The Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts (Literature) Page 7
He couldn't get around that argument, and it cheered him up.
"But it isn't mine, you see-it isn't mine, in any case."
He said it in a wistful way, like a person that wouldn't be sorry, but glad, if somebody would contradict him.
"It is yours, Father Peter, and we are witness to it-aren't we, boys?"
"Yes, we are-and we'll stand by it, too."
"Bless your hearts, you do almost persuade me, you do, indeed. If I had only a hundred and eighty ducats of it! The house is mortgaged for it, and we've no home for our heads if we don't pay to-morrow. And that four ducats is all we've got in the-"
"It's yours, every bit of it, and you've got to take it-we are bail that it's all right, aren't we Theodor? aren't we Seppi?"
We two said yes; and Nikolaus stuffed the money back into the shabby old wallet and made the owner take it. So he said he would use two hundred of it, for his house was good enough security for that, and would put the rest at interest till the rightful owner came for it; and on our side we must sign a paper showing how he got the money-a paper to show to the villagers as proof that he had not got out of his troubles dishonestly.
Chapter 3
IT MADE immense talk next day, when Father Peter paid Solomon Isaacs in gold and left the rest of the money with him at interest. Also, there was a pleasant change: many people called at the house to congratulate, and a number of cool old friends became kind and friendly again; and to top all, Marget was invited to a party.
And there was no mystery; Father Peter told the whole circumstance just as it happened, and said he could not account for it, only it was the plain hand of Providence, so far as he could see. One or two shook their heads and said privately it looked more like the hand of Satan; and really that seemed a surprisingly good guess for ignorant people like that. Some came slyly buzzing around and tried to coax us boys to come out and "tell the truth;" and promised they wouldn't ever tell, but only wanted to know for their own satisfaction, because the whole thing was so curious. They even wanted to buy the secret, and pay money for it; and if we could have invented something that would answer-but we couldn't; we hadn't the ingenuity, so we had to let the chance go by, and it was a pity.
We carried that secret around without any trouble, but the other one, the big one, the splendid one, burnt the very vitals of us, it was so hot to get out and we so hot to let it out and astonish people with it. But we had to keep it in; in fact it kept itself in: Satan said it would, and it did. We went off every day and got to ourselves in the woods, so that we could talk about Satan, and really that was the only subject we thought of or cared anything about, and day and night we watched for him and hoped he would come, and we got more and more impatient all the time. We hadn't any interest in the other boys any more and wouldn't take part in their games and enterprises. That kind of boys seemed so tame, after Satan; and their doings so trifling and commonplace after his adventures in antiquity and the constellations, and his miracles and meltings and explosions and all that.
During the first day we were in a state of anxiety, on account of one thing, and we kept going to Father Peter's house on one pretext or another, to keep track of it. That was the gold coin; we were afraid it would crumble and turn to dirt, like fairy money. If it did .... but it didn't. At the end of the day no complaint had been made about it; so after that we were satisfied that it was real gold, and dropped the anxiety out of our minds.
There was a question which we wanted to ask Father Peter, and finally we went there the second evening, a little diffidently, after drawing straws, and I asked it, as casually as I could, though it did not sound as casual as I wanted, because I did not know how-
"What is the moral sense, sir?"
He looked down surprised, over his great spectacles, and said-
"Why, it is the faculty which enables us to distinguish good from evil."
It threw some light, but not a glare, and I was a little disappointed, also in some degree embarrassed. He was waiting for me to go on; so, in default of anything else to say, I asked-
"Is it valuable?"
"Valuable! Heavens, lad, it is the one thing that lifts man above the beasts that perish and makes him heir to immortality!"
This did not remind me of anything further to say, so I got out, with the other boys, and we went away with that kind of indefinite sense you have often had of being filled but not fatted. They wanted me to explain, but I was tired.
We passed out through the parlor, and there was Marget at the spinet teaching Marie Lueger. So one of the deserting pupils was back; and an influential one, too: the others would follow. Marget jumped up and ran and thanked us again, with the tears in her eyes -this was the third time-for saving her and her uncle from being turned into the street, and we told her again we hadn't done it; but that was her way, she never could be grateful enough for anything a person did for her; so we let her have her say. And as we passed through the garden, there was Wilhelm Meidling sitting there waiting, for it was getting toward the edge of the evening, and he would be asking Marget to take a walk along the river with him when she was done with the lesson. He was a young lawyer, and succeeding fairly well and working his way along, little by little. He was very fond of Marget, and she of him. He had not deserted along with the others, but had stood his ground all through, although it had in him in people's esteem and made his business fall off more or less. His faithfulness was not lost on Marget and her uncle. He hadn't so very much talent, but he was handsome and good, and these are a kind of talents themselves and help along. He asked us how the lesson was getting along, and we told him it was about done. And maybe it was so; we didn't know anything about it, but we judged it would please him, and it did; and didn't cost us anything.
On the fourth day comes Father Adolf home from the ancient priory up the valley, where he had heard the news, I reckon. He had a private talk with us, and was very much interested, and we told him all about it. He sat there studying and studying a while to himself, then he asked-
"How many ducats did you say?"
