  and  waited  to  see if anything was going to happen. But
nothing did.
   So  I  held  on  till  all  the late sounds had quit and the early ones
hadn't begun yet; and then I slipped down the ladder.


        Chapter XXVII.

   I  CREPT  to  their  doors and listened; they was snoring. So I tiptoed
along,  and  got  down stairs all right. There warn't a sound anywheres. I
peeped  through  a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that was
watching  the  corpse  all sound asleep on their chairs. The door was open
into  the  parlor,  where the corpse was laying, and there was a candle in
both  rooms. I passed along, and the parlor door was open; but I see there
warn't nobody in there but the remainders of Peter; so I shoved on by; but
the  front  door  was  locked, and the key wasn't there. Just then I heard
somebody  coming  down the stairs, back behind me. I run in the parlor and
took  a swift look around, and the only place I see to hide the bag was in
the  coffin. The lid was shoved along about a foot, showing the dead man's
face  down in there, with a wet cloth over it, and his shroud on. I tucked
the  moneybag  in  under  the  lid,  just  down beyond where his hands was
crossed, which made me creep, they was so cold, and then I run back across
the room and in behind the door.
   The person coming was Mary Jane. She went to the coffin, very soft, and
kneeled  down  and  looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and I see
she  begun  to  cry, though I couldn't hear her, and her back was to me. I
slid  out,  and  as  I passed the dining-room I thought I'd make sure them
watchers hadn't seen me; so I looked through the crack, and everything was
all right. They hadn't stirred.
   I  slipped  up  to  bed,  feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing
playing out that way after I had took so much trouble and run so much resk
about it. Says I, if it could stay where it is, all right; because when we
get  down the river a hundred mile or two I could write back to Mary Jane,
and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the thing that's
going  to  happen;  the  thing that's going to happen is, the money 'll be
found  when they come to screw on the lid. Then the king 'll get it again,
and  it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody another chance to smouch
it from him. Of course I WANTED to slide down and get it out of there, but
I  dasn't try it. Every minute it was getting earlier now, and pretty soon
some of them watchers would begin to stir, and I might get catched-catched
with  six thousand dollars in my hands that nobody hadn't hired me to take
care  of.  I don't wish to be mixed up in no such business as that, I says
to myself.
   When  I  got down stairs in the morning the parlor was shut up, and the
watchers was gone. There warn't nobody around but the family and the widow
Bartley  and  our tribe. I watched their faces to see if anything had been
happening, but I couldn't tell.
   Towards  the  middle  of  the day the undertaker come with his man, and
they  set  the coffin in the middle of the room on a couple of chairs, and
then set all our chairs in rows, and borrowed more from the neighbors till
the hall and the parlor and the dining-room was full. I see the coffin lid
was the way it was before, but I dasn't go to look in under it, with folks
around.
   Then  the  people  begun  to flock in, and the beats and the girls took
seats  in  the front row at the head of the coffin, and for a half an hour
the  people filed around slow, in single rank, and looked down at the dead
man's face a minute, and some dropped in a tear, and it was all very still
and  solemn,  only  the girls and the beats holding handkerchiefs to their
eyes  and  keeping their heads bent, and sobbing a little. There warn't no
other  sound  but  the  scraping  of  the  feet  on  the floor and blowing
noses-because  people  always blows them more at a funeral than they do at
other places except church.
   When  the  place  was  packed full the undertaker he slid around in his
black  gloves with his softy soothering ways, putting on the last touches,
and  getting  people and things all ship-shape and comfortable, and making
no  more  sound  than  a  cat.  He never spoke; he moved people around, he
squeezed  in  late  ones, he opened up passageways, and done it with nods,
and signs with his hands. Then he took his place over against the wall. He
was  the softest, glidingest, stealthiest man I ever see; and there warn't
no more smile to him than there is to a ham.
   They  had borrowed a melodeum-a sick one; and when everything was ready
a  young  woman  set  down  and  worked  it, and it was pretty skreeky and
colicky, and everybody joined in and sung, and Peter was the only one that
had  a good thing, according to my notion. Then the Reverend Hobson opened
up,  slow  and  solemn,  and  begun  to  talk;  and  straight off the most
outrageous row busted out in the cellar a body ever heard; it was only one
dog,  but  he  made a most powerful racket, and he kept it up right along;
the  parson  he had to stand there, over the coffin, and wait-you couldn't
hear  yourself think. It was right down awkward, and nobody didn't seem to
know what to do. But pretty soon they see that long-legged undertaker make
a  sign to the preacher as much as to say, "Don't you worry-just depend on
me."  Then  he  stooped  down  and begun to glide along the wall, just his
shoulders  showing  over  the  people's heads. So he glided along, and the
powwow  and  racket  getting more and more outrageous all the time; and at
last,  when  he  had gone around two sides of the room, he disappears down
cellar.  Then  in  about  two  seconds  we  heard  a whack, and the dog he
finished  up with a most amazing howl or two, and then everything was dead
still, and the parson begun his solemn talk where he left off. In a minute
or  two  here comes this undertaker's back and shoulders gliding along the
wall  again;  and  so he glided and glided around three sides of the room,
and  then  rose up, and shaded his mouth with his hands, and stretched his
neck  out  towards  the  preacher, over the people's heads, and says, in a
kind  of a coarse whisper, "HE HAD A RAT!" Then he drooped down and glided
along  the  wall  again  to  his  place.  You  could  see  it  was a great
satisfaction  to  the  people,  because  naturally  they wanted to know. A
little thing like that don't cost nothing, and it's just the little things
that  makes  a  man  to  be  looked  up to and liked. There warn't no more
popular man in town than what that undertaker was.
   Well,  the  funeral  sermon was very good, but pison long and tiresome;
and  then the king he shoved in and got off some of his usual rubbage, and
at  last  the job was through, and the undertaker begun to sneak up on the
coffin  with  his  screw-driver.  I  was  in a sweat then, and watched him
pretty  keen. But he never meddled at all; just slid the lid along as soft
as mush, and screwed it down tight and fast. So there I was! I didn't know
whether  the  money  was  in there or not. So, says I, s'pose somebody has
hogged  that  bag  on  the sly?-now how do I know whether to write to Mary
Jane or not? S'pose she dug him up and didn't find nothing, what would she
think  of  me?  Blame  it,  I  says, I might get hunted up and jailed; I'd
better  lay  low  and  keep  dark, and not write at all; the thing's awful
mixed  now;  trying  to better it, I've worsened it a hundred times, and I
wish to goodness I'd just let it alone, dad fetch the whole business!
   They  buried  him,  and we come back home, and I went to watching faces
again-I  couldn't  help  it, and I couldn't rest easy. But nothing come of
it; the faces didn't tell me nothing.
   The  king he visited around in the evening, and sweetened everybody up,
and  made  himself  ever  so  friendly;  and he give out the idea that his
congregation  over  in  England  would be in a sweat about him, so he must
hurry  and settle up the estate right away and leave for home. He was very
sorry  he  was  so pushed, and so was everybody; they wished he could stay
longer,  but  they said they could see it couldn't be done. And he said of
course  him  and  William  would  take  the girls home with them; and that
pleased  everybody  too,  because  then  the girls would be well fixed and
amongst their own relations; and it pleased the girls, too-tickled them so
they  clean  forgot  they ever had a trouble in the world; and told h