At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern

by Myrtle Reed

  XVIII

  Uncle Ebeneezer's Diary

  Harlan had taken his work upstairs, that the ceaseless clatter of thetypewriter might not add to the confusion which normally prevailed in theJack-o'-Lantern. Thus it happened that Dorothy was able to begin herlong-cherished project of dusting, rearranging, and cataloguing thebooks.

  There is a fine spiritual essence which exhales from the covers of a book.Shall one touch a copy of Shakespeare with other than reverent hands, ortake up his Boswell without a smile? Through the worn covers and brokenbinding the master-spirit still speaks, no less than through the centurieswhich lie between. The man who had the wishing carpet, upon which he satand wished and was thence immediately transported to the ends of theearth, was not possessed of a finer magic than one who takes his Boswellin his hands and then, for a golden quarter of an hour, lives in a bygoneLondon with Doctor Johnson.

  When the book-lover enters his library, no matter what storm and tumultmay be in his heart, he has come to the inmost chamber of Peace. Theindescribable, musty odour which breathes from the printed page isfragrant incense to him who loves his books. In unseemly caskets histreasures may be hidden, yet, when the cover is reverently lifted, thejewels shine with no fading light. The old, immortal beauty is stillthere, for any one who seeks it in the right way.

  Dorothy had two willing assistants in Dick and Elaine. One morning,immediately after breakfast, the three went to the library and locked thedoor. Outside, the twins rioted unheeded and the perennially joyous Williecapered unceasingly. Mr. Perkins, gloomy and morose, wrote reams of poetryin his own room, distressed beyond measure by the rumble of thetypewriter, but too much cast down to demand that it be stopped.

  Mrs. Dodd and Mrs. Holmes, closely united through misfortune, werewell-nigh inseparable now, while Mrs. Smithers, still sepulchral, sangcontinually in a loud, cracked voice, never by any chance happening uponthe right note. As Dorothy said, when there are only eight tones in theoctave, it would seem that sometime, somewhere, a warbler must coincidefor a brief interval with the tune, but as Dick further commented,industry and patience can do wonders when rightly exercised.

  Uncle Israel's midnight excursion to the orchard had given him a freshattack of a familiar and distressing ailment to which he always alluded as"the brown kittys." Fortunately, however, the cure for asthma andbronchitis was contained in the same quart bottle, and needed only to beheated in order to work upon both diseases simultaneously.

  Elaine rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt-waist, and turned in hercollar, thereby producing an effect which Dick privately considereddistractingly pretty. Dorothy was enveloped from head to foot in avoluminous blue gingham apron, and a dust cap, airily poised upon hersmooth brown hair, completed a most becoming costume. Dick, having dulyobtained permission, took off his coat and put on his hat, after which thelibrary force was ready for action.

  "First," said Dorothy, "we'll take down all the books." It sounded simple,but it took a good share of the day to do it, and the clouds of dustdisturbed by the process produced sneezes which put Uncle Israel's feebleefforts to shame. When dusting the shelves, after they were empty, Elainecame upon a panel in the wall which slid back.

  "Here's a secret drawer!" she cried, in wild delight. "How perfectlylovely! Do you suppose there's anything in it?"

  Dorothy instantly thought of money and diamonds, but the concealedtreasure proved to be merely a book. It was a respectable volume, however,at least as far as size was concerned, for Elaine and Dorothy togethercould scarcely lift it.

  It was a leather-bound ledger, of the most ponderous kind, and wasfastened with a lock and key. The key, of course, was missing, but Dicksoon pried open the fastening.

  All but the last few pages in the book were covered with fine writing, inink which was brown and faded, but still legible. It was Uncle Ebeneezer'spenmanship throughout, except for a few entries at the beginning, in afine, flowing feminine hand, which Dorothy instantly knew was AuntRebecca's.

  "On the night of our wedding," the book began, "we begin this record ofour lives, for until to-day we have not truly lived." This was signed byboth. Then, in the woman's hand, was written a description of herwedding-gown, which was a simple white muslin, made by herself. Herornaments were set down briefly--only a wreath of roses in her hair, astring of coral beads, and the diamond brooch which was at that moment inDorothy's jewel-box.

  For three weeks there were alternate entries, then suddenly, without date,were two words so badly written as to be scarcely readable: "She died."For days thereafter was only this: "I cannot write." These simple wordswere the key to a world of pain, for the pages were blistered with a man'shot tears.

  Then came this: "She would want me to go on writing it, so I will, thoughI have no heart for it."

  From thence onward the book proceeded without interruption, a minute andfaithful record of the man's inner life. Long extracts copied from booksfilled page after page of this strange diary, interspersed with records ofbusiness transactions, of letters received and answered, of wages paid,and of the visits of Jeremiah Bradford.

