CHAPTER V.

A DARING TRICK.

The morning following the interview between Squire Talford and Clifford, the former repaired to the establishment of the tailor, where he was accustomed to have his clothing made, to have a talk with the man regarding the “freedom suit” which the contract demanded for his “bound boy.”

He inquired Mr. Black’s price for making; then he asked to see the goods, with the intention of selecting the very cheapest he had in stock.

But Mr. Black informed him that he had worked up everything so close he really hadn’t anything on hand suitable for a young man like Clifford, but he was expecting a fresh invoice that very afternoon, and would send him samples as soon as they came.

“Very well,” said the squire; “and as I have to have a new suit for myself this fall, send along something that will do for me also, and I will give you both orders at once.”

Mr. Black promised he would do as requested, and then the squire went about other business; and about half an hour before tea-time that afternoon a boy appeared at Squire Talford’s door, with the promised samples.

His ring was answered by the maid of all work, or perhaps the housekeeper would be the more proper term, for Maria Kimberly had been a member of the squire’s household for upward of fifteen years. She was a widow, and her maiden name was Barnes. She had come there a girl in her teens, about two years after the marriage of the squire, and for six months had been under the training of his wife. Then she had married and gone away to a home of her own; but, being left a widow before she had been a wife a year, she had returned to the service of Mrs. Talford, whom she loved and served most faithfully as long as she lived, and, being competent in every respect, had acted as housekeeper for the squire ever since her death, which had occurred about five years previous.

She was a shrewd, practical, commonplace person, but possessing quick sympathies and a kind heart, and from the day that Clifford had come into the house she had befriended the bright, but lonely, boy, growing more and more fond of him as the years went by, and she had slyly shown him many a favor and made many a rough place smooth for him.

Now, when she saw the tailor’s boy at the door with the package in his hands, she instantly surmised the nature of his errand, for she had overheard some of the conversation regarding the “freedom suit.”

Always feeling herself a privileged person in the house, and being especially interested in this matter, she calmly unfolded the parcel and proceeded to examine its contents.

“H’m,” she breathed, after adjusting her glasses and testing the quality of the various samples, “some of ’em are fair to middlin’, and some of ’em you could shoot peas through; of course, he will buy the cheapest suit for him; he won’t give the boy a decent suit if he can help it. I’ve half a mind to show ’em to Cliff and see what’d be his choice.”

She stood a moment considering the matter, then she deliberately slipped the package into her pocket and returned to the kitchen, where she had been busy getting supper when the bell had interrupted her operations.

A few minutes later Clifford came in from the shed, bringing a huge armful of wood, which he packed neatly in the wood-box behind the stove, taking care to make no litter to offend Mrs. Kimberly’s keen eyes, for the woman was neatness personified, and would not tolerate the slightest disorder in her immaculate domains.

“My, how good those biscuits smell!” the youth observed appreciatively, as Maria opened the oven door to take a look at the snowy puffs inside.

“Wait till you get a nibble at ’em,” said the woman, with a satisfied nod of her head; “and I’ve got a turnover for you, too. I had some apple and a little dough left over when I was makin’ the pies this mornin’,” she added, lifting a kindly look to his face.

“Then you should call it a leftover instead of a turnover,” said Clifford, laughing. “You are always doing something nice for me, Maria. I’m afraid you have spoiled me with your dainties, and I shall miss them when I go to Cambridge, and have to be satisfied with what I can get in some third-rate boarding-house.”

“There ain’t no fear that anybody’ll ever spoil you,” returned Maria, with significant emphasis; “but I own I am consarned about your digestion bein’ spoiled by the poor cookin’ in them dreadful boardin’-houses. But come here,” she continued, drawing him to a window and taking something from her pocket with a mysterious air, “if you were goin’ to have a new suit which o’ these pieces of cloth would you choose?”

“Ah! some samples!” exclaimed the boy, an eager look on his face. “Did the squire tell you to show them to me?”

“Never you mind what the squire told me to do, I just want to see what kind o’ judgment you will show in your selection,” Mrs. Kimberly responded, with a knowing air.