"Eleven hundred and seven, sir.
Then he said, as if he was talking to himself-
"It is ve-ry singular. Yes . . . . . very strange. A curious coincidence."
Then he began to ask questions, and went over the whole ground, from the beginning, we answering. By and by he said-
"Eleven hundred and six ducats. It is a large sum."
"Seven," said Seppi, correcting him.
"Oh, seven, was it? Of course a duet more or less isn't of consequence, but you said eleven hundred and six, before."
It would not have become us to say he was mistaken, but we knew he was. Nikolaus said-
"Since your reverence says we said it, we did; but we meant to say seven.
"Oh, it is no matter, lad, it was merely that I noticed the discrep ancy. It is several days, and you cannot be expected to remember precisely. One is apt to be inexact when there is no particular circumstance to impress the count upon the memory."
"But there was one, Father," said Seppi, eagerly.
"What was it, my son," asked Father Adolf, indifferently.
"First, we all counted the piles of coin, each in turn, and all made it the same-eleven hundred and six. But I had slipped one out, for fun, when the count began, and now I slipped it back and said, `I think there is a mistake-there are eleven hundred and seven; let us count again.' We did, and of course I was right. They were astonished; then I told how it came about."
Father Adolf asked us if this was so, and we said it was.
"That settles it," he said. "I know the thief, now. Lads, the money was stolen."
Then he went away, leaving us very much troubled, and wondering what he could mean. In about an hour we found out; for by that time it was all over the village that Father Peter had been arrested for stealing a great sum of money from Father Adolf. Everybody's tongue was loose and going. Many said it was not in Father Peter's character and must be a mistake; but
the others shook their heads and said misery and want could drive a suffering man to almost anything. About one detail there were no differences: all agreed that Father Peter's account of how the money came into his hands was just about unbelievable, it had such an impossible look. Our characters began to suffer, now. We were Father Peter's only witnesses; how much did he probably pay us to hack up his fantastic tale? People talked that kind of talk to us pretty freely and frankly, and were full of scoflings when we begged them to believe we had really told only the truth. Our parents were harder on us than any one else. Our fathers said we were disgracing our families, and they commanded us to purge ourselves of our lie, and there was no limit to their anger when we continued to say we had spoken true. Our mothers cried over us and begged us to give back our bribe and get back our honest names and save our families from shame, and come out and honorably confess. And at last we were so worried and harassed that we tried to tell the whole thing, Satan and all-but no, it wouldn't come out. We were hoping and longing, all the time, that Satan would come and help us out of our trouble, but there was no sign of him.
'Vithin an hour after Father Adolf's talk with us Father Peter was in prison and the money sealed up and in the hands of the officers of the law. The money was in a bag, and Solomon Isaacs said he had not touched it since he had counted it; his oath was taken that it was the same money, and that the amount was eleven hundred and seven ducats. Father Peter claimed trial by the ecclesiastical court, but Father Adolf didn't want that, and said an ecclesiastical court hadn't jurisdiction over a suspended priest. The Bishop upheld him. That settled it; the case would go to trial in the civil court. The court would not sit for some time to come. Wilhelm Meidling would be Father Peter's lawyer and do the best he could, of course, but he told us privately that a weak case on his side and all the power and prejudice on the other made the outlook bad.
So Marget's new happiness died a quick death. No friends came to condole with her, and none were expected; an unsigned note withdrew her invitation to the party. There would be no scholars to take lessons. f could she support herself? She could remain in the house, for the mortgage was paid off, though the government and not poor Solomon Isaacs had the mortgage money in its grip for the present. Old Ursula, who was cook, chambermaid, housekeeper, laundress and everything else for Father Peter, and had been Marget's nurse in earlier years, said God would provide. But she said that from habit, for she was a good Catholic and such speeches were a slang of the trade; but she meant to help in the providing, to make sure, if she could find a way.
We boys wanted to go and see Marget and show friendliness for her, but our parents were afraid of offending Father Adolf, and wouldn't let us. He was going around inflaming everybody against Father Peter and saying he was an abandoned thief and had stolen eleven hundred and seven gold ducats from him. He said he knew he was the thief from that fact, for it was exactly the sum which he had lost and which Father Peter pretended he had "found."
In the afternoon of the fourth day after the catastrophe old Ursula appeared at our house and asked for some washing to do, and begged my mother to keep this a secret, to save Marget's pride, who would stop this project if she found it out, yet Marget had not enough to eat and was growing weak. Ursula was growing weak herself, and showed it; and she ate of the food that was offered her like a starving person, but could not be persuaded to carry any home, for Marget would not eat charity food. She took some clothes down to the stream to wash them, but we saw from the window that handling the bat was too much for her strength; so she was called back and a trifle of money offered her, which she was afraid to take, lest Marget should suspect; then took it, saying she would explain that she found it in the road. To keep it from being a lie and damning her soul, she got me to go and drop it, while she watched; then she went along by there and found it, and exclaimed with surprise and joy, and picked it up and went her way. Like the rest of the village she could tell every-day lies fast enough, and without taking out any precautions against fire and brimstone on their account; but this was a new kind of lie and it had a dangerous look because she hadn't had any practice in it. After a week's practice it wouldn't have given her any trouble. It is the way we are made.