  "We talked long to-night upon the immortality of the soul," one entry ran."Jeremiah does not believe it, but I must--or die."

  Dick soon lost interest in the book, and finding solitary toil at theshelves uncongenial, went out, whistling. Elaine and Dorothy read ontogether, scarcely noting his absence.

  The book had begun in the Spring. Early in June was chronicled the arrivalof "a woman calling herself Cousin Elmira, blood relation of my Rebecca.Was not aware my Rebecca had a blood relation named Elmira, but there ismuch in the world that I do not know."

  According to the diary, Cousin Elmira had remained six weeks and hadgreatly distressed her unwilling host. "Women are peculiar," UncleEbeneezer had written, "all being possessed of the devil, except mysainted Rebecca, who was an angel if there ever was one.

  "Cousin Elmira is a curious woman. To-day she desired to know what hadbecome of my Rebecca's wedding garments, her linen sheets andtable-cloths. Answered that I did not know, and immediately put a lockupon the chest containing them. Have always been truthful up to now, butRebecca would not desire to have any blood relation handling her sheets.Of this I am sure.

  "Aug. 9. To-day came Cousin Silas Martin and his wife to spend theirhoneymoon. Much grieved to hear of Rebecca's death. Said she had invitedthem to spend their honeymoon with her when they married. Did not know ofthis, but our happiness was of such short duration that my Rebecca did nothave time to tell me of all her wishes. Company is very hard to bear, butI would do much for my Rebecca.

  "Aug. 10. This world can never be perfect under any circumstances, andtrials are the common lot of humanity. We must all endeavour to bear upunder affliction. Sarah Smithers is a good woman, most faithful, and doesnot talk a great deal, considering her sex. Not intending any reflectionupon my Rebecca, whose sweet voice I could never hear too often.

  * * * * *

  "Aug. 20. Came Uncle Israel Skiles with a bad cough. Thinks the air ofJudson Centre must be considered healthy as they are to build a sanitariumhere. Did not know of the sanitarium.

  * * * * *

  "Aug. 22. Came Cousin Betsey Skiles to look after Uncle Israel. UncleIsrael not desiring to be looked after has produced some disturbance in myhouse.

  * * * * *

  "Aug. 23. Cousin Betsey Skiles and Cousin Jane Wood, the latter arrivingunexpectedly this morning, have fought, and Cousin Jane has gone awayagain. Had never met Cousin Jane Wood.

  "Aug. 24. Was set upon by Cousin Silas Martin, demanding to know whetherhis wife was to be insulted by Cousin Betsey Skiles. Answered that I didnot know.

  "Aug. 25. Was obliged to settle a dispute between Sarah Smithers andCousin Betsey Skiles. Decided in favour of S. S., thereby angering B. S.Uncle Israel accidentally spilled his tonic on Cousin Betsey's cleanapron. Much disturbance in my hous
e.

  * * * * *

  "Aug. 28. Cousin Silas Martin and wife went away, telling me they could nolonger live with Cousin Betsey Skiles. B. S. is unpleasant, but has hervirtues.

  * * * * *

  "Sept. 5. Uncle Israel thinks air of Judson Centre is now too chilly forhis cough. Does not like his bed, considering it drafty. Says SarahSmithers does not give him nourishing food.

  * * * * *

  "Sept. 8. Uncle Israel has gone.

  * * * * *

  "Sept. 10. Cousin Betsey Skiles has gone to continue looking after UncleIsrael. Sarah Smithers and myself now alone in peace.

  * * * * *

  All that Winter, the writing was of books, interspersed with occasionalbusiness details. In the Spring, the influx of blood relations began againand continued until Fall. The diary revealed the gradual transformation ofa sunny disposition into a dark one, of a man with gregarious instinctsinto a wild beast asking only for solitude. Additions to the house werechronicled from time to time, with now and then a pathetic comment uponthe futility of the additions.

  Once there was this item: "Would go away for ever were it not that thiswas my Rebecca's home. Where we had hoped to be so happy, there is now agreat emptiness and unnumbered Relations. How shall I endure Relations?Still they are all of her blood, though the most gentle blood does seem totake strange turns."

  Again: "Do not think my Rebecca would desire to have all her kin visit herat once. Still, would do anything for my Rebecca. Have ordered five morebeds."

  As the years went by, the bitterness became more and more apparent. Longbefore the end, the record was frankly profane, and saddest of all was theevidence that under the stress of annoyance the great love for "myRebecca" was slowly, but surely, becoming tainted. From simple profanity,Uncle Ebeneezer descended into blasphemous comment, modified at times byremorseful tenderness toward the dead.

