wixt even them
two, except Elizabeth sayin': 'I've come home, Mother Sturtevant, to
bring your grandson to the old place. I haven't long to live; but
Verplanck will never come till he has made a fortune and redeemed
everything. Let us not talk of him.' They never did. Where he was or
how, his old mother could only guess. Then Elizabeth died and there was
just them two--Madam an' Montgomery--left in the Mansion. Every year she
let Jim Pettijohn get a tighter clutch on the property, till, as I tell
ye, he prob'ly owns all.

"That's all of Monty's father. 'Twas ten years or more ago when
Elizabeth fetched him; why, my sake! it must be full twelve or up'ards,
but time does fly so I forget. I never believed Verplanck stole a thing.
I misdoubt if the box ever was took. The Squire bein' queer might ha'
hid it somewheres, more'n likely. But there's them that does believe,
an' I hear the Madam's amongst 'em. She's searched the Mansion from A to
Izzard, knowin' every crane an' cranny of it, an' found nothin'. So
that's why Monty's face got red when you asked about his father.
Marsden's like every other village, full o' gossip, an' what his
grandmother has tried to keep from him hearin' there's been plenty loose
tongues to let slip. More'n once I've seen the poor little shaver sit
broodin' an' solemn as if his heart was breakin', an' I've fancied he
was thinkin' 'bout his pa. But he ain't one the broodin' kind, thanks
be; an' the very next thing I knowed he'd be up to some mischief or
other, lively as a cricket. But don't you ever let on what I've told ye,
'less he speaks of it himself. I'm glad you're good friends, an' likely
enough he'll out with the hull business an' all he's thought an' felt
about it. If ever he does, Kitty Keehoty, you remember that it's a
woman's part--such women as Eunice an' the Madam an' her that was
Elizabeth Morton--to comfort an' cheer them 'at are downcast. Though I
needn't caution ye, I guess, sence I found out some time ago that you've
got a power o' sympathy in your fly-about little body. Hm-m. I've 'most
talked the legs off the iron pot, hain't I? It's time to quit,
an'--hark! Them's wheels! They're drivin' in here. They're on our
gravel, sure. Look out the winder, child, an' see who 'tis. I'm most too
tuckered out for more comp'ny to-night. The deacon, he's a good man, but
he dreadful fatiguin'."

CHAPTER XVIII.

REUBEN SMITH, ACCESSORY

The wheels belonged to Squire Pettijohn's bugg