MISS MEHETABEL'S SON. 

By Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company

Copyright, 1873, 1885, and 1901

I. THE OLD TAVERN AT BAYLEY'S FOUR CORNERS. 

You will not find Greenton, or Bayley's Four-Corners, as it is moreusually designated, on any map of New England that I know of. It isnot a town; it is not even a village; it is merely an absurd hotel. Thealmost indescribable place called Greenton is at the intersection offour roads, in the heart of New Hampshire, twenty miles from the nearestsettlement of note, and ten miles from any railway station. A goodlocation for a hotel, you will say. Precisely; but there has alwaysbeen a hotel there, and for the last dozen years it has been pretty wellpatronized--by one boarder. Not to trifle with an intelligent public, Iwill state at once that, in the early part of this century, Greenton wasa point at which the mail-coach on the Great Northern Route stopped tochange horses and allow the passengers to dine. People in the county, wishing to take the early mail Portsmouth-ward, put up overnight at theold tavern, famous for its irreproachable larder and soft feather-beds. The tavern at that time was kept by Jonathan Bayley, who rivalled hiswallet in growing corpulent, and in due time passed away. At his deaththe establishment, which included a farm, fell into the hands of ason-in-law. Now, though Bayley left his son-in-law a hotel--which soundshandsome--he left him no guests; for at about the period of the oldman's death the old stage-coach died also. Apoplexy carried off one, andsteam the other. Thus, by a sudden swerve in the tide of progress, the tavern at the Corners found itself high and dry, like a wreck on asand-bank. Shortly after this event, or maybe contemporaneously, therewas some attempt to build a town at Green-ton; but it apparently failed, if eleven cellars choked up with _débris_ and overgrown with burdocksare any indication of failure. The farm, however, was a good farm, asthings go in New Hampshire, and Tobias Sewell, the son-in-law, couldafford to snap his fingers at the travelling public if they came nearenough--which they never did. 

The hotel remains to-day pretty much the same as when Jonathan Bayleyhanded in his accounts in 1840, except that Sewell hasfrom time to timesold the furniture of some of the upper chambers to bridal couplesin the neighborhood. The bar is still open, and the parlor door saysParlour in tall black letters. Now and then a passing drover looks in atthat lonely bar-room, where a high-shouldered bottle of Santa Cruz rumogles with a peculiarly knowing air a shrivelled lemon on a shelf; nowand then a farmer rides across country to talk crops and stock and takea friendly glass with Tobias; and now and then a circus caravan withspeckled ponies, or a menagerie with a soggy elephant, halts under theswinging sign, on which there is a dim mail-coach with four phantomishhorses driven by a portly gentleman whose head has been washed offby the rain. Other customers there are none, except that one regularboarder whom have mentioned. 

If misery makes a man acquainted with strange bed-fellows, it is equallycertain that the profession of surveyor and civil engineer often takesone into undreamed-of localities. I had never heard of Greenton untilmy duties sent me there, and kept me there two weeks in the dreariestseason of the year. I do not think I would, of my own volition, haveselected Greenton for a fortnight's sojourn at any time; but now thebusiness is over, I shall never regret the circumstances that made methe guest of Tobias Sewell, and brought me into intimate relations withMiss Mehetabel's Son. 

It was a black October night in the year of grace 1872, that discoveredme standing in front of the old tavern at the Corners. 

Though the ten miles' ride from K------ had been depressing, especiallythe last five miles, on account of the cold autumnal rain that had setin, I felt a pang of regret on hearing the rickety open wagon turn roundin the road and roll off in the darkness. There were no lights visibleanywhere, and only for the big, shapeless mass of something in front ofme, which the driver had said was the hotel, I should have fancied thatI had been set down by the roadside. I was wet to the skin and in noamiable humor; and not being able to find bell-pull or knocker, or evena door, I belabored the side of the house with my heavy walking-stick. In a minute or two I saw a light flickering somewhere aloft, then Iheard the sound of a window opening, followed by an exclamation ofdisgust as a blast of wind extinguished the candle which had given mean instantaneous picture _en silhouette_ of a man leaning out of acasement. 

"I say, what do you want, down there?" inquired an unprepossessingvoice. 

"I want to come in; I want a supper, and a bed, and numberless things. "

"This is n't no time of night to go rousing honest folks out of theirsleep. Who are you, anyway?"

The question, superficially considered, was a very simple one, and I, ofall people in the world, ought to have been able to answer it off-hand;but it staggered me. Strangely enough, there came drifting across mymemory the lettering on the back of a metaphysical work which I hadseen years before on a shelf in the Astor Library. Owing to anunpremeditatedly funny collocation of title and author, the letteringread as follows: "Who am I? Jones. " Evidently it had puzzled Jones toknow who he was, or he would n't have written a book about it, and cometo so lame and impotent a conclusion. It certainly puzzled me at thatinstant to define my identity. "Thirty years ago, " I reflected, "I wasnothing; fifty years hence I shall be nothing again, humanly speaking. In the mean time, who am I, sure-enough?" It had never before occurredto me what an indefinite article I was. I wish it had not occurred tome then. Standing there in the rain and darkness, I wrestled vainly withthe problem, and was constrained to fall back upon a Yankee expedient. 

