Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine. Otis James

rubbed his face with the towel, after holding his head under the pump, until the skin glowed red, but cleanly.

      When he entered the kitchen again where the little woman and Louis were seated cosily at the table, he was presentable even to Aunt Nancy, in whose eyes the least particle of dirt was an abomination.

      He took the vacant chair by Louis's side, and was considerably surprised, because it was something so unusual in his experience, to see the little woman clasp her withered hands and invoke a blessing upon "the strangers within her gates," when she had thanked her Father for all his bounties.

      "I went to meetin' once down in Savannah," Jack said; "but I didn't know folks had 'em right in their houses."

      Aunt Nancy looked at him with astonishment, and replied gravely, —

      "My child, it is never possible to give too much praise for all we are permitted to enjoy, and one needn't wait until he is in church before speaking to our Father."

      Jack did not exactly understand what she meant, but he knew from the expression on the wrinkled face that it was perfectly correct, and at once proceeded to give his undivided attention to the food which had been put upon his plate with a liberal hand.

      How thoroughly enjoyable was that meal in the roomy old kitchen, through which the summer breezes wafted perfume from the honeysuckles, and the bees sang at the open windows while intent on the honey harvest!

      When the children's hunger was appeased, it seemed as if half their troubles had suddenly vanished.

      Louis crowed and talked after his own peculiar fashion; Jack told stories of life on board the "Atlanta," and Aunt Nancy appeared to enjoy this "visiting" quite as much as did her guests.

      The housework was to be done, however, and could not be neglected, deeply interested though the little woman was in the yarns Jack spun, therefore she said as she began to collect the soiled dishes, —

      "Now if you will take care of the baby I'll have the kitchen cleaned in a twinkling, and then we'll go out under the big oak-tree where I love to sit when the sun is painting the clouds in the west with red and gold."

      "Louis can take care of himself if we put him on the floor," Jack replied, "and I will dry the dishes for you; I've done it lots of times on the 'Atlanta.'"

      The little woman could not refuse this proffered aid, although she looked very much as if she fancied the work would not be done exactly to her satisfaction, and after glancing at Jack's hands to make certain they were perfectly clean, she began operations.

      Much to her surprise, the deformed boy was very apt at such tasks, and Aunt Nancy said as she looked over her spectacles at him while he carefully dried one of her best China cups, —

      "Well I declare! If you ain't the first boy I ever saw who was fit to live with an old maid like me. You are handier than half the girls I have here when the summer boarders come, and if you could only milk a cow we should get along famously."

      "It wouldn't take me long to learn," Jack said quickly; for he was eager to assist the little lady as much as possible, having decided in his own mind that this would be a very pleasant abiding place for himself and Louis until the weather should be cooler, when the tramp to New York could be continued with less discomfort. "If you'd show me how once I'm sure I'd soon find out, and – "

      "It won't do any harm to try at all events," Aunt Nancy replied thoughtfully; "but the cow hasn't come home yet, and there's plenty of time."

      When the dishes were washed and set carefully away in the cupboard, the little woman explaining to her assistant where each particular article of crockery belonged, Jack began to sweep the already painfully clean floor. Aunt Nancy wiped with a damp towel imaginary specks of dirt from the furniture, and Louis, as if realizing the importance of winning the affections of his hostess, laid his head on the rag rug and closed his eyes in slumber before the work of putting the kitchen to rights was finished.

      "Dear little baby! I suppose he's all tired out," Aunt Nancy said as she took him in her arms, leaving to Jack the important duty of folding one of her best damask tablecloths, a task which, under other circumstances, she would not have trusted to her most intimate friend. "I'm not very handy with children, but it seems as if I ought to be able to undress this one."

      "Of course you can. All there is to do is unbutton the things an' pull them off."

      Aunt Nancy was by no means as awkward at such work as she would have her guest believe.

      In a few moments she had undressed Louis without awakening him, and clothed him for the night in one of her bedgowns, which, as a matter of course, was much too long, but so strongly scented with lavender that Jack felt positive the child could not fail to sleep sweetly and soundly.

      Then laying him in the centre of a rest-inviting bed which was covered with the most intricate of patchwork quilts, in a room on the ground-floor that overlooked the lane and the big oak-tree, they left him with a smile on his lips, as if the angels had already begun to weave dream-pictures for him.

      Aunt Nancy led the way out through the "fore-room," and, that Jack might see the beauties it contained, she opened one of the shutters, allowing the rays of the setting sun to fall upon the pictures of two of the dead and gone Curtis family, an impossible naval engagement colored in the most gorgeous style, two vases filled with alum-encrusted grasses, and a huge crockery rooster with unbending feathers of every hue.

      This last-named ornament particularly attracted Jack's attention, and during fully five minutes he stood gazing at it in silent admiration, but without daring to ask if he could take the brilliantly painted bird in his hands.

      "Handsome, isn't it?" Aunt Nancy asked, turning her head slowly from side to side while she critically viewed the combination of colors much as if she had never seen them before.

      "Its perfectly splendid!"

      "I'm glad you like it. I think a great deal of him; too much to allow a live rooster on the place crowing around when he can't. It was presented to me in my girlhood days by a young gentleman whom every one thought was destined to be an ornament in the world; but – "

      Aunt Nancy paused. Her thoughts had gone trooping down the dusty avenues of the past, and after waiting fully a moment Jack asked, —

      "Where is the young gentleman now?"

      "I don't know," was the reply sandwiched between two sobs, and then Aunt Nancy became her old self once more.

      She closed the shutters carefully, waved her apron in the air to frighten away any overbold dust specks, and the two went out on the long, velvety lane that the little woman might admire the glories of the setting sun.

      Chapter III

      LEARNING TO MILK

      A low bench painted green and fastened against the trunk of the old oak, that there might be no possibility of its being overturned, was the place where Aunt Nancy told Jack she spent the pleasant summer evenings.

      "Except where there are caterpillars around," she added, "and then I carry the rocking-chair to the stone doorstep. If you could kill caterpillars, Jack, you would be doing the greatest possible favor, for they certainly make my life wretched at times, although I don't know why a person should be afraid of anything God has made."

      "Oh, I can kill 'em," Jack replied confidently. "Bring on your caterpillars when you want 'em killed, an' I'll fix the job. There ain't any trouble about that."

      "But I don't want to bring them on," Aunt Nancy said, hesitatingly. "I never like to touch the little crawling things, and you will have to do that part of the work."

      "I'll see to it," Jack replied, and believing she would be free in the future from the pests which interfered with her twilight pleasures, Aunt Nancy's face took on an expression of complete satisfaction.

      "Now let's talk about yourself and the baby," she said. "You must not attempt to walk to New York while this hot weather lasts, and it would cost a power of money to go there on the cars."

      "I know it," Jack replied with a sigh, "but so long as there isn't a cent between us, I guess we'll have to foot it."

      "I've