The House Behind the Cedars | Page 7

piece of seasoned oak clasped tightly
in a wooden vise.
"I jes' wonder who dat man is, an' w'at he 's doin' on dis street,"
observed the younger of the two, with a suspicious air. He had noticed
the gentleman's involuntary pause and his interest in the opposite house,
and had stopped work for a moment to watch the stranger as he went on
down the street.

"Nev' min' 'bout dat man," said the elder one. "You 'ten' ter yo' wuk an'
finish dat bairl-stave. You spen's enti'ely too much er yo' time stretchin'
yo' neck atter other people. An' you need n' 'sturb yo'se'f 'bout dem
folks 'cross de street, fer dey ain't yo' kin', an' you're wastin' yo' time
both'in' yo' min' wid 'em, er wid folks w'at comes on de street on
account of 'em. Look sha'p now, boy, er you'll git dat stave trim' too
much."
The younger man resumed his work, but still found time to throw a
slanting glance out of the window. The gentleman, he perceived, stood
for a moment on the rotting bridge across the old canal, and then
walked slowly ahead until he turned to the right into Back Street, a few
rods farther on.

II
AN EVENING VISIT
Toward evening of the same day, Warwick took his way down Front
Street in the gathering dusk. By the time night had spread its mantle
over the earth, he had reached the gate by which he had seen the girl of
his morning walk enter the cedar- bordered garden. He stopped at the
gate and glanced toward the house, which seemed dark and silent and
deserted.
"It's more than likely," he thought, "that they are in the kitchen. I
reckon I'd better try the back door."
But as he drew cautiously near the corner, he saw a man's figure
outlined in the yellow light streaming from the open door of a small
house between Front Street and the cooper shop. Wishing, for reasons
of his own, to avoid observation, Warwick did not turn the corner, but
walked on down Front Street until he reached a point from which he
could see, at a long angle, a ray of light proceeding from the kitchen
window of the house behind the cedars.
"They are there," he muttered with a sigh of relief, for he had feared

they might be away. "I suspect I'll have to go to the front door, after all.
No one can see me through the trees."
He retraced his steps to the front gate, which he essayed to open. There
was apparently some defect in the latch, for it refused to work.
Warwick remembered the trick, and with a slight sense of amusement,
pushed his foot under the gate and gave it a hitch to the left, after which
it opened readily enough. He walked softly up the sanded path, tiptoed
up the steps and across the piazza, and rapped at the front door, not too
loudly, lest this too might attract the attention of the man across the
street. There was no response to his rap. He put his ear to the door and
heard voices within, and the muffled sound of footsteps. After a
moment he rapped again, a little louder than before.
There was an instant cessation of the sounds within. He rapped a third
time, to satisfy any lingering doubt in the minds of those who he felt
sure were listening in some trepidation. A moment later a ray of light
streamed through the keyhole.
"Who's there?" a woman's voice inquired somewhat sharply.
"A gentleman," answered Warwick, not holding it yet time to reveal
himself. "Does Mis' Molly Walden live here?"
"Yes," was the guarded answer. "I'm Mis' Walden. What's yo'r
business?"
"I have a message to you from your son John."
A key clicked in the lock. The door opened, and the elder of the two
women Warwick had seen upon the piazza stood in the doorway,
peering curiously and with signs of great excitement into the face of the
stranger.
"You 've got a message from my son, you say?" she asked with
tremulous agitation. "Is he sick, or in trouble?"
"No. He's well and doing well, and sends his love to you, and hopes

you've not forgotten him."
"Fergot him? No, God knows I ain't fergot him! But come in, sir, an'
tell me somethin' mo' about him."
Warwick went in, and as the woman closed the door after him, he threw
a glance round the room. On the wall, over the mantelpiece, hung a
steel engraving of General Jackson at the battle of New Orleans, and,
on the opposite wall, a framed fashion-plate from "Godey's Lady's
Book." In the middle of the room an octagonal centre-table with a
single leg, terminating in three sprawling