"Isn't this a hotel?" I asked finally, "Well, it is a sort of hotel, " said the voice, doubtfully. My hesitationand prevarication had apparently not inspired my interlocutor withconfidence in me. 

"Then let me in. I have just driven over from K------ in this infernalrain. I am wet through and through. "

"But what do you want here, at the Corners? What's your business? Peopledon't come here, leastways in the middle of the night. "

"It is n't in the middle of the night, " I returned, incensed. "I comeon business connected with the new road. I 'm the superintendent of theworks. "

"Oh!"

"And if you don't open the door at once, I'll raise the wholeneighborhood--and then go to the other hotel. "

When I said that, I supposed Greenton was a village with a population ofat least three or four thousand and was wondering vaguely at the absenceof lights and other signs of human habitation. Surely, I thought, allthe people cannot be abed and asleep at half past ten o'clock: perhaps Iam in the business section of the town, among the shops. 

"You jest wait, " said the voice above. 

This request was not devoid of a certain accent of menace, and I bracedmyself for a sortie on the part of the besieged, if he had any suchhostile intent. Presently a door opened at the very place where I leastexpected a door, at the farther end of the building, in fact, and a manin his shirtsleeves, shielding a candle with his left hand, appeared onthe threshold. I passed quickly into the house, with Mr. Tobias Sewell(for this was Mr. Sewell) at my heels, and found myself in a long, low-studded bar-room. 

There were two chairs drawn up before the hearth, on which a hugehemlock backlog was still smouldering, and on the un-painted dealcounter contiguous stood two cloudy glasses with bits of lemon-peel inthe bottom, hinting at recent libations. Against the discolored wallover the bar hung a yellowed handbill, in a warped frame, announcingthat "the Next Annual N. H. Agricultural Fair" would take place on the10th of September, 1841. There was no other furniture or decoration inthis dismal apartment, except the cobwebs which festooned the ceiling, hanging down here and there like stalactites. 

Mr. Sewell set the candlestick on the mantel-shelf, and threw somepine-knots on the fire, which immediately broke into a blaze, andshowed him to be a lank, narrow-chested man, past sixty, with sparse, steel-gray hair, and small, deep-set eyes, perfectly round, like afish's, and of no particular color. His chief personal characteristicsseemed to be too much feet and not enough teeth. His sharply cut, but rather simple face, as he turned it towards me, wore a lookof interrogation. I replied to his mute inquiry by taking out mypocket-book and handing him my business-card, which he held up to thecandle and perused with great deliberation. 

"You 're a civil engineer, are you?" he said, displaying his gums, whichgave his countenance an expression of almost infantile innocence. He made no further audible remark, but mumbled between his thin lipssomething which an imaginative person might have construed into "If you're at civil engineer, I 'll be blessed if I would n't like to see anuncivil one!"

Mr. Sewell's growl, however, was worse than his bite--owing to hislack of teeth probably--for he very good-naturedly set himself to workpreparing supper for me. After a slice of cold ham, and a warm punch, to which my chilled condition gave a grateful flavor, I went to bed in adistant chamber in a most amiable mood, feeling satisfied that Jones wasa donkey to bother himself about his identity. 

When I awoke, the sun was several hours high. My bed faced a window, andby raising myself on one elbow I could look out on what I expected wouldbe the main street. To my astonishment I beheld a lonely countryroad winding up a sterile hill and disappearing over the ridge. Ina cornfield at the right of the road was a small private graveyard, enclosed by a crumbling stonewall with a red gate. The only thingsuggestive of life was this little corner lot occupied by death. I gotout of bed and went to the other window. There I had an uninterruptedview of twelve miles of open landscape, with Mount Agamenticus in thepurple distance. Not a house or a spire in sight. "Well, " I exclaimed, "Greenton does n't appear to be a very closely packed metropolis!" Thatrival hotel with which I had threatened Mr. Sewell overnight was not adeadly weapon, looking at it by daylight. "By Jove!" I reflected, "maybeI 'm in the wrong place. " But there, tacked against a panel of thebedroom door, was a faded time-table dated Greenton, August 1, 1839. 

I smiled all the time I was dressing, and went smiling down stairs, where I found Mr. Sewell, assisted by one of the fair sex in thefirst bloom of her eightieth year, serving breakfast for me on a smalltable--in the bar-room!

"I overslept myself this morning, " I remarked apologetically, "and I seethat I am putting you to some trouble. In future, if you will have mecalled, I will take my meals at the usual _table de hôte_. "

"At the what?" said Mr. Sewell. 

