A Struggle for a Fortune

Jonas was in a hurry, anybody could have seen that and he kept Caleb in a trot to keep pace with him. When he opened the door he greeted his wife with a cheerful “hello!” and picked up his youngest child and kissed him. Mrs. Keeler was as much amazed at his actions as Caleb was. She stood in the middle of the floor with her arms down by her side and her mouth open, seemingly at a loss to comprehend his movements.

“Now, then, where is Mr. Nickerson?” said Jonas, pulling an empty chair toward him.

“Mr. Nickerson,” said Caleb to himself. “There is something in the wind there. He never called him Mr. Nickerson before unless he had something to make out of him. He was always ‘that old man’ or ‘that inspired idiot’ when he wanted him to do errands for him. What’s up, I wonder?”

“I forgot all about his tobacco,” said Jonas, seating himself and repeating what he had said to Caleb. “I had a heap of trouble down town, but I will send Nat down after it as soon as we get a bite to eat. Ah, Mr. Nickerson, you are on hand, I see. What’s this?”

The old man had in his hand the “keepsake” which he intended to give to Jonas. It was a book bound in cloth. It had been well-read evidently, for some of the leaves were loose and one cover was nearly off. But the leaves were all there, and there was something in it that Jonas did not know anything about; if he had known it he would have received it very differently.

“What is that?” asked Jonas.

“It is the keepsake I promised you,” said Mr. Nickerson. “Take it, read every word of it and you will find something in it before you get through that will make you open your eyes and bless your lucky stars that you have been so good to me.”

Jonas took the book and ran his thumb over the leaves. He turned the back of the book toward him and read the name “Baxter’s Saints’ Rest” on it in gilt type. The expression of intense disgust that came upon his face when he looked at the book set Caleb to snickering, and even Nat, who was leaning against the door post a little distance away, smiled in spite of himself.

“And is this the only keepsake you have got to give me?” shouted Jonas.

“It is the only one,” said Mr. Nickerson. “Read it carefully, every word of it, and you will thank me for giving it to you.”

“Where’s the money?” exclaimed Jonas, who could not get that thing out of his mind.

“You have got all the money I have to give you. I gave you a thousand dollars – ”

Jonas became furious all on a sudden. With a muttered exclamation under his breath, he drew back the book with the intention of throwing at the old man’s head; but he stayed his hand in time. Then he turned it upon Caleb; but the boy had rushed out of the door and was safe. But Nat stood there, he had not moved at all, and instantly the book left Jonas’s hand and flew with terrific force at the boy’s head. It struck the door post and bounded out of doors, and Nat slowly straightened up and went after it. It was a work of some difficulty to pick it up, for the leaves were scattered in every direction, but Nat got it done at last and went away with it.

“Jonas, Jonas, you will be sorry for that,” said Mr. Nickerson, who covered his face with his hands.

“Get out of here! Get out, you inspired idiot!” roared Jonas, striding up and down the cabin as if he were demented. “Don’t you dare come into this house again.”

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Mrs. Keeler.

“Shut up your yawp, old woman,” said Jonas, turning upon her. “That was the keepsake he had to give to me, was it? I thought it was money, dog-gone it, and here he comes and presents me with a book! He shan’t stay in my house no longer.”

Mr. Nickerson went out and tottered to the barn, and when Nat found him there a few minutes later he was doubled up with his elbows on his knees, but his jaws were working vigorously. If there was nothing else which could comfort him, he found it in his tobacco.

“Here’s your book, Mr. Nickerson,” said Nat, who, if he had been big enough, would have resented the way the old man had been treated. “Shall I take it back and put it among your things?”

“No; never mind that now. Jonas has told me that I can not go into his house again, and he may rest assured that I will never do it.”

“He did not mean what he said,” exclaimed Nat. “He is all over his passion by this time.”

“It is too late. He will never see a cent of my money. Did you put those leaves all in just as you found them?”

“I tried, but I reckon I did not succeed very well.”

“Did you find anything that did not belong there?”

“I found two leaves that were pasted together,” said Nat, and he grew excited at once when he saw the expression that came upon Mr. Nickerson’s face. “Did you know about those two leaves?”

“Have you brought them with you?”