I was in trouble, for how would Marget live? Ursula could not find a coin in the road every day-perhaps not even a second one. And I was ashamed, too, for not having been near Marget, and she so in need of friends; but that was my parents' fault, not mine, and I couldn't help it.
I was walking along the path, feeling very down-hearted, when a most cheery and tingling freshening-up sensation went rippling through me, and I was too glad for any words; for I knew by that sign that Satan was by. I had noticed it before. Next moment he was alongside of me and I was telling him all my trouble and what had been happening to Marget and her uncle. While we were talking we turned a curve and saw old Ursula resting in the shade of a tree, and she had a lean stray kitten in her lap and was petting it. I asked her where she got it, and she said it came out of the woods and followed her; and she said it probably hadn't any mother or any friends and she was going to take it home and take care of it. Satan said-
"I understand you are very poor; why do you want to add another mouth to feed? Why don't you give it to some rich person?"
Ursula bridled at this, and said-
"Perhaps you would like to have it. You must be rich, with your fine clothes and quality airs." Then she sniffed, and said, "Give it to the rich-the idea! The rich don't care for anybody but themselves; it's only the poor that have feeling for the poor, and help them. The poor and God. God will provide for this kitten."
"What makes you think so?"
Ursula's eyes snapped with anger.
"Because I know it!" she said. "Not a sparrow falls to the ground without His seeing it."
"But it falls, just the same. What good is seeing it fall?"
Old Ursula's jaws worked, but she could not get any words out for the moment, she was so horrified. When she got her tongue she stormed out-
"Go about your business, you puppy, or I will take a stick to you!"
I could not speak, I was so scared. I knew that with his notions about the human race Satan would consider it a matter of no consequence to strike her dead, there being "plenty more;" but my tongue stood still, I could give her no warning. But nothing happened; Satan remained tranquil; tranquil and indifferent. I reckon he couldn't be insulted by Ursula, any more than the King could be insulted by a tumble-bug. The old woman jumped to her feet when she made her remark; and did it as briskly as a young girl. It had been many years since she had done the like of that. That was Satan's influence; he was a fresh breeze to the weak and the sick, wherever he came. His presence affected even the lean kitten, and it skipped to the ground and began to chase a leaf. This surprised Ursula, and she stood looking at the creature and nodding her head wonderingly, her anger quite forgotten.
"What's come over it?" she said. "A while ago it could hardly walk."
"You have not seen a kitten of that breed before," said Satan.
Ursula was not proposing to be friendly with the mocking stranger, and she gave him an ungentle look and retorted-
"Who asked you to come here and pester me, I'd like to know? And what do you know about what I've seen and what I haven't seen?"
"You haven't seen a kitten with the hair-spines on its tongue pointing to the front, have you?"
"No-nor you either."
"Well, examine this one and see."
Ursula was become pretty spry, but the kitten was spryer, and she could not catch it, and had to give it up. Then Satan said-
"Give it a name, and maybe it will come."
Ursula tried several names, but the kitten was not interested.
"Call it Agnes. Try that."
The creature answered to the name and came. Ursula examined its tongue.
"Upon my word it's true," she said. "I have not seen this kind of a cat before. Is it yours?"
"No."
"Because all cats of that breed are named Agnes; they will not answer to any other."
Ursula was impressed.
"It is the most wonderful thing!" Then a shadow of trouble came into her face, for her superstitions were aroused, and she reluctantly put the creature down, saying, "I suppose I must let it go; I am not afraid-no, not exactly that, though the priest-well, I've heard people-indeed many people . . . . And besides, it is quite well, now, and can take care of itself." She sighed, and turned to go, murmuring, "It is such a pretty one, too, and would be such company-and the house is so sad and lonesome these troubled days . . . . . Miss Marget so mournful and just a shadow, and the old master shut up in the jail."
"It seems a pity not to keep it," said Satan.
Ursula turned quickly-just as if she was hoping some one would encourage her.
"Why?" she asked, wistfully.
"Because this breed brings luck."
"Does it? Is it true? Young man, do you know it to be true? I does it bring luck?"
""ell, it brings money, anyway."
Ursula looked disappointed.
"Money? A cat bring money-the idea! You could never sell it here; people do not buy cats here; one can't even give them away." She turned to go.
"I don't mean sell it. I mean have an income from it. This kind is called the Lucky Cat. Its owner finds four silver groschen in his pocket every morning."
I saw the indignation rising in the old woman's face. She was insulted. This boy was making fun of her. That was her thought. She thrust her hands into her pockets and straightened up to give him a piece of her mind. Her temper was all up, and hot. I ler mouth came open and let out three words of a bitter sentence . . . . . . then it fell silent, and the anger in her face turned to surprise, or wonder, or fear, or something, and she slowly brought out her hands from her pockets and opened them and held them so. In one was my piece of money, in the other lay four silver groschen. She gazed a little while, perhaps to see if the groschen would vanish away, then she said, fervently-