  "To-day," he wrote, "under pressure of my questioning, Sister-in-law FannyWood admitted that Rebecca had never invited her to come and see her.Asked Sister-in-law why she was here. Responded that Rebecca would haveasked her if she had lived. Perhaps others have surmised the same. Fear oflate I may have been unjust to my Rebecca."

  Later on, "my Rebecca" was mentioned but rarely. She became "my dearcompanion," "my wife," or "my partner." The building of wings and thepurchase of additional beds by this time had become a permanent feature,though, as the writer admitted, it was "a roundabout way."

  "The easiest way would be to turn all out. Forgetting my duty to thememory of my dear companion, and sore pressed by many annoyances, did turnout Cousin Betsey Skiles, who forgave me for it without being sorequested, and remained.

  "Trains to Judson Centre," he wrote, at one time, "have been mostgrievously changed. One arrives just after breakfast, the other at threein the morning. Do not understand why this is, and anticipate new troublefrom it."

  The entries farther on were full of "trouble," being minute and intimateportrayals of the emotions of one roused from sleep at three in themorning to admit undesired guests, interlarded with pardonable profanity."Seems that house might be altered in some way, but do not know. Willconsult with Jeremiah."

  After this came the record of an interview with the village carpenter, andrough sketches of proposed alterations. "Putting in new window in middleand making two upper windows round instead of square, with newporch-railing and two new narrow windows downstairs will do it. Housefortunately planned by original architect for such alteration. Taking downcurtains and keeping lights in windows nights should have some effect,though much doubt whether anything would affect Relations."

  Soon afterward the oppressed one chronicled with great glee how a lonefemale, arriving on the night train, was found half-dead from fright bythe roadside in the morning. "House _is_ fearsome," wrote Uncle Ebeneezer,with evident relish. "Have been to Jeremiah's of an evening and,returning, found it wonderful to behold."

  Presently, Dorothy came to an intimate analysis of some of the uninvitedones at present under her roof. The poet was given a full page of scathingcomment, illustrated by rude caricatures, which were so suggestive thateven Elaine thoroughly enjoyed them.

  Pleased with his contribution to literature, Uncle Ebeneezer had written along and keenly comprehensive essay upon each relation. These bits ofvivid portraiture were numbered in this way: "Relation Number 8, MissBetsey Skiles, Claiming to be Cousin." At the end of this series was avery beautiful tribute to "My Dearly Beloved Nephew, James Harlan Carr,Who Has Never Come to See Me."

  Frequently, thereafter, came pathetic references to "Dear Nephew James,""Unknown Recipient of an Old Man's Gratitude," "Discerning and AdmirableJames," and so on.

  One entry ran as follows: "Have been approached this season by eachRelation present in regard to disposal of my estate. Will fix surprise forall Relations before leaving to join my wife. Shall leave money to everyone, though perhaps not as much as each expects. Jeremiah advises me toleave something to each. Laws are such, I believe, that no one rememberedcan claim more. Desire to be just, but strongly incline to dear NephewJames."

  On the last page of all was a significant paragraph. "Dreamed of seeing myRebecca once more, who told me we should be together again April 7th.Shall make all arrangements for leaving on that day, and prepare Surprisesspoken of. Shall be very quiet in my grave with no Relations at hand, butshould like to hear and see effect of Surprise. Jeremiah will attend."

  The last lines were written on April sixth. "To-morrow I shall join myloved Rebecca and leave all Relations here to fight by themselves. Do notfear Death, but shudder at Relations. Relations keep life from beingpleasant. Did not know my Rebecca was possessed of such numbers nor ofsuch kinds, but forgive her all. Shall see her to-morrow."

  Then, on the line below, in a hand that did not falter, was written: "TheEnd."

  Dorothy wiped her eyes on a corner of Elaine's apron, for Uncle Ebeneezerhad been found dead in his bed on the morning of April seventh. "Elaine,"she said, "what would you do?"

  "Do?" repeated Elaine. "I'd strike one blow for poor old Uncle Ebeneezer!I'd order every single one of them out of the house to-morrow!"

  "To-night!" cried Dorothy, fired with high resolve. "I'll do it this verynight! Poor old Uncle Ebeneezer! Our sufferings have been nothing,compared to his."

  "Are you going to tell Mr. Carr?" asked Elaine, wonderingly.

  "Tell him nothing," rejoined Dorothy, with spirit. "He's got some old fogynotions about your house being a sacred spot where everybody in creationcan impose on you if they want to, just because it is your house. Isuppose he got it by being related to poor old uncle."

  "Do I have to go, too?" queried Elaine, rubbing her soft cheek againstDorothy's.

  "Not much," answered Mrs. Carr, with a sisterly embrace. "You'll stay, andDick 'll stay, and that old tombstone in the kitchen will stay, and sowill Claudius Tiberius, but the rest--MOVE!"