“I have. I would have left the whole book behind before I would them, for I knew they meant something,” said Nat, producing them from his pocket the leaves of which he had spoken. “Now, by holding it up to the light this way,” he added, “in order to see what was in them, I can see through the leaves, and I can see a third piece of paper in there.”

“Yes; and there is something on that paper, too,” said the old man rising to his feet and going toward the door. “We must first make sure that there is nobody coming; for you have a fortune right there in your hands.”

“A fortune?” gasped Nat.

“It was the money I had in the bank at the time the war broke out,” said Mr. Nickerson, who, having looked up and down the place and toward the house to satisfy himself that he and Nat were safe from intrusion, returned to his seat. “It is all in gold, too.”

“How-how much is there of it?” said Nat, who did not know whether to believe the story or not.

“As much as three or four thousand dollars; perhaps more; I did not count it. You see I drew this money at different times, and as fast as I got it, I hid it. When the rebels came there and took me away, they searched the house high and low for some money that they supposed I had, but it was not in the house; It was out in the field. You see this black line?” he continued, taking the two leaves and pointing with his shivering finger to one of the marks on the inclosed paper. “By the way, you don’t want to take this out until you are already to go to work, for fear that somebody may steal it from you. Well, you go to the house – ”

“But how can I tell where it is?” cried Nat. “Those men cleaned you out. They thought they would get something by doing that.”

“They didn’t, so they might as well have left me my house. However, it don’t matter much now. I shall never live in it again. You can tell where the house stood, even if it isn’t there now, can’t you? You go to the corner of that house nearest the woods, hold this paper before you and follow as straight a course as you can down the hill and across the break until you come to a brier patch. It is made up entirely of briers, for I cut them down and put them there. Then leave that to your right and go thirty yards and you will strike a stone, as big as you can lift, which does not look as though it had ever been touched. But it has been, and you can pry it up if you want to. When you get that stone out of its place, you dig down about two feet, and there you will find it.”

Nat listened with all his ears, but there was one thing that did not look right about it: The old man talked about the place and the way to find it as though there had never been anything the matter with him at all. If there was something wrong about his mind, Nat failed to see what it was. He talked as though he were reading from a book.

“But what makes you give all this to me?” said Nat at length. “You don’t act as though you had any interest in it at all.”

“I am not going to last long, and I know it,” said Mr. Nickerson. “I have neither kith nor kin in this land, or in any other so far as I know, and since Jonas does not want the money, why you can have it. I know enough about law to know that there is nobody can take it away from you. If you could, I say if you could without too much trouble, call and see Jonas’s wife after you get the money, and give her one thousand dollars, I could rest easy. Could you do that much for me?”

“Of course I can. I will give it all to her if you say so.”

“No, I don’t want you to do that. I know you would give it all to her, because you are an honest boy. You have been good to me during the years I have been here, never had anything cross to say to me, you don’t like Jonas, and neither do I. Mandy has been good to me, too, but you see if I give her this money Jonas will have a chance to take it. I don’t want him to see a cent of it.”

“But Mr. Nickerson, what was your object in pasting your description in the book this way? The book might have been stolen.”

“But it was not stolen. As many as fifty soldiers, Union and Confederate, have had that book in their hands, and when they came to turn it up and see what the title was, they threw it aside. No soldier wants to read a book like that. It is growing late and I must lie down somewhere.”

“Come into my room and turn into my bunk,” said Nat. “You will sleep well there.”

“Jonas has turned me out of his house and I am going to stay out,” said Mr. Nickerson, with more spirit than he usually exhibited. “I will lie down here and die in his barn.”

“Don’t talk that way, Mr. Nickerson,” said Nat; and some way or other he could not get it out of his head that the old man was in earnest. “If you are going to stay here I will go up and get a couple of blankets and a pillow for you. I will see you all right in the morning.”

He laid the book beside the old man, folded up the two leaves and put them into his pocket and hurried toward the house. Somehow he did not feel exactly right about Mr. Nickerson.

CHAPTER V.