Clifford examined the various slips in silence for several moments, and finally separated two from the others.

“This is a pretty style of goods,” he remarked, holding up one of them, “but rather light, perhaps, for fall and to be serviceable; the other mixed goods I like almost as well.”

“Yes, and it’s a better cloth, too—the best in the lot,” interposed his companion; “it’s close and firm, and would do you good service.”

“Well, then, if I am allowed to choose, I’ll take it,” said Clifford; “and, yes, on the whole, I believe I shall like it better than the other.”

“All right,” observed Maria, hastily gathering up the samples and returning them to their wrapper as she caught the sound of a latch-key in the front door. She slipped them back into her pocket.

Later, when she was serving the squire at his solitary meal, she laid the package from the tailor before him, curtly remarking:

“Here’s somethin’ a boy brought for you this afternoon.”

The squire removed the wrapper and examined its contents. Finally separating two of the samples from the others, he laid them beside his plate, and tossed the remainder into a waste-basket that stood under a desk behind him, and the sharp eyes of Maria Kimberly observed that one of the selected samples was the very piece which Clifford had chosen, while the other was the coarsest, ugliest goods among the lot.

“Goin’ to have a new suit, squire?” she briefly inquired, with a curious gleam in her eyes.

“Yes, I need a new fall suit, and Cliff has got to have one, too; how will this do for him?” and the man passed the shoddy up to her.

“Humph! you might shoot peas through it,” she said, with a scornful sniff, and using the same expression as when she had examined the cloths by herself.

“Not as bad as that, I reckon; but it will have to do for him,” said the man coldly. “This is better goods, and I think I’ll have my suit made from it. What do you think of it?” and he held it out to her.

There was a bright spot of red on the woman’s cheeks and a resentful gleam in her eyes as she took it.

“This is something like, but t’other ain’t worth the thread ’twould take to make it up,” she said, with considerable asperity.

“It will have to do,” was the curt response, and the man resumed his interrupted supper, while the housekeeper vanished into the kitchen.

She threw herself into a rocker and began swaying herself back and forth with more energy than grace, muttering now and then, and nodding her head angrily in the direction of the dining-room door. She continued this until the squire rang his bell to signify that he had finished his meal, when she returned to the other room and began to gather up the dishes.

Suddenly she paused, as her glance fell upon the two samples, that still lay beside the squire’s plate, he having forgotten to take them when he arose from the table.

“It’s a pesky shame!” she muttered indignantly. “He hain’t a soul in the world but himself to spend his money on, and he’s got a tarnel sight more’n he knows what to do with. I sh’d think he’d be ashamed to give the boy a suit like that.”

She picked up the samples and fingered them nervously. Then she noticed that a tag bearing a printed number was pinned to each. These numbers corresponded to those on the list that had been sent with the samples, and against each of which the price of the goods was carried out, but this list the squire had tossed into the waste-basket with the discarded samples.

“’Twould serve him right,” the woman thoughtfully muttered, with a vicious gleam in her eyes and a backward glance over her shoulder toward the veranda, where she knew the squire was sitting absorbed in his evening paper. The next minute she had changed the tags on the goods!

“Mebbe ’twon’t amount to anythiny, but I’ll resk it, and if I git caught I’ll pay for it out o’ my own pocket,” she whispered; “that boy desarves the best that can be had, and I only hope that fortune’ll favor the trick.”

Then she laid the samples on the squire’s desk, where she thought he could not fail to see them when he sat down to it, after which she went back to her work, a curious smile wreathing her thin lips.

An hour later Squire Talford lighted the student-lamp and turned to the table for his samples, for he was about to write his order to the tailor.

Of course, he did not find them, and, going to the door leading into the kitchen, he inquired:

“Maria, where are those pieces of cloth I left on the table at supper-time?”

The woman was paring apples for the morrow’s baking.

“I put ’em on your desk,” she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone, but with her mouth full of apple and a very red face, too, if he could but have seen it.