  Consequently, Elaine looked forward to the dinner-hour with mixedanticipations. Mr. Perkins, Uncle Israel, Mrs. Dodd, and Mrs. Holmes eachfound a note under their plates when they sat down. Uncle Israel's facerelaxed into an expression of childlike joy when he found the envelopeaddressed to him. "Valentine, I reckon," he said, "or mebbe it's sunthin'from Santa Claus."

  "Queer acting for Santa Claus," snorted Mrs. Holmes, who had swiftly tornopen her note. "Here we are, all ordered away from what's been our homefor years, by some upstart relations who never saw poor, dear uncle. Areyou going to keep boarders?" she asked, insolently, turning to Dorothy.

  "No longer," returned that young woman, imperturbably. "I have done itjust as long as I intend to."

  Harlan was gazing curiously at Dorothy, but she avoided his eyes, andcontinued to eat as though nothing had happened. Dick, guessing rightly,choked, and had to be excused. Elaine's cheeks we
re flushed and her eyessparkled, the flush deepening when Mrs. Dodd inquired where _her_valentine was. Mr. Perkins was openly dejected, and Mrs. Dodd, receivingno answer to her question, compressed her thin lips into a forcedsilence.

  But Uncle Israel was moved to protesting speech. "'T is queer doin's forSanta Claus," he mumbled, pouring out a double dose of his nerve tonic."'T ain't such a thing as he'd do, even if he was drunk. Turnin' a poorold man outdoor, what ain't got no place to go exceptin' to Betsey's, an'nobody can't live with Betsey. She's all the time mad at herself onaccount of bein' obliged to live with such a woman as she be. Summers I'veallers stayed here an' never made no trouble. I've cooked my own food an'brought most of it, an' provided all my own medicines, an' even took mybed with me, goin' an' comin'. Ebeneezer's beds is all terrible drafty--Itook two colds to once sleepin' in one of 'em--an' at my time of life 'tain't proper to change beds. Sleepin' in a drafty bed would undo all thegood of bein' near the sanitarium. Most likely I'll have a fever orsunthin' now an' die."

  "Shut up, Israel," said Mrs. Dodd, abruptly. "You ain't goin' to die. Itwouldn't surprise me none if you had to be shot on the Day of Judgmentbefore you could be resurrected. Folks past ninety-five that's pickled inpatent medicine from the inside out, ain't goin' to die of no fever."

  "Ninety-six, Belinda," said the old man, proudly. "I'll be ninety-six nextweek, an' I'm as young as I ever was."

  "Then," rejoined Mrs. Dodd, tartly, "what you want to look out for ismeasles an' chicken-pox, to say nothin' of croup."

  "Come, Gladys Gwendolen and Algernon Paul," interrupted Mrs. Holmes, in ahigh key; "we must go and pack now, to go away from dear uncle's. Dearuncle is dead, you know, and can't help his dear ones being ordered out ofhis house by upstarts."

  "What's a upstart, ma?" inquired Willie.

  "People who turn their dead uncle's relations out of his house in order totake boarders," returned Mrs. Holmes, clearly.

  "Mis' Carr," said Mrs. Dodd, sliding up into Dick's vacant place, "have Iunderstood that you want me to go away to-morrow?"

  "Everybody is going away to-morrow," returned Dorothy, coldly.

  "After all I've done for you?" persisted Mrs. Dodd.

  "What have you done for me?" parried Dorothy, with a pleading look atElaine.

  "Kep' the others away," returned Mrs. Dodd, significantly.

  "Uncle Ebeneezer does not want any of you here," said Dorothy, after apainful silence. The impression made by the diary was so vividly presentwith her that she felt as though she were delivering an actual message.

  Much to her surprise, Mrs. Dodd paled and left the room hastily. UncleIsrael tottered after her, leaving his predigested food untouched on hisplate and his imitation coffee steaming malodorously in his cup. Mr.Perkins bowed his head upon his hands for a moment; then, with a sigh,lightly dropped out of the open window. The name of Uncle Ebeneezer seemedto be one to conjure with.

  "Dorothy," said Harlan, "might an obedient husband modestly inquire whatyou have done?"

  "Elaine and I found Uncle Ebeneezer's diary to-day," explained Dorothy,"and the poor old soul was nagged all his life by relatives. So, ingratitude for what he's done for us, I've turned 'em out. I know he'd liketo have me do it."

  Harlan left his place and came to Dorothy, where, bending over her chair,he kissed her tenderly. "Good girl," he said, patting her shoulder. "Whyin thunder didn't you do it months ago?"

  "Isn't that just like a man?" asked Dorothy, gazing after his retreatingfigure.

  "I don't know," answered Elaine, with a pretty blush, "but I guess itis."