CHAPTER XI.

THE PEDDLER'S CAPTURE.

In the confusion and agitation produced by the events we have recorded, the death of the elder Birch had occurred unnoticed; but a sufficient number of the immediate neighbors were hastily collected, and the ordinary rites of sepulture[74] were paid to the deceased. Birch supported the grave and collected manner that was thought becoming in a male mourner.

[Footnote 74: burial.]

The muscles of the peddler's face were seen to move, and as the first clod of earth fell on the tenement of his father, sending up that dull, hollow sound that speaks so eloquently the mortality of man, his whole frame was for an instant convulsed. He bent his body down, as if in pain, his fingers worked, while the hands hung lifeless by his side, and there was an expression in his countenance that seemed to announce a writhing of the soul; but it was not unresisted, and it was transient. He stood erect, drew a long breath, and looked around him with an elevated face, that seemed to smile with a consciousness of having obtained the mastery. The grave was soon filled; a rough stone, placed at either extremity, marked its position, and the turf, whose faded vegetation was adapted to the fortunes of the deceased, covered the little hillock with the last office of seemliness. Uncovering his head, the peddler hesitated a moment to gather energy, and spoke.

"My friends and neighbors," he said, "I thank you for assisting me to bury my dead out of my sight."

A solemn pause succeeded the customary address, and the group dispersed in silence. The peddler and Katy were followed into the building by one man, however, who was well known to the surrounding country by the significant term of "a speculator." Katy saw him enter, with a heart that palpitated with dreadful forebodings; but Harvey civilly handed him a chair, and evidently was prepared for the visit.

The peddler went to the door, and, taking a cautious glance about the valley, quickly returned and commenced the following dialogue:

"The sun has just left the top of the eastern hill; my time presses me; here is the deed for the house and lot; everything is done according to law."

The other took the paper, and conned its contents with a deliberation that proceeded partly from caution, and partly from the unlucky circumstances of his education having been much neglected when a youth. The time thus occupied in this tedious examination was employed by Harvey in gathering together certain articles which he intended to include in the stores that were to leave the habitation with himself.

"I'm rather timersome about this conveyance," said the purchaser, having at length waded though the covenants[75] of the deed.

[Footnote 75: agreements.]

"Why so?"

"I'm afraid it won't stand good in law. I know that two of the neighbors leave home to-morrow morning, to have the place entered for confiscation;[76] and if I should give forty pounds and lose it all, 'twould be a dead pull back to me."

[Footnote 76: forfeiting to the public treasury.]

"They can only take my right," said the peddler; "pay me two hundred dollars, and the house is yours; you are a well-known Whig,[77] and you at least they won't trouble." As Harvey spoke, there was a strange bitterness of manner, mingled with the shrewd care expressed concerning the sale of his property.

[Footnote 77: supporter of the American cause.]

"Say one hundred and it is a bargain," returned the man with a grin that he meant for a good-natured smile.

"A bargain!" echoed the peddler, in surprise; "I thought the bargain was already made."

"Nothing is a bargain," said the purchaser, with a chuckle, "until papers are delivered, and the money paid in hand."

"You have the paper."

"Aye, and will keep it, if you will excuse the money; come, say one hundred and fifty, and I won't be hard; here--here is just the money."

The peddler looked from the window, and saw with dismay that the evening was fast advancing, and knew well that he endangered his life by remaining in the dwelling after dark; yet he could not tolerate the idea of being defrauded in this manner, in a bargain that had already been fairly made; he hesitated.

"Well," said the purchaser, rising, "mayhap you will find another man to trade with between this and morning; but, if you don't, your title won't be worth much afterwards."

"I agree to the price," he said; and, turning to the spinster, he placed a part of the money in her hand, as he continued, "had I other means to pay you, I would have lost all, rather than suffer myself to be defrauded of part."

"You may lose all yet," muttered the stranger, with a sneer, as he rose and left the building.

"Have you another house to go to?" inquired Katy.

"Providence will provide me with a home."

"Yes," said the housekeeper; "but maybe 'twill not be to your liking."

"The poor must not be difficult."[78] As the peddler spoke he dropped the article he was packing from his hand, and seated himself on a chest, with a look of vacant misery.

[Footnote 78: hard to suit.]

"It is painful to part with even you, good woman," he continued; "but the hour has come, and I must go. What is left in the house is yours; to me it could be of no use, and it may serve to make you comfortable. Farewell--we may meet hereafter."

"In the regions of darkness!" cried a voice that caused the peddler to sink on the chest from which he had risen, in despair.

"What! another pack, Mr. Birch, and so well stuffed so soon!"

"Have you not done evil enough?" cried the peddler, regaining his firmness, and springing on his feet with energy; "is it not enough to harass the last moments of a dying man--to impoverish me; what more would you have?"

"Your blood!" said the Skinner, with cool malignity.

"And for money," cried Harvey, bitterly; "like the ancient Judas, you would grow rich with the price of blood!"

"Aye, and a fair price it is, my gentleman; fifty guineas; nearly the weight of that scarecrow carcass of yours in gold."

A figure stood in the shadow of the door, as if afraid to be seen in the group of Skinners; but a blaze of light, aided by some articles thrown in the fire by his persecutors, showed the peddler the face of the purchaser of his little domain. Occasionally there was some whispering between this man and the Skinner nearest to him, that induced Harvey to suspect he had been the dupe of a contrivance in which that wretch had participated. It was, however, too late to repine; and he followed the party from the house with a firm and collected tread, as if marching to a triumph, and not to a gallows. In passing through the yard, the leader of the band fell over a billet of wood, and received a momentary hurt from the fall. Exasperated at the incident, the fellow sprang to his feet, filling the air with execrations.

"The curse of heaven light on the log!" he exclaimed; "the night is too dark for us to move in. Throw that brand of fire in yon pile of tow, to light up the scene."

"Hold!" cried the speculator; "you'll fire the house."

"And see the farther," said the other, hurling the brand in the midst of the combustibles. In an instant the building was in flames. "Come on; let us move towards the heights while we have light to pick our road."

"Villain!" cried the exasperated purchaser, "is this your friendship--this my reward for kidnapping the peddler?"

"'Twould be wise to move more from the light, if you mean to entertain us with abuse, or we may see too well to miss our mark," cried the leader of the gang. The next instant he was as good as his threat, but happily missed the terrified speculator and equally appalled spinster, who saw herself reduced from comparative wealth to poverty, by the blow.

Prudence dictated to the pair a speedy retreat; and the next morning the only remains of the dwelling of the peddler was the huge chimney.