CHAPTER XITHE FATE OF NED JOSELYN
The child stared dreamily at the rushing water for several minutes.Then she looked earnestly into Josie's face. Finally, with a sigh, shesaid:
"I may as well go on an' finish it, I s'pose."
"To be sure," said Josie. "You haven't told me anything very importantyet."
"The important part's comin'," asserted Ingua, her tone graduallyassuming its former animation. "'Twas last winter on the Thursdaybetween Christmas an' New Year's. It was cold an' snowin' hard, an' itgits dark early them days. Gran'dad an' me was eat'n' supper bylamplight when there come a knock at the door. I jumped up an' openedit an' there stood Ned Joselyn, in a big heavy coat that was loadedwith snow, an' kid gloves on, an' his one-eyed spectacle on his face.He come in an' stood while I shut the door, an' Gran'dad glared at himlike he does when the devils gits him, and said: 'What--more?'
"'Sure thing,' says Ned. 'Noth'n' lasts forever.'
"'That's true,' says Gran'dad, holdin' himself in. Then he looks at me,an' back to Ned, an' says: 'I can't see ye here. Where ye stoppin'? Atthe Kenton house?'
"'Jes' fer to-night,' says Ned. 'It's more private than a hotel.'
"'Go home, then,' says Gran'dad. 'I'll come over, by-'n'-by.'
"Ned opened the door an' went out, sayin' noth'n' more. Gran'dadfinished his supper an' then sot by the stove an' smoked his pipe whileI washed the dishes. I wondered why he didn't go over an' see Ned, buthe sot there an' smoked till I went upstairs to bed. That was queer,for I never knew him to smoke more'n one pipe o' tobacco at a time,before, an' then mostly on Sundays. And I'd never seen his face so hardan' cruel-lookin' as it were that night, and his eyes, seemed like theywere made of glass. I didn't undress, fer I knowed there'd be troubleif he went over to Ned's house, and I made up my mind to keep watch o'things.
"So I set still in my room in the attic, an' Gran'dad set still in theroom downstairs, an' it must 'a' be'n pretty late when I heard him getup an' go out. I slipped down right after him, meanin' to foller him,an' let myself out the back door so's he wouldn't see me. It hadstopped snowin' by then, but it was so cold that the air cut like aknife and the only jacket I had wasn't any too warm fer such weather.
"When I got 'round the house Ol' Swallertail was standin' on the bank,lookin' at the river. I never knew nobody to try the steppin'-stones inwinter, an' I s'posed o' course Gran'dad would take the path to thebridge; but he went down the bank, wadin' through the snow, an' startedto cross over. The moon an' the snow made it light enough to see easy,after you'd be'n out a few minutes. I watched him cross over an' climbthe bank an' make for the house, an' then I run down to the rivermyself.
"The water covered all the stones, but I knew where they were as wellas Gran'dad did. I didn't like my job a bit, but I knew if I waited togo roun' by the bridge that I'd be too late to see anything thathappened. So I screwed up courage an' started over. My legs ain't aslong as a grown-up's and at the third step I missed the stone an'soused one leg in the water up to my knee. Gee! that was a cold one.But I wouldn't give up, an' kep' on until jus' in the middle, where thewater were roarin' the worst, I slipped with both legs and went in tomy waist. That settled it for me. I thought I'd drown, for a minute,but I went crazy with fear an' the next thing I knew I was standin' onthe bank where I'd come from an' the cold wind was freezin' a sheet ofice on my legs an' body.
"There wasn't no time to lose. Whatever was happenin' over to the bighouse didn't mean as much to me as death did, an' death was on my trackif I didn't get back home afore I froze stiff. I started to run. Itain't far--look there, Josie, ye could almost make it in three jumps--but I remember fallin' down half a dozen times in the snow, an' at thelast I crawled to the door on my hands an' knees an' had jus' strengthenough to rise up an' lift the latch.
"Gran'dad's awful stingy about burnin' wood, but I threw the chunksinto the stove till the old thing roared like a furnace an' when I'dthawed out some I got off my shoes an' stockin's an' my wet dress an'put another skirt on. Then I lay in Gran'dad's chair afore the fire an'shivered an' cried like a baby whenever I thought o' that icy river.
"I guess I must 'a' went to sleep, afterwards, fer when I woke up thefire was gett'n' low an' Ol' Swallertail opened the door on a suddenan' walked in. Josie, ye orter seen him! His legs was wet an' icy, too,so he must 'a' slipped on the stones himself; an' he was shakin' allover as if he'd got the ague. His face was a dirty white an' his eyesburnt like two coals. He threw on more wood, reckless-like, an' jerkedoff his shoes an' socks an' set down t'other side the stove. Neither ofus said noth'n' fer awhile an' then he looks at me sort o' curious an'asks:
"'Did ye git across, Ingua?'
"'No,' says I. 'I near got drowned, tryin' it.'
"Then he set silent ag'in, lookin' at the fire. By-'n'-by says he:'Ingua, yer old enough to hev sense, an' I want ye to think keerful onwhat I'm goin' ter say. Folks aroun' here don't like you an' me verymuch, an' if they got a chance--or even thought they had a chance--they'd crush us under heel like they would scorpions. That's 'causewe're Craggs, for Craggs ain't never be'n poplar in this neighborhood,for some reason. Now lis'n. I've done with Ned Joselyn. It ain't nayfault as I've cast him off; it's his'n. He's got a bad heart an' he'srobbed me right an' left. I could fergive him fer that, because--well,ye don't need to know why I clung to the feller when I knew he was ascoundrel. But he robbed a cause dearer to my heart than myself, an'for that I couldn't fergive him. Nobody knows Ned were here to-night,Ingua, so if anybody asks ye questions ye didn't see him at all. Fixthat firm in yer mind. Ye don't know noth'n' 'bout Ned sence he wentaway las' October. Ye hain't seen him. Stick to that, girl, an' yer allright; but if ye blab--if ye ever tell a soul as Ned were here--I'llhev to kill yer myself, to stop yer mouth. Fix that in yer mind, too.'
"I was so skeered that I jes' looked at him. Then I says in a whisper:'What did ye do to Ned, Gran'dad?'
"He turned his eyes on me so fierce that I dropped my head.
"'I didn't kill him, if that's what ye mean,' says he. 'I orterstrangled him, but I didn't want to swing fer no common thief like NedJoselyn. Besides, he's--but that's none o' yer business. So Ithreatened him, an' that was jus' as good as killin'. He won't show upag'in here, never; an' he ain't likely to show up anywheres else thathe's known. P'raps he'll be hunted for, but he'll keep out a' the way.You an' I ain't got noth'n' to worry about, Ingua--unless you blab.'
"I didn't believe a word he said, Josie. They was jus' words, an' itwas nat'ral he'd lie about that night's work. When I went to bed it wasnear mornin', but Ol' Swallertail was still sett'n' by the fire.
"Nex' day he went on jus' as usual, an' from then till now he's neverspoke to me of that night. In a couple o' weeks we heard as Ned Joselynhad run away. His wife come down here askin' fer him, but nobody'd seenhide ner hair of him. That's all, Josie; that's the whole story, an'I'm glad you know it now as well as I do. Wha' d'ye think? Did Ol'Swallertail kill Ned Joselyn?"
Josie woke from her meditation with a start.
"I--I'm going to think it over," she said evasively. "It's a queerstory, Ingua--mighty queer--and it's going to take a lot of thoughtbefore I make up my mind about it."
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