The Village Watch-Tower | Page 9

'n' that leaves Rube all alone, for the smith girl that does his chores is home sick with the hives. And what do you s'pose is in the pail? Fruit cake,--that's what 't is, no more 'n' no less! I knowed that Smith girl didn't bake it, 'n' so I asked 'em, 'n' they said Miss Emery give it to 'em. There was two little round try-cakes, baked in muffin-rings. Eunice hed took some o' the batter out of a big loaf 'n' baked it to se how it was goin' to turn out. That means wedding-cake, or I'm mistaken!"
"There ain't no gittin' round that," agreed the assembled company, "now is there, Mis' Bascom?"
Old Mrs. Bascom wet her finger, smoothed the parting of her false front, and looked inscrutable.
"I don't see why you're so secret," objected Diadema.
"I've got my opinions, and I've had 'em some time," observed the good lady. "I don't know 's I'm bound to tell 'em and have 'em held up to ridicule. Let the veal hang, I say. If any one of us is right, we'll all know to-morrow."
"Well, all any of us has got to judge from is appearances," said Diadema, "and how you can twist 'em one way, and us another, stumps me!"
"Perhaps I see more appearances than you do," retorted her mother-in-law. "Some folks mistakes all they see for all there is. I was reading a detective story last week. It seems there was an awful murder in Schenectady, and a mother and her two children was found dead in one bed, with bullet holes in their heads. The husband was away on business, and there wasn't any near neighbors to hear her screech. Well, the detectives come from far and from near, and begun to work up the case. One of 'em thought 't was the husband,-- though he set such store by his wife he went ravin' crazy when he heard she was dead,--one of 'em laid it on the children,--though they was both under six years old; and one decided it was suicide,--though the woman was a church member and didn't know how to fire a gun off, besides. And then there come along a detective younger and smarter than all the rest, and says he, `If all you bats have seen everything you can see, I guess I'll take a look around,' says he. Sure enough, there was a rug with `Welcome' on it layin' in front of the washstand, and when he turned it up he found an elegant diamond stud with a man's full name and address on the gold part. He took a train and went right to the man's house. He was so taken by surprise (he hadn't missed the stud, for he had a full set of 'em) that he owned right up and confessed the murder."
"I don't see as that's got anything to do with this case," said Diadema.
"It's got this much to do with it," replied old Mrs. Bascom, "that perhaps you've looked all round the room and seen everything you had eyes to see, and perhaps I've had wit enough to turn up the rug in front o' the washstand."
"Whoever he marries now, Mis' Bascom'll have to say 't was the one she meant," laughed the Widow Buzzell.
"I never was caught cheatin' yet, and if I live till Saturday I shall be seventy-one years old," said the old lady with some heat. "Hand me Jot's lead pencil, Diademy, and that old envelope on the winder sill. I'll write the name I think of, and shut it up in the old Bible. My hand's so stiff to-day I can't hardly move it, but I guess I can make it plain enough to satisfy you."
"That's fair 'n' square," said Hannah Sophia, "and for my pat I hope it ain't Eunice, for I like her too well. What they're goin' to live on is more 'n I can see. Add nothin' to nothin' 'n' you git nothin',--that's arethmetic! He ain't hed a cent o' ready money sence he failed up four years ago, 'thout it was that hundred dollars that fell to him from his wife's aunt. Eunice'll hev her hands full this winter, I guess, with them three hearty children 'n' him all wheezed up with phthisic from October to April! . . . Who's that coming' down Tory Hill? It's Rube's horse 'n' Rube's wagon, but it don't look like Rube."
"Yes, it's Rube; but he's got a new Panama hat, 'n' he 's hed his linen duster washed," said old Mrs. Bascom. . . . "Now, do you mean to tell me that that woman with a stuck-up hat on is Eunice Emery? It ain't, 'n' that green parasol don't belong to this village. He's drivin' her into his yard! . .