Chapter XXXI: Gathering Up the Ravelled Threads

The records show that not long ago there were a number of post office robberies among the towns and villages in that section of Maine to which some attention has been given in the preceding pages. Not all the guilty parties were captured, but we know of two, or rather three, who were caught in the toils. Two of them, Kit Woodford and Graff Miller, were convicted in the United States Court at Portland, for, to use a common expression, they were caught with the goods on them, and sentenced to long terms in the Atlanta penitentiary. There they are sure to stay for an indefinite time to come, provided they are not soon released on parole, or pardoned on the ground of poor health. Let us hope for better things.

During the trial of the criminals inquiries were heard for the third member of the gang, but he seemed to have vanished as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed him. Possibly the Judge learned all the facts from Detective Calvert and saw that justice would be best served by winking at the youth's offence. Moreover, an officer of the law cannot be punished for the escape of a prisoner unless gross carelessness or collusion is proved, which was not easy in the case named. Be that as it may, Orestes Noxon no longer exists. In his place rises another young man, "redeemed and disenthralled"--a brand plucked from the burning. The grandest work of our penal institution is that of reforming instead of wreaking revenge upon the erring ones. It certainly proved so in the instance named. The parents of the youth knew he had strayed from the narrow path, but it will be a long time before they learn how far his wayward footsteps led him. There is no need of their ever knowing the painful truth. Detective Calvert simply told the grateful father that his boy had gotten into bad company, but the error could never be repeated, nor can I believe it ever will be.

One day Gideon Landon, the wealthy banker and capitalist of New York, received a characteristic letter from his son Alvin. He said his motor boat _Deerfoot_ had been housed for the winter, there to remain until next summer, and he and Chester Haynes had had the time of their lives, for which they could never thank the kind parent enough. The son meant to prove his gratitude by acts instead of words, for he intended to buckle down to hard work and not rest until he was through West Point and had become General of the United States Army. He added:

"And now, my dear father, I want you to do a favor or two for me,
Chester and Mike Murphy, who is one of the best fellows that ever
lived. Some time I shall tell you all our experience after you left
the bungalow on Southport Island. I know you will agree with what I
say.

"Please send to 'Uncle Ben Trotwood,' Trevett, on Hodgdon Island,
Boothbay Township, Maine, a big lot of fine smoking tobacco. While
you are about it you may as well make it half a ton, more or less.
In his old age, he doesn't do much else but smoke, eat, sleep, and
talk bass, but he was very kind to Chester and me. He kept us
overnight and fed us, and was insulted when we wished to pay him."
(No reference was made to Uncle Ben's frugal wife.)

The genial old man would never have solved the mystery of the arrival of the big consignment of the weed had it not been accompanied by a letter from the two boys in which all was made clear.

(Another paragraph from Alvin's communication to his father.)

"In the little town or village of Beartown live the sweetest mother
and daughter in the State of Maine. Anyhow, there is none kinder and
more loving. The name of the daughter, who isn't out of short dresses
yet, is Nora Friestone. Send her a fine first class piano--no
second-hand one--with about a bushel of music. Select any stuff you
choose, not forgetting a copy of 'The Sweet Long Ago,' published by
C. W. Thompson, Boston. I wish you could have heard Mike Murphy sing
that for them. He has one of the finest voices in the world. If he
would only study and cultivate it, he would be a second Caruso. I
will send an explanatory letter to Mrs. Friestone, so you needn't
bother to write her."

And the Steinway duly reached its destination. Mother and daughter were overwhelmed. They would have insisted that a tremendous mistake had been made had not a letter reached them at the same time from the bungalow. This was signed by Chester Haynes, Mike Murphy and Alvin Landon. It begged Miss Nora to accept the present as a token of their appreciation of the hospitality received by them, and in memory of an interesting night they had spent in the Friestone home not long before. Nora wrote one of the most delightful replies that goodness and innocence could pen, and assured the donors that the prayers of her mother and herself would follow the three as long as mother and daughter lived.

(Another paragraph from Alvin's communication to his father.)

"You must understand that the expense of these presents, including
that which follows, is borne by you and Mr. Haynes. He knew all
about them and is as ardent as we. He says he is sure you will be
as glad as he to help in so good a cause.