"I mean with the other boarders. "

Mr. Sewell paused in the act of lifting a chop from the fire, and, resting the point of his fork against the woodwork of the mantelpiece, grinned from ear to ear. 

"Bless you! there is n't any other boarders. There has n't been anybodyput up here sence--let me see--sence father-in-law died, and that was inthe fall of '40. To be sure, there 's Silas; _he_'s a regular boarder;but I don't count him. "

Mr. Sewell then explained how the tavern had lost its custom when theold stage line was broken up by the railroad. The introduction of steamwas, in Mr. Sewell's estimation, a fatal error. "Jest killed localbusiness. Carried it off, I 'm darned if I know where. The whole countryhas been sort o' retrograding ever sence steam was invented. "

"You spoke of having one boarder, " I said. 

"Silas? Yes; he come here the summer 'Tilda died--she that was 'TildaBayley--and he 's here yet, going on thirteen year. He could n't liveany longer with the old man. Between you and I, old Clem Jaffrey, Silas's father, was a hard nut. Yes, " said Mr. Sewell, crooking hiselbow in inimitable pantomime, "altogether too often. Found dead in theroad hugging a three-gallon demijohn. _Habeas corpus_ in the barn, "added Mr. Sewell, intending, I presume, to intimate that a _post-mortem_examination had been deemed necessary. "Silas, " he resumed, in thatrespectful tone which one should always adopt when speaking of capital, "is a man of considerable property; lives on his interest, and keeps ahoss and shay. He 's a great scholar, too, Silas; takes all thepe-ri-odicals and the Police Gazette regular. "

Mr. Sewell was turning over a third chop, when the door opened and astoutish, middle-aged little gentleman, clad in deep black, stepped intothe room. 

"Silas Jaffrey, " said Mr. Sewell, with a comprehensive sweep of hisarm, picking up me and the new-comer on one fork, so to speak. "Beacquainted!"

Mr. Jaffrey advanced briskly, and gave me his hand with unlooked-forcordiality. He was a dapper little man, with a head as round and nearlyas bald as an orange, and not unlike an orange in complexion, either;he had twinkling gray eyes and a pronounced Roman nose, the numerousfreckles upon which were deepened by his funereal dress-coat andtrousers. He reminded me of Alfred de Musset's blackbird, which, withits yellow beak and sombre plumage, looked like an undertaker eating anomelet. 

"Silas will take care of you, " said Mr. Sewell, taking down his hat froma peg behind the door. "I 've got the cattle to look after. Tell him, ifyou want anything. "

While I ate my breakfast, Mr. Jaffrey hopped up and down the narrowbar-room and chirped away as blithely as a bird on a cherry-bough, occasionally ruffling with his fingers a slight fringe of auburn hairwhich stood up pertly round his head and seemed to possess a luminousquality of its own. 

"Don't I find it a little slow up here at the Corners? Not at all, mydear sir. I am in the thick of life up here. So many interesting thingsgoing on all over the world--inventions, discoveries, spirits, railroaddisasters, mysterious homicides. Poets, murderers, musicians, statesmen, distinguished travellers, prodigies of all kinds turning up everywhere. Very few events or persons escape me. I take six daily city papers, thirteen weekly journals, all the monthly magazines, and twoquarterlies. I could not get along with less. I could n't if you askedme. I never feel lonely. How can I, being on intimate terms, as it were, with thousands and thousands of people? There's that young woman outWest. What an entertaining creature _she_ is!--now in Missouri, nowin Indiana, and now in Minnesota, always on the go, and all the timeshedding needles from various parts of her body as if she really enjoyedit! Then there 's that versatile patriarch who walks hundreds of milesand saws thousands of feet of wood, before breakfast, and shows no signsof giving out. Then there's that remarkable, one may say that historicalcolored woman who knew Benjamin Franklin, and fought at the battle ofBunk--no, it is the old negro man who fought at Bunker Hill, a mereinfant, of course, at that period. Really, now, it is quite curiousto observe how that venerable female slave--formerly an Africanprincess--is repeatedly dying in her hundred and eleventh year, andcoming to life again punctually every six months in the small-typeparagraphs. Are you aware, sir, that within the last twelve years nofewer than two hundred and eighty-seven of General Washington's coloredcoachmen have died?"

For the soul of me I could not tell whether this quaint little gentlemanwas chaffing me or not. I laid down my knife and fork, and stared athim. 

