________________________________________________
_ I have spoken of my pistol. During the early part of our residence
at Rudder Grange I never thought of such a thing as owning a
pistol.
But it was different now. I kept a Colt's revolver loaded in the
bureau drawer in our bedroom.
The cause of this change was burglars. Not that any of these
unpleasant persons had visited us, but we much feared they would.
Several houses in the vicinity had been entered during the past
month, and we could never tell when our turn would come.
To be sure, our boarder suggested that if we were to anchor out a
little further at night, no burglar would risk catching his death
of cold by swimming out to us; but Euphemia having replied that it
would be rather difficult to move a canal-boat every night without
paddle-wheels, or sails, or mules, especially if it were aground,
this plan was considered to be effectually disposed of.
So we made up our minds that we must fasten up everything very
securely, and I bought a pistol and two burglar-alarms. One of
these I affixed to the most exposed window, and the other to the
door which opened on the deck. These alarms were very simple
affairs, but they were good enough. When they were properly
attached to a window or door, and it was opened, a little gong
sounded like a violently deranged clock, striking all the hours of
the day at once.
The window did not trouble us much, but it was rather irksome to
have to make the attachment to the door every night and to take it
off every morning. However, as Euphemia said, it was better to
take a little trouble than to have the house full of burglars,
which was true enough.
We made all the necessary arrangements in case burglars should make
an inroad upon us. At the first sound of the alarm, Euphemia and
the girl were to lie flat on the floor or get under their beds.
Then the boarder and I were to stand up, back to back, each with
pistol in hand, and fire away, revolving on a common centre the
while. In this way, by aiming horizontally at about four feet from
the floor, we could rake the premises, and run no risk of shooting
each other or the women of the family.
To be sure, there were some slight objections to this plan. The
boarder's room was at some distance from ours, and he would
probably not hear the alarm, and the burglars might not be willing
to wait while I went forward and roused him up, and brought him to
our part of the house. But this was a minor difficulty. I had no
doubt but that, if it should be necessary, I could manage to get
our boarder into position in plenty of time.
It was not very long before there was an opportunity of testing the
plan.
About twelve o'clock one night one of the alarms (that on the
kitchen window) went off with a whirr and a wild succession of
clangs. For a moment I thought the morning train had arrived, and
then I woke up. Euphemia was already under the bed.
I hurried on a few clothes, and then I tried to find the bureau in
the dark. This was not easy, as I lost my bearings entirely. But
I found it at last, got the top drawer open and took out my pistol.
Then I slipped out of the room, hurried up the stairs, opened the
door (setting off the alarm there, by the way), and ran along the
deck (there was a cold night wind), and hastily descended the steep
steps that led into the boarder's room. The door that was at the
bottom of the steps was not fastened, and, as I opened it, a little
stray moonlight illumed the room. I hastily stepped to the bed and
shook the boarder by the shoulder. He kept HIS pistol under his
pillow.
In an instant he was on his feet, his hand grasped my throat, and
the cold muzzle of his Derringer pistol was at my forehead. It was
an awfully big muzzle, like the mouth of a bottle.
I don't know when I lived so long as during the first minute that
he held me thus.
"Rascal!" he said. "Do as much as breathe, and I'll pull the
trigger."
I didn't breathe.
I had an accident insurance on my life. Would it hold good in a
case like this? Or would Euphemia have to go back to her father?
He pushed me back into the little patch of moonlight.
"Oh! is it you?" he said, relaxing his grasp. "What do you want?
A mustard plaster?"
He had a package of patent plasters in his room. You took one and
dipped it in hot water, and it was all ready.
"No," said I, gasping a little. "Burglars."
"Oh!" he said, and he put down his pistol and put on his clothes.
"Come along," he said, and away we went over the deck.
When we reached the stairs all was dark and quiet below.
It was a matter of hesitancy as to going down.
I started to go down first, but the boarder held me back.
"Let me go down," he said.
"No," said I, "my wife is there."
"That's the very reason you should not go," he said. "She is safe
enough yet, and they would fire only at a man. It would be a bad
job for her if you were killed. I'll go down."
So he went down, slowly and cautiously, his pistol in one hand, and
his life in the other, as it were.