Jonas Tries to Make Amends

It is hard to tell what Jonas Keeler’s feelings were as he paced back and forth in his narrow cabin, his eyes flashing, his hands clenched and his lips framing to himself words that he dared not utter aloud. He was disappointed – sorely disappointed because Mr. Nickerson, who knew that he wanted money, that he thought of nothing else, had presumed to present him a book for a keepsake. Sometimes he felt so angry at him that he had half a mind to go out, find the old man and throw him over the bars. His wife said nothing for some minutes, but seeing that Jonas was getting madder instead of better natured, she ventured to put in a word or two.

“Father, you didn’t do right in talking to the old man the way you did,” said she, hardly knowing how her words would be received.

“The old fool!” hissed Jonas, throwing his hat into one corner and burying both of his hands in his hair. “What did he want to give me a book for when he knows how badly I need money? I am sorry that I was so good natured with him afterward.”

“But father, there was something in the book,” continued Mrs. Keeler, a sudden idea occurring to her.

Jonas stopped quickly and faced her, a queer expression on his face.

“There may have been something in the book that told you where his money was. That is if he has got any money; which I don’t believe.”

Jonas began to see the matter in a different light now. He pulled a chair close to his wife’s side and sat down in it.

“Do you think there was money in the book?” he almost whispered.

“No, I don’t. You threw the book with force enough to tear it all to pieces; but there may have been a paper or something else in the leaves which told where his money was hidden. But between you and me, I would not put the least faith in it.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because the old gentleman is not in his right mind. You have talked about money, money and nothing but money ever since he has been here, and you have finally got him in the way of believing that he has some.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. The old fellow talks plainly enough sometimes, and then again he rattles on and you can’t make head or tail of what he says. But I wonder if there was anything in that book? If there was anything there, it must have been put in years ago, when the old man was right in his top story.”

“It would not do any harm for you to find out. You can tell him that you did not mean anything by what you had said – ”

“That depends upon whether I do or not,” said Jonas hastily. “I will wait until I see what is in that book first. If there is a plan in there which tells where to go to find the money, but you say he hasn’t got any, why then I will be kinder good natured with him; but if there is nothing there, he can just keep out of my house; and that’s all there is about it.”

Jonas thought that by this time Mr. Nickerson had gone to bed, so he went out and started toward a little lean-to, it could scarcely have been called any thing better, which was the place where the old man slept. There were leaks in the roof and sundry cracks through which the severe winds could seek entrance, but that was not the kind of sleeping place Jonas had in the cabin. There everything was tight, and there were a few articles of furniture scattered around, such as a table and chairs and a wash stand. In place of a shake-down he had a regular bed-stead and the blankets and quilts on it were abundant to keep him warm in the coldest weather. It was dark in the lean-to, but Jonas knew the way. He groped his way up to the shake-down but there was nobody in it. In fact the bed had not been slept in at all.

“By George! I reckon the old fool took me at my word,” said Jonas, as he turned toward the door. “I did not think the fellow had so much pluck. I wonder where he is!”

He bent his steps this time toward the lean-to which Nat called his room. It was a little better than Mr. Nickerson’s and but a very little better. It was tight but there was no furniture in it; the dirt floor did duty as chairs and washstand. Whenever Nat got up in the morning and desired to perform his ablutions, there was the branch handy, and it was but little trouble to go down there. It was dark in here, too, but a slight feeling among the bed clothes showed Jonas that somebody had been there. The pillow was gone, and so were the quilts that Nat usually spread over him.

“This beats my time all hollow,” said Jonas, pulling off his hat and wiping his forehead. “If he should go out among the neighbors – but then he can’t have gone that far. Nat is going to make him up a bed somewhere.”

Jonas’s next trip was to the barn, and there he found Mr. Nickerson stretched out on a rude bed which Nat had made for him, and a lighted lantern throwing a dim light over the scene. Jonas first impulse was to find out what had become of that book. It was there, lying on the pillow close beside Mr. Nickerson’s head. Nat was seated on the floor a little ways from him, but he did not say anything when Jonas came in.

“Hello!” said the new-comer, with an attempt to appear cheerful. “What you laying down out here for? Why don’t you get up and go to your own room?”

“You have told me once that I need not come into your house any more,” said the old man, in his usual whining tone, “and I am going to take you at your word. I shall never go into your house again.”

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