"Then there are the mathematicians!" he cried vivaciously, withoutwaiting for a reply. "I take great interest in them. Hear this!" and Mr. Jaffrey drew a newspaper from a pocket in the tail of his coat, and readas follows: "_It has been estimated that if all the candles manufacturedby this eminent firm (Stearine & Co. ) were placed end to end, theywould reach 2 and 7/8 times around the globe_. Of course, " continued Mr. Jaffrey, folding up the journal reflectively, "abstruse calculations ofthis kind are not, perhaps, of vital importance, but they indicate theintellectual activity of the age. Seriously, now, " he said, halting infront of the table, "what with books and papers and drives about thecountry, I do not find the days too long, though I seldom see any one, except when I go over to K------ for my mail. Existence may be very fullto a man who stands a little aside from the tumult and watches it withphilosophic eye. Possibly he may see more of the battle than those whoare in the midst of the action. Once I was struggling with the crowd, aseager and undaunted as the best; perhaps I should have been strugglingstill. Indeed, I know my life would have been very different now if Ihad married Mehetabel--if I had married Mehetabel. "

His vivacity was gone, a sudden cloud had come over his bright face, hisfigure seemed to have collapsed, the light seemed to have faded outof his hair. With a shuffling step, the very antithesis of his brisk, elastic tread, he turned to the door and passed into the road. 

"Well, " I said to myself, "if Greenton had forty thousand inhabitants, it could n't turn out a more astonishing old party than that!"

II. THE CASE OF SILAS JAFFREY. 

A man with a passion for _bric-à-brac_ is always stumbling over antiquebronzes, intaglios, mosaics, and daggers of the time of BenvenutoCellini; the bibliophile finds creamy vellum folios and rare Alduses andElzevirs waiting for him at unsuspected bookstalls; the numismatist hasbut to stretch forth his palm to have priceless coins drop into it. Myown weakness is odd people, and I am constantly encountering them. It was plain that I had unearthed a couple of very queer specimens atBayley's Four-Corners. I saw that a fortnight afforded me too brief anopportunity to develop the richness of both, and I resolved to devotemy spare time to Mr. Jaffrey alone, instinctively recognizing in himan unfamiliar species. My professional work in the vicinity of Greentonleft my evenings and occasionally an afternoon unoccupied; theseintervals I purposed to employ in studying and classifying myfellow-boarder. It was necessary, as a preliminary step, to learnsomething of his previous history, and to this end I addressed myself toMr. Sewell that same night. 

"I do not want to seem inquisitive, " I said to the landlord, as he wasfastening up the bar, which, by the way, was the _salle à manger_ andgeneral sitting-room--"I do not want to seem inquisitive, butyour friend Mr. Jaffrey dropped a remark this morning at breakfastwhich--which was not altogether clear to me. "

"About Mehetabel?" asked Mr. Sewell, uneasily. 

"Yes. "

"Well, I wish he would n't!"

"He was friendly enough in the course of conversation to hint to me thathe had not married the young woman, and seemed to regret it. "

"No, he did n't marry Mehetabel. "

"May I inquire _why_ he did n't marry Mehetabel?"

"Never asked her. Might have married the girl forty times. Old Elkins'sdaughter, over at K------. She 'd have had him quick enough. Sevenyears, off and on, he kept company with Mehetabel, and then she died. "

"And he never asked her?"

"He shilly-shallied. Perhaps he did n't think of it. When she was deadand gone, then Silas was struck all of a heap--and that's all about it. "

Obviously Mr. Sewell did not intend to tell me anything more, andobviously there was more to tell. The topic was plainly disagreeable tohim for some reason or other, and that unknown reason of course piquedmy curiosity. 

As I was absent from dinner and supper that day, I did not meet Mr. Jaffrey again until the following morning at breakfast. He had recoveredhis bird-like manner, and was full of a mysterious assassination thathad just taken place in New York, all the thrilling details of whichwere at his fingers' ends. It was at once comical and sad to see thisharmless old gentleman with his naïve, benevolent countenance, and histhin hair flaming up in a semicircle, like the footlights at a theatre, revelling in the intricacies of the unmentionable deed. 

"You come up to my room to-night, " he cried, with horrid glee, "and I'll give you my theory of the murder. I 'll make it as clear as day toyou that it was the detective himself who fired the three pistol-shots. "

It was not so much the desire to have this point elucidated as to makea closer study of Mr. Jaffrey that led me to accept his invitation. Mr. Jaffrey's bedroom was in an L of the building, and was in no waynoticeable except for the numerous files of newspapers neatly arrangedagainst the blank spaces of the walls, and a huge pile of old magazineswhich stood in one corner, reaching nearly up to the ceiling, andthreatening to topple over each instant, like the Leaning Tower at Pisa. There were green paper shades at the windows, some faded chintz valancesabout the bed, and two or three easy-chairs covered with chintz. Ona black-walnut shelf between the windows lay a choice collection ofmeerschaum and brier-wood pipes. 

Filling one of the chocolate-colored bowls for me and another forhimself, Mr. Jaffrey began prattling; but not about the murder, whichappeared to have flown out of his mind. In fact, I do not remember thatthe topic was even touched upon, either then or afterwards. 