“Oh!” said the squire, with an inflection which intimated that he might have known where they were if he had stopped to think. He found them, and, seating himself at his desk, he wrote his order to the tailor.

The following is an exact copy of his letter when it was finished:

“CEDAR HILL, August 24, 18—.

“ABEL BLACK, ESQ.

“DEAR SIR: Samples received and examined. You can make a suit for me from goods numbered 324. Use 416 for a suit for Clifford Faxon—will send him to be measured to-morrow afternoon. Make his first and at once, as he must have it by September 1. My measurements you already have.

“Respectfully yours,

“JOHN C. TALFORD.”

After taking an impression of the above, as he did of every letter he wrote, he sealed, addressed, and stamped it; then went out into the balmy summer night for his habitual stroll and smoke before going to bed.

A few minutes later Maria Kimberly, whose ears had been on the alert, stole softly into the dining-room and approached the writing-desk.

Her eyes gleamed with an exultant light as she saw the letter addressed to the tailor and the pieces of cloth shoved one side as of no further use.

“Cliff, my boy, fortune favors you for once, and no mistake,” she said. “If he’d sent them pieces o’ cloth along with his letter Mr. Black would ’a’ found out that they’d been meddled with, and you’d had to wear that measly old shoddy. I’ll jest die a-laughin’, though, when the squire’s suit comes home, but it’ll serve him right,” she concluded, with a chuckle of malicious glee.

Then with dexterous fingers she changed the tags on the samples back to their original places, after which she put them carefully away in a drawer of the desk, in case they should ever be wanted again, as she felt sure they would.

The following afternoon Clifford was sent to the tailor to be measured for his suit, and as he was a favorite with Mr. Black—as, indeed, he was with every one who knew him—that gentleman took great pains to have every measurement exact, and secretly resolved that the boy should have a suit of clothes that would do him credit, even among the stylish collegians at Harvard.

He was told that they would be ready for him the following Saturday evening.

Friday night ended Clifford’s four years’ servitude with Squire Talford, and, after packing his few belongings, he had an interview with the man, received the stipulated twenty-five dollars, and took a respectful leave of him.

His heart was light. He suddenly felt like a different being as he put the money away in his pocket and realized that he was—free!

The only regret he experienced was in the thought of leaving Maria, and the woman broke down and cried heartily when he stepped into the kitchen to say “good-by” to her.

“Oh, Cliff!” she sobbed, as she grasped both his hands, “you’re the only being I’ve really loved since Sam and Mrs. Talford died. I can’t bear to have you go, for your bright face and cheery ways have helped me through many a lonely day. But I’m glad for you—I’m downright glad, for I know you’re goin’ among your equals, and that you’ll get to be a man to be proud of. But I shall miss you—I’ll miss you more’n you’ll ever know,” and the tears streamed like rain over her flushed cheeks.

“Why, Maria!” exclaimed the boy, astonished and also deeply touched to see her so overcome, “I had no idea you would care so much about my going. I shall miss you, too, and your many kindnesses, to say nothing about your fine doughnuts, fluffy biscuit, glorious pies, and the ‘leftover,’” he added, with a cheery laugh. “But I’m not going to forget you by any means. I shall always come to see you when I have a vacation.”

“Will you now—sure?” the woman exclaimed eagerly and in a grateful tone.

“I certainly will, and”—with a roguish twinkle in his handsome eyes—“when I get through college, if I am ever fortunate enough to have a home of my own and you are at liberty, I will give you an invitation to come and preside over my culinary department.”

“Do you mean it, honor bright, Cliff?” demanded Maria, straightening herself and looking him wistfully in the face.

“Of course I mean it, and would consider myself mighty lucky to get you,” he earnestly returned.

“Then shake on it,” said the woman, holding out one hard, red hand, while with the other she wiped away her tears, “and there ain’t the least shadow of a doubt but I’ll be at liberty when you want me.”

Clifford gave her a cordial grip; then, with a last good-by, he went away to Professor Harding’s home, where he was to remain until college opened; but he left a gleam of sunshine behind him that warmed and cheered Maria Kimberly’s lonely heart for years.