When he reached the bottom of the steps I changed my mind. I could
not remain above while the burglar and Euphemia were below, so I
followed.
The boarder was standing in the middle of the dining-room, into
which the stairs led. I could not see him, but I put my hand
against him as I was feeling my way across the floor.
I whispered to him:
"Shall we put our backs together and revolve and fire?"
"No," he whispered back, "not now; he may be on a shelf by this
time, or under a table. Let's look him up."
I confess that I was not very anxious to look him up, but I
followed the boarder, as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen
door. As we opened the door we instinctively stopped.
The window was open, and by the light of the moon that shone in, we
saw the rascal standing on a chair, leaning out of the window,
evidently just ready to escape. Fortunately, we were unheard.
"Let's pull him in," whispered the boarder.
"No," I whispered in reply. "We don't want him in. Let's hoist
him out."
"All right," returned the boarder.
We laid our pistols on the floor, and softly approached the window.
Being barefooted, out steps were noiseless.
"Hoist when I count three," breathed the boarder into my ear.
We reached the chair. Each of us took hold of two of its legs.
"One--two--three!" said the boarder, and together we gave a
tremendous lift and shot the wretch out of the window.
The tide was high, and there was a good deal of water around the
boat. We heard a rousing splash outside.
Now there was no need of silence.
"Shall we run on deck and shoot him as he swims?" I cried.
"No," said the boarder, "we'll get the boat-hook, and jab him if he
tries to climb up."
We rushed on deck. I seized the boat-hook and looked over the
side. But I saw no one.
"He's gone to the bottom!" I exclaimed.
"He didn't go very far then," said the boarder, "for it's not more
than two feet deep there."
Just then our attention was attracted by a voice from the shore.
"Will you please let down the gang-plank?" We looked ashore, and
there stood Pomona, dripping from every pore.
We spoke no words, but lowered the gangplank.
She came aboard.
"Good night!" said the boarder, and he went to bed.
"Pomona!" said I, "what have you been doing?"
"I was a lookin' at the moon, sir, when pop! the chair bounced, and
out I went."
"You shouldn't do that," I said, sternly.
"Some day you'll be drowned. Take off your wet things and go to
bed."
"Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean," said she, as she went down-stairs.
When I reached my room I lighted the lamp, and found Euphemia still
under the bed.
"Is it all right?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered. "There was no burglar. Pomona fell out of the
window."
"Did you get her a plaster?" asked Euphemia, drowsily.
"No, she did not need one. She's all right now. Were you worried
about me, dear?"
"No, I trusted in you entirely, and I think I dozed a little under
the bed."
In one minute she was asleep.
The boarder and I did not make this matter a subject of
conversation afterward, but Euphemia gave the girl a lecture on her
careless ways, and made her take several Dover's powders the next
day.
An important fact in domestic economy was discovered about this
time by Euphemia and myself. Perhaps we were not the first to
discover it, but we certainly did find it out,--and this fact was,
that housekeeping costs money. At the end of every week we counted
up our expenditures--it was no trouble at all to count up our
receipts--and every week the result was more unsatisfactory.
"If we could only get rid of the disagreeable balance that has to
be taken along all the time, and which gets bigger and bigger like
a snow-ball, I think we would find the accounts more satisfactory,"
said Euphemia.
This was on a Saturday night. We always got our pencils and paper
and money at the end of the week.
"Yes," said I, with an attempt to appear facetious and unconcerned,
"but it would be all well enough if we could take that snow-ball to
the fire and melt it down."
"But there never is any fire where there are snow-balls," said
Euphemia.
"No," said I, "and that's just the trouble."
It was on the following Thursday, when I came home in the evening,
that Euphemia met me with a glowing face. It rather surprised me
to see her look so happy, for she had been very quiet and
preoccupied for the first part of the week. So much so, indeed,
that I had thought of ordering smaller roasts for a week or two,
and taking her to a Thomas Concert with the money saved. But this
evening she looked as if she did not need Thomas's orchestra.
"What makes you so bright, my dear?" said I, when I had greeted
her. "Has anything jolly happened?"
"No," said she; "nothing yet, but I am going to make a fire to melt
snow-balls."
Of course I was very anxious to know how she was going to do it,
but she would not tell me. It was a plan that she intended to keep
to herself until she saw how it worked. I did not press her,
because she had so few secrets, and I did not hear anything about
this plan until it had been carried out.