"Cosey nest this, " said Mr. Jaffrey, glancing complacently over theapartment. "What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than anopen wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters comingout of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins andbluebirds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last spring. In summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-treesunder the window: so I have singing birds all the year round. I takeit very easy here, I can tell you, summer and winter. Not much society. Tobias is not, perhaps, what one would term a great intellectual force, but he means well. He 's a realist--believes in coming down to what hecalls 'the hard pan;' but his heart is in the right place, and he 'svery kind to me. The wisest thing I ever did in my life was to sell outmy grain business over at K------, thirteen years ago, and settle downat the Corners. When a man has made a competency, what does he wantmore? Besides, at that time an event occurred which destroyed anyambition I may have had. Mehetabel died. " "The lady you were engagedto?" "N-o, not precisely engaged. I think it was quite understoodbetween us, though nothing had been said on the subject. Typhoid, " addedMr. Jaffrey, in a low voice. 

For several minutes he smoked in silence, a vague, troubled look playingover his countenance. Presently this passed away, and he fixed his grayeyes speculatively upon my face. 

"If I had married Mehetabel, " said Mr. Jaffrey, slowly, and then hehesitated. I blew a ring of smoke into the air, and, resting my pipeon my knee, dropped into an attitude of attention. "If I had marriedMehetabel, you know, we should have had--ahem!--a family. "

"Very likely, " I assented, vastly amused at this unexpected turn. 

"A Boy!" exclaimed Mr. Jaffrey, explosively. 

"By all means, certainly, a son. "

"Great trouble about naming the boy. Mehetabel's family want him namedElkanah Elkins, after her grandfather; I want him named Andrew Jackson. We compromise by christening him Elkanah Elkins Andrew Jackson Jaffrey. Rather a long name for such a short little fellow, " said Mr. Jaffrey, musingly. 

"Andy is n't a bad nickname, " I suggested. 

"Not at all. We call him Andy, in the family. Somewhat fractious atfirst--colic and things. I suppose it is right, or it would n't be so;but the usefulness of measles, mumps, croup, whooping-cough, scarlatina, and fits is not clear to the parental eye. I wish Andy would be a modelinfant, and dodge the whole lot. "

This supposititious child, born within the last few minutes, was plainlyassuming the proportions of a reality to Mr. Jaffrey. I began to feel alittle uncomfortable. I am, as I have said, a civil engineer, and it isnot strictly in my line to assist at the births of infants, imaginary orotherwise. I pulled away vigorously at the pipe, and said nothing. 

"What large blue eyes he has, " resumed Mr. Jaffrey, after a pause;"just like Hetty's; and the fair hair, too, like hers. How oddly certaindistinctive features are handed down in families! Sometimes a mouth, sometimes a turn of the eyebrow. Wicked little boys over at K------ havenow and then derisively advised me to follow my nose. It would be aninteresting thing to do. I should find my nose flying about the world, turning up unexpectedly here and there, dodging this branch of thefamily and re-appearing in that, now jumping over one greatgrandchild tofasten itself upon another, and never losing its individuality. Lookat Andy. There 's Elkanah Elkins's chin to the life. Andy's chin isprobably older than the Pyramids. Poor little thing, " he cried, withsudden indescribable tenderness, "to lose his mother so early!" And Mr. Jaf-frey's head sunk upon his breast, and his shoulders slanted forward, as if he were actually bending over the cradle of the child. The wholegesture and attitude was so natural that it startled me. The pipeslipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. 

"Hush!" whispered Mr. Jaffrey, with a deprecating motion of his hand. "Andy's asleep!"

He rose softly from the chair and, walking across the room on tiptoe, drew down the shade at the window through which the moonlight wasstreaming. Then he returned to his seat, and remained gazing withhalf-closed eyes into the dropping embers. 

I refilled my pipe and smoked in profound silence, wondering what wouldcome next. 

But nothing came next. Mr. Jaffrey had fallen into so brown a studythat, a quarter of an hour afterwards, when I wished him good-night andwithdrew, I do not think he noticed my departure. 

I am not what is called a man of imagination; it is my habit to excludemost things not capable of mathematical demonstration; but I am notwithout a certain psychological insight, and I think I understood Mr. Jaffrey's case. I could easily understand how a man with an unhealthy, sensitive nature, overwhelmed by sudden calamity, might take refuge insome forlorn place like this old tavern, and dream his life away. Tosuch a man--brooding forever on what might have been and dwelling whollyin the realm of his fancies--the actual world might indeed become as adream, and nothing seem real but his illusions. I dare say that thirteenyears of Bayley's Four-Corners would have its effect upon me; thoughinstead of conjuring up golden-haired children of the Madonna, I shouldprobably see gnomes and kobolds, and goblins engaged in hoisting falsesignals and misplacing switches for midnight express trains. 

