Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine. Otis James
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been thinking why you shouldn't stay here a spell. You make yourself so handy about the house that I sha'n't mind the extra trouble with the baby, and there are times while the summer boarders are here when I do need a boy very badly."
"That's just what I'd like," and Jack spoke emphatically. "If you'll let us stay two or three weeks I'll pay my way in work, an' see that Louis don't bother you."
"I believe that will be the best way out of it. The summer boarders are to come in two or three weeks. Before then I'll write to my brother Abner, in Binghamton, who'll be sure to know about Capt. Littlefield, and perhaps he can make some arrangement for your passage."
"Where's Binghamton?" Jack asked in perplexity.
"Why, it's in York State. I ain't certain how near to the big city, but of course it can't be very far away. Abner's a master hand at readin', so if he don't happen to know Capt. Littlefield as a friend, he'd be sure to have heard of him. When he was home here he was acquainted with everybody for fifty miles around. He could tell you who each man married, how many children they had, and kept the run of everything that happened in the neighborhood. I used to say Abner minded other people's business better than his own, and that was his fault," she added with a sigh. "But we all of us have our faults, and it's never right to speak about those of another before we have fairly weighed our own. He's the one, though, to find the baby's father, so you needn't have any further trouble regarding it; but wait till we get a letter from him."
Jack was not as confident as Aunt Nancy appeared to be that this "brother Abner" would know all the people in New York; but he was more than content to remain where he was for a certain length of time in the hope of being able to reach the city in some less laborious way than by walking.
Then Aunt Nancy told him about herself, and of the farm which had belonged to her father, but descended to her at his death, because Abner was unwilling to spend his time on land so unproductive that the severest labor failed to bring forth a remunerative crop.
"It isn't very good, I'll admit," she said reflectively; "but by taking a few summer boarders I've been able to make both ends meet, and that's all an old maid like me ought to expect."
"Have you always lived alone?"
"It's nigh on to twelve years since father died, and, excepting in the summer, I've had neither child nor chick here. An old woman ain't pleasant company at the best, and if Abner's daughters don't like to visit their aunt, I can't say I blame them."
"Well I do!" Jack said decidedly. "I think you're the nicest old lady I ever saw, and I'd be willin' to stay here all the time if I could."
Aunt Nancy was not accustomed to flattery; but it must be admitted, from the expression on her wrinkled face, that it was far from unpleasant, and by way of reward she patted Jack on the head almost affectionately.
"Perhaps you won't think so after a while," she said with a smile; and then as Jack was about to make protestations, she added, "it's time to go after the cow, and then I'll give you the first lesson in milking."
The farm was not so large that it required many moments to reach the pasture, for the old lady had only to walk to the rear of the barn where the crumple-horned cow was standing at the end of a narrow lane awaiting her coming.
As the animal stepped carefully over the bars after they had been let down, Jack could not help thinking she was just such a cow as one would fancy should belong to Aunt Nancy.
She walked in a dainty manner, acting almost as if trying not to bring any unnecessary amount of dirt into the barnyard, and behaving in every way as one would say her mistress might under similar circumstances.
"While I go for the milking pail you pull some clover from under the trees, for she always expects a lunch while being milked," Aunt Nancy said; and in a few moments Jack had gathered such a feast as caused the sedate animal to toss her head in disapprobation at the unusually large amount she was expected to devour after having been cropping pasture grass all day.
With a pail which had been scoured until it shone like silver, and a tiny three-legged stool, white as the floor of her kitchen, the little woman returned.
Then with many a "Co, Bossy! So, Bossy!" as if the quiet-looking animal was expected to give way to the most violent demonstrations of wrath, Aunt Nancy placed the stool in the most advantageous position, and said, as she seated herself, —
"Now watch me a few minutes, and you'll see how easy it is after getting the knack."
Jack gazed intently at every movement, his eyes opened wide with astonishment as the streams of milk poured into the pail with a peculiar "swish," and before the creamy foam had fully covered the bottom he was quite positive it would be no difficult matter for him to perform the same operation.
"I can do it now, if you'll get up."
Aunt Nancy vacated the stool without hesitation, for milking seemed such a simple matter that there was no question in her mind but that it could be learned in one very short lesson, and Jack sat down.
The cow looked around at this change of attendants, but was too well-bred to express any great amount of surprise, and the hunchback took hold of what appeared like so many fat fingers.
Fancying that strength alone was necessary, he pulled most vigorously.
Not a drop of milk came; but he accomplished something, for the animal tossed her head impatiently.
Jack pulled harder the second time, and then, as Aunt Nancy screamed loudly, the cow started at full speed for the other side of the yard, facing about there at the boy whom she believed was tormenting her wilfully, while she shook her head in a menacing manner.
Fortunately the milk-pail was not overturned; but in preventing such a catastrophe, Jack rolled from the stool to the ground with no gentle force, terrified quite as much by Aunt Nancy's screams as by the sudden movement of old crumple-horn.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked, as he scrambled to his feet, looking first at his hostess, and then at the frightened animal.
"I ought to have known a boy couldn't milk," Aunt Nancy said impatiently and almost angrily. "It seems as if they have a faculty of hurting dumb beasts."
"But I didn't mean to," Jack said apologetically. "I worked just as you did, and pulled a good deal harder, but yet the milk wouldn't come."
Aunt Nancy made no reply.
Taking up the pail and stool she walked across the yard, trying to soothe the cow in the peculiar language she had used when beginning the task; and Jack, understanding that he had hurt the feelings of both his hostess and her pet, followed contritely, as he said coaxingly, —
"Please let me try it once more. I am certain I can do it if you'll give me another chance."
It was not until Aunt Nancy had led the cow back to the pile of clover, and there stroked her head and ears until she was ready to resume the rudely interrupted feast, that any attention was paid to Jack's entreaties.
"I'll show you once more," she finally said, "and you must watch to see exactly how I move my fingers. It isn't the pulling that brings the milk, but the pressure of the hand."
This time Jack paid strict attention, and in a few moments began to fancy he had discovered what Aunt Nancy called the "knack."
But she would not relinquish her seat.
"Take hold with one hand while I stay here, and be careful not to hurt the poor creature."
Very tenderly Jack made the second attempt, and was so successful as to extract at least a dozen drops from the well-filled udder.
This was sufficient, however, to show him what should be done, even though he was at first unable to perform the task, and, thanks to Aunt Nancy's patience, and the gentleness of the animal, before the milking was brought to a close, he had so far mastered the lesson as to win from his teacher a limited amount of praise.
"I don't know as I should expect you to learn at once," she said; "but you are getting along so well that by to-morrow night I wouldn't be surprised if you could do it alone. Now I'll go and strain the milk, and you may split me a little kindling wood if you