Her scheme was as follows: After thinking over our financial
condition and puzzling her brain to find out some way of bettering
it, she had come to the conclusion that she would make some money
by her own exertions, to help defray our household expenses. She
never had made any money, but that was no reason why she should not
begin. It was too bad that I should have to toil and toil and not
make nearly enough money after all. So she would go to work and
earn something with her own hands.
She had heard of an establishment in the city, where ladies of
limited means, or transiently impecunious, could, in a very quiet
and private way, get sewing to do. They could thus provide for
their needs without any one but the officers of the institution
knowing anything about it.
So Euphemia went to this place, and she got some work. It was not
a very large bundle, but it was larger than she had been accustomed
to carry, and, what was perfectly dreadful, it was wrapped up in a
newspaper! When Euphemia told me the story, she said that this was
too much for her courage. She could not go on the cars, and
perhaps meet people belonging to our church, with a newspaper
bundle under her arm.
But her genius for expedients saved her from this humiliation. She
had to purchase some sewing-cotton, and some other little things,
and when she had bought them, she handed her bundle to the woman
behind the counter, and asked her if she would not be so good as to
have that wrapped up with the other things. It was a good deal to
ask, she knew, and the woman smiled, for the articles she had
bought would not make a package as large as her hand. However, her
request was complied with, and she took away a very decent package,
with the card of the store stamped on the outside. I suppose that
there are not more than half a dozen people in this country who
would refuse Euphemia anything that she would be willing to ask
for.
So she took the work home, and she labored faithfully at it for
about a week, She did not suppose it would take her so long; but
she was not used to such very plain sewing, and was much afraid
that she would not do it neatly enough. Besides this, she could
only work on it in the daytime--when I was away--and was, of
course, interrupted a great deal by her ordinary household duties,
and the necessity of a careful oversight of Pomona's somewhat
erratic methods of doing her work.
But at last she finished the job and took it into the city. She
did not want to spend any more money on the trip than was
absolutely necessary, and so was very glad to find that she had a
remnant of pocket-money sufficient to pay her fare both ways.
When she reached the city, she walked up to the place where her
work was to be delivered, and found it much farther when she went
on foot than it had seemed to her riding in the street cars. She
handed over her bundle to the proper person, and, as it was soon
examined and approved, she received her pay therefor.
It amounted to sixty cents. She had made no bargain, but she was a
little astonished. However, she said nothing, but left the place
without asking for any more work. In fact she forgot all about it.
She had an idea that everything was all wrong, and that idea
engrossed her mind entirely. There was no mistake about the sum
paid, for the lady clerk had referred to the printed table of
prices when she calculated the amount due. But something was
wrong, and, at the moment, Euphemia could not tell what it was.
She left the place, and started to walk back to the ferry. But she
was so tired and weak, and hungry--it was now an hour or two past
her regular luncheon time--that she thought she should faint if she
did not go somewhere and get some refreshments.
So, like a sensible little woman as she was, she went into a
restaurant. She sat down at a table, and a waiter came to her to
see what she would have. She was not accustomed to eating-houses,
and perhaps this was the first time that she had ever visited one
alone. What she wanted was something simple. So she ordered a cup
of tea and some rolls, and a piece of chicken. The meal was a very
good one, and Euphemia enjoyed it. When she had finished, she went
up to the counter to settle. Her bill was sixty cents. She paid
the money that she had just received, and walked down to the ferry-
-all in a daze, she said. When she got home she thought it over,
and then she cried.
After a while she dried her eyes, and when I came home she told me
all about it.
"I give it up," she said. "I don't believe I can help you any."
Poor little thing! I took her in my arms and comforted her, and
before bedtime I had convinced her that she was fully able to help
me better than any one else on earth, and that without puzzling her
brains about business, or wearing herself out by sewing for pay.
So we went on in our old way, and by keeping our attention on our
weekly balance, we prevented it from growing very rapidly.
We fell back on our philosophy (it was all the capital we had), and
became as calm and contented as circumstances allowed. _
Read next: Chapter V - Pomona Produces a Partial Revolution in Rudder Grange
Read previous: Chapter III - Treating of a Novel Style of Girl
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