"No doubt, " I said to myself that night, as I lay in bed, thinking overthe matter, "this once possible but now impossible child is a greatcomfort to the old gentleman--a greater comfort, perhaps, than a realson would be. Maybe Andy will vanish with the shades and mists of night, he's such an unsubstantial infant; but if he does n't, and Mr. Jaffreyfinds pleasure in talking to me about his son, I shall humor the oldfellow. It would n't be a Christian act to knock over his harmlessfancy. "

I was very impatient to see if Mr. Jaffrey's illusion would stand thetest of daylight. It did. Elkanah Elkins Andrew Jackson Jaffrey was, soto speak, alive and kicking the next morning. On taking his seat atthe breakfast-table, Mr. Jaffrey whispered to me that Andy had had acomfortable night. 

"Silas!" said Mr. Sewell, sharply, "what are you whispering about?"

Mr. Sewell was in an ill-humor; perhaps he was jealous because I hadpassed the evening in Mr. Jaffrey's room; but surely Mr. Sewell couldnot expect his boarders to go to bed at eight o'clock every night, as hedid. From time to time during the meal Mr. Sewell regarded me unkindlyout of the corner of his eye, and in helping me to the parsnips heponiarded them with quite a suggestive air. All this, however, did notprevent me from repairing to the door of Mr. Jaffrey's snuggery whennight came. 

"Well, Mr. Jaffrey, how 's Andy this evening?"

"Got a tooth!" cried Mr. Jaffrey, vivaciously. 

"No!"

"Yes, he has! Just through. Gave the nurse a silver dollar. Standingreward for first tooth. "

It was on the tip of my tongue to express surprise that an infant a dayold should cut a tooth, when I suddenly recollected that Richard III. Was born with teeth. Feeling myself to be on unfamiliar ground, Isuppressed my criticism. It was well I did so, for in the next breath Iwas advised that half a year had elapsed since the previous evening. 

"Andy 's had a hard six months of it, " said Mr. Jaffrey, with thewell-known narrative air of fathers. "We 've brought him up by hand. Hisgrandfather, by the way, was brought up by the bottle"--and brought downby it, too, I added mentally, recalling Mr. Sewell's account of the oldgentleman's tragic end. 

Mr. Jaffrey then went on to give me a history of Andy's first sixmonths, omitting no detail however insignificant or irrelevant. Thishistory I would in turn inflict upon the reader, if I were only certainthat he is one of those dreadful parents who, under the aegis offriendship, bore you at a streets corner with that remarkable thingwhich Freddy said the other day, and insist on singing to you, at anevening parly, the Iliad of Tommy's woes. 

But to inflict this _enfantillage_ upon the unmarried reader would bean act of wanton cruelty. So I pass over that part of Andy's biography, and, for the same reason, make no record of the next four or fiveinterviews I had with Mr. Jaffrey. It will be sufficient to statethat Andy glided from extreme infancy to early youth with astonishingcelerity--at the rate of one year per night, if I remember correctly;and--must I confess it?--before the week came to an end, this invisiblehobgoblin of a boy was only little less of a reality to me than to Mr. Jaffrey. 

At first I had lent myself to the old dreamer's whim with a keenperception of the humor of the thing; but by and by I found that Iwas talking and thinking of Miss Mehetabel's son as though he were averitable personage. Mr. Jafifrey spoke of the child with such an air ofconviction!--as if Andy were playing among his toys in the next room, ormaking mud-pies down in the yard. In these conversations, it should beobserved, the child was never supposed to be present, except on thatsingle occasion when Mr. Jafifrey leaned over the cradle. After one ofour _séances_ I would lie awake until the small hours, thinking of theboy, and then fall asleep only to have indigestible dreams about him. Through the day, and sometimes in the midst of complicated calculations, I would catch myself wondering what Andy was up to now! There was noshaking him off; he became an inseparable nightmare to me; and I feltthat if I remained much longer at Bayley's Four-Corners I shouldturn into just such another bald-headed, mild-eyed visionary as SilasJaffrey. 

Then the tavern was a grewsome old shell any way, full of unaccountablenoises after dark--rustlings of garments along unfrequented passages, and stealthy footfalls in unoccupied chambers overhead. I never knew ofan old house without these mysterious noises. Next to my bedroom was amusty, dismantled apartment, in one corner of which, leaning against thewainscot, was a crippled mangle, with its iron crank tilted in the airlike the elbow of the late Mr. Clem Jaffrey. Sometimes, "In the dead vast and middle of the night, "

I used to hear sounds as if some one were turning that rusty crank onthe sly. This occurred only on particularly cold nights, and I conceivedthe uncomfortable idea that it was the thin family ghosts, from theneglected graveyard in the cornfield, keeping themselves warm by runningeach other through the mangle. There was a haunted air about the wholeplace that made it easy for me to believe in the existence of a phantasmlike Miss Mehetabel's son, who, after all, was less unearthly than Mr. Jaffrey himself, and seemed more properly an inhabitant of this globethan the toothless ogre who kept the inn, not to mention the silentWitch of Endor that cooked our meals for us over the bar-room fire. 

In spite of the scowls and winks bestowed upon me by Mr. Sewell, who letslip no opportunity to testify his disapprobation of the intimacy, Mr. Jaffrey and I spent all our evenings together--those long autumnalevenings, through the length of which he talked about the boy, layingout his path in life and hedging the path with roses. He should be sentto the High School at Portsmouth, and then to college; he should beeducated like a gentleman, Andy. 

"When the old man dies, " remarked Mr. Jaffrey one night, rubbing hishands gleefully, as if it were a great joke, "Andy will find that theold man has left him a pretty plum. "

"What do you think of having Andy enter West Point, when he 's oldenough?" said Mr. Jaffrey on another occasion. "He need n't necessarilygo into the army when he graduates; he can become a civil engineer. "

This was a stroke of flattery so delicate and indirect that I couldaccept it without immodesty. 

There had lately sprung up on the corner of Mr. Jaffrey's bureau a smalltin house, Gothic in architecture and pink in color, with a slit in theroof, and the word _Bank_ painted on one façade. Several times in thecourse of an evening Mr. Jaffrey would rise from his chair withoutinterrupting the conversation, and gravely drop a nickel into thescuttle of the bank. It was pleasant to observe the solemnity of hiscountenance as he approached the edifice, and the air of triumph withwhich he resumed his seat by the fireplace. One night I missed the tinbank. It had disappeared, deposits and all, like a real bank. Evidentlythere had been a defalcation on rather a large scale. I stronglysuspected that Mr. Sewell was at the bottom of it, but my suspicionwas not shared by Mr. Jaffrey, who, remarking my glance at the bureau, became suddenly depressed. "I 'm afraid, " he said, "that I have failedto instil into Andrew those principles of integrity which--which"--andthe old gentleman quite broke down. 

Andy was now eight or nine years old, and for some time past, if thetruth must be told, had given Mr. Jaffrey no inconsiderable trouble;what with his impishness and his illnesses, the boy led the pair of usa lively dance. I shall not soon forget the anxiety of Mr. Jaffrey thenight Andy had the scarlet-fever--an anxiety which so infected me thatI actually returned to the tavern the following afternoon earlier thanusual, dreading to hear that the little spectre was dead, and greatlyrelieved on meeting Mr. Jaffrey at the door-step with his face wreathedin smiles. When I spoke to him of Andy, I was made aware that I wasinquiring into a case of scarlet-fever that had occurred the yearbefore!

It was at this time, towards the end of my second week at Greenton, that I noticed what was probably not a new trait--Mr. Jaffrey's curioussensitiveness to atmospherical changes. He was as sensitive as abarometer. The approach of a storm sent his mercury down instantly. Whenthe weather was fair he was hopeful and sunny, and Andy's prospectswere brilliant. When the weather was overcast and threatening he grewrestless and despondent, and was afraid that the boy was not going toturn out well. 

On the Saturday previous to my departure, which had been fixed forMonday, it rained heavily all the afternoon, and that night Mr. Jaffreywas in an unusually excitable and unhappy frame of mind. His mercury wasvery low indeed. 

"That boy is going to the dogs just as fast as he can go, " said Mr. Jaffrey, with a woful face. "I can't do anything with him. "

"He'll come out all right, Mr. Jaffrey. Boys will be boys. I would notgive a snap for a lad without animal spirits. "

"But animal spirits, " said Mr. Jaffrey sententiously, "should n't sawoff the legs of the piano in Tobias's best parlor. I don't know whatTobias will say when he finds it out. "

"What! has Andy sawed off the legs of the old spinet?" I returned, laughing. "Worse than that. " "Played upon it, then!" "No, sir. He haslied to me!" "I can't believe that of Andy. " "Lied to me, sir, " repeatedMr. Jaffrey, severely. "He pledged me his word of honor that he wouldgive over his climbing. The way that boy climbs sends a chill down myspine. This morning, notwithstanding his solemn promise, he shinnedup the lightning-rod attached to the extension, and sat astride theridge-pole. I saw him, and he denied it! When a boy you have caressedand indulged and lavished pocket-money on lies to you and _will_ climb, then there's nothing more to be said. He's a lost child. " "You take toodark a view of it, Mr. Jaffrey. Training and education are bound to tellin the end, and he has been well brought up. "

"But I did n't bring him up on a lightning-rod, did I? If he is evergoing to know how to behave, he ought to know now. To-morrow he will beeleven years old. "

The reflection came to me that if Andy had not been brought up by therod, he had certainly been brought up by the lightning. He was elevenyears old in two weeks!

I essayed, with that perspicacious wisdom which seems to be the peculiarproperty of bachelors and elderly maiden ladies, to tranquillize Mr. Jaffrey's mind, and to give him some practical hints on the managementof youth. 

"Spank him, " I suggested at last. 

"I will!" said the old gentleman. 

"And you 'd better do it at once!" I added, as it flashed upon me thatin six months Andy would be a hundred and forty-three years old!--an ageat which parental discipline would have to be relaxed. 

The next morning. Sunday, the rain came down as if determined to drivethe quicksilver entirely out of my poor friend. Mr. Jaffrey sat boltupright at the breakfast-table, looking as woe-begone as a bust ofDante, and retired to his chamber the moment the meal was finished. Asthe day advanced, the wind veered round to the northeast, and settleditself down to work. It was not pleasant to think, and I tried not tothink, what Mr. Jaffrey's condition would be if the weather did not mendits manners by noon; but so far from clearing off at noon, the stormincreased in violence, and as night set in the wind whistled in aspiteful falsetto key, and the rain lashed the old tavern as if itwere a balky horse that refused to move on. The windows rattled in theworm-eaten frames, and the doors of remote rooms, where nobody everwent, slammed to in the maddest way. Now and then the tornado, sweepingdown the side of Mount Agamenticus, bowled across the open country, andstruck the ancient hostelry point-blank. 

Mr. Jaffrey did not appear at supper. I knew that he was expecting me tocome to his room as usual, and I turned over in my mind a dozen plansto evade seeing him that night. The landlord sat at the opposite sideof the chimney-place, with his eye upon me. I fancy he was aware of theeffect of this storm on his other boarder, for at intervals, as the windhurled itself against the exposed gable, threatening to burst in thewindows, Mr. Sewell tipped me an atrocious wink, and displayed his gumsin a way he had not done since the morning after my arrival at Greenton. I wondered if he suspected anything about Andy. There had been odd timesduring the past week when I felt convinced that the existence of MissMehetabel's son was no secret to Mr. Sewell. 

In deference to the gale, the landlord sat up half an hour later thanwas his custom. At half-past eight he went to bed, remarking that hethought the old pile would stand till morning. 

He had been absent only a few minutes when I heard a rustling at thedoor. I looked up, and beheld Mr. Jaffrey standing on the threshold, with his dress in disorder, his scant hair flying, and the wildestexpression on his face. 

"He's gone!" cried Mr. Jaffrey. 

"Who? Sewell? Yes, he just went to bed. "

"No, not Tobias--the boy!"

"What, run away?"

"No--he is dead! He has fallen from a step-ladder in the red chamber andbroken his neck!"

Mr. Jaffrey threw up his hands with a gesture of despair, anddisappeared. I followed him through the hall, saw him go into his ownapartment, and heard the bolt of the door drawn to. Then I returned tothe bar-room, and sat for an hour or two in the ruddy glow of the fire, brooding over the strange experience of the last fortnight. 

On my way to bed I paused at Mr. Jaf-frey's door, and, in a lull of thestorm, the measured respiration within told me that the old gentlemanwas sleeping peacefully. 

Slumber was coy with me that night. I lay listening to the soughing ofthe wind, and thinking of Mr. Jaffrey's illusion. It had amused me atfirst with its grotesqueness; but now the poor little phantom was dead, I was conscious that there had been something pathetic in it all along. Shortly after midnight the wind sunk down, coming and going fainter andfainter, floating around the eaves of the tavern with an undulating, murmurous sound, as if it were turning itself into soft wings to bearaway the spirit of a little child. 

Perhaps nothing that happened during my stay at Bayley's Four-Cornerstook me so completely by surprise as Mr. Jaffrey's radiant countenancethe next morning. The morning itself was not fresher or sunnier. Hisround face literally shone with geniality and happiness. His eyestwinkled like diamonds, and the magnetic light of his hair was turnedon full. He came into my room while I was packing my valise. He chirped, and prattled, and carolled, and was sorry I was going away--but never aword about Andy. However, the boy had probably been dead several yearsthen!

The open wagon that was to carry me to the station stood at the door;Mr. Sewell was placing my case of instruments under the seat, and Mr. Jaffrey had gone up to his room to get me a certain newspaper containingan account of a remarkable shipwreck on the Auckland Islands. I took theopportunity to thank Mr. Sewell for his courtesies to me, and to expressmy regret at leaving him and Mr. Jaffrey. 

"I have become very much attached to Mr. Jaffrey, " I said; "he is a mostinteresting person; but that hypothetical boy of his, that son of MissMehetabel's"--

"Yes, I know!" interrupted Mr. Sewell, testily. "Fell off a step-ladderand broke his dratted neck. Eleven year old, was n't he? Always does, jest at that point. Next week Silas will begin the whole thing overagain, if he can get anybody to listen to him. "

"I see. Our amiable friend is a little queer on that subject. "

Mr. Sewell glanced cautiously over his shoulder, and, tapping himselfsignificantly on the forehead, said in a low voice, "Room To Let--Unfurnished!"