"One more trifling gift and I shall be through. About a half mile
from Beartown lives a poor Irish day laborer known to every one as
Tam McCaffry. Chester and I did not have the pleasure of meeting
him, but Mike spent some time at his home, where his big, jolly
wife proved herself the soul of hospitality. She is Irish through
and through. Mr. Calvert saw her and says the great attraction of
the woman, aside from her natural goodness, is that she is the only
person he has yet met who in the way of repartee and wit could give
Mike as good as he sent. It was a treat to hear the two spar, and
Mike admitted that he had met his match.

"Send her a pianola. Her hands are too big and untrained to master
the keys of a piano, but there is nothing the matter with her feet,
which is all she needs to work one of those contrivances. Don't
forget to include a whole lot of music, which should be of the
Irish vintage, such as Moore's melodies, 'Sweet Mavoureen,' 'The
Rocky Road to Dublin,' 'St. Patrick's Day in the Morning,' 'Rory
O'Moore,' and so on. Be sure that the expense is prepaid all the
way to the McCaffry door. Mike is specially interested in this
present and contributes more than both of us, for he gives his all,
the same being twenty-five cents, and to him we have assigned the
duty of explaining things to the good woman."

Alvin had his father well trained, and he cheerfully granted every request of his son. He smiled and remarked to his wife after reading the letter to her:

"Alvin has never caused us an hour of anxiety. He would not ask these things without good reason. I shall give orders when I go to the office that everything he wishes shall be done."

"That was rather nice on the part of Mr. Haynes to say what he did of you, Gideon."

"Yes, Franklin hasn't anything mean in his nature."

"Don't you think it a pity that while his boy and ours are so fond of each other their fathers are not on speaking terms?"

"Perhaps so, but there must always be two persons to a quarrel."

"And you are one of them in this case. I mean to call on Sophia this very day."

"Haynes flew up before he had time to understand all the facts in that little affair of ours. If he had waited he would have found that he had no cause for grievance."

"Suppose you call on him."

The banker shook his head.

"That is asking too much; it would be humiliating."

Now when a sensible wife makes up her mind that her husband shall do a certain thing, and when that husband wishes to do it, but allows a false pride to hold him back, you may make up your mind that the aforesaid thing will be done with no unnecessary delay.

So it was that Gideon Landon went to Franklin Haynes and they had not talked ten minutes when the cloud between them vanished. Friendship and full trust were restored and can never be broken again. It was another illustration of the good that often flows from small deeds and even smaller words.

(Mike Murphy's letter to Mrs. McCaffry.)

"MY DEAR AUNT MAGGIE:

"I'm thinking that about the time this luv letter raiches ye, an
insthrumint will do the same, which the name is peeanoler, or
something like that. I beg ye to accipt the thrifle as a prisent
from Captain Landon, Second Mate Haynes and First Mate mesilf. I
know Misther Noxon would crack his heels togither fur the chance of
j'ining wid us, but he forgot to lave his card and I suspict he's
sailed for Europe not to be back fur fifteen or twinty years, as
was the case wid me great uncle whin he sailed for Botny Bay.

"The peagnoluh--I'm thrying all ways of spelling the name of the
blamed thing so as to get the same right wunst any way--is played
wid the feet. You slide the sheet wid the holes punched into 'em
into the wrack over the keeze and then wurrk the feet up and down
like yer husband Tana used to do at home in the treadmill.

"Don't try to sing along wid the music for somebody might hear ye.
Me worry is that yer teeny Sinderilla feet won't be able to wurruk
the peddles, and if ye put on the shoes ye wore whin hanging out
the clothes, there wont be room in the house for the peanholler, so
ye might try the same widout yer shoes and stockings.

"Wid regards to Tam and much love to yersilf I am ever

"Yer devoted,
"Mike Murphy."

(Mrs. McCaffry's reply to the foregoing.)

"My darlint broth of a boy:

"It tuk me and Tam 2 nights and 3 days to understand the maaning of
the action of Jim Doogan the carter in drawing up his taam to our
risidence and tumbling out a big shiny box wid the remark that
there wasn't a cint to pay. Tam hadn't got home and Jim carried the
purty thing into the parler and leaned it aginst the flure. He had
obsarved something of the kind in his travels and he showed me how
to wurruk it wid me faat. Whin he slipped in one of the shaats of
paper, wid hundreds of little kriss-kross holes through it, sot
down on the stule and wobbled his butes, and 'Killarney' filled the
room, I let out a hoop, kicked off me satan slippers, danced a jig
and shouted, 'For the love of Mike!' which the same is thrue, that
being yer name.

"My number 10 shoes fit the peddlers as yer snub nose fits yer
freckled face. Tam and me spind the time whin we aint slaaping or
eating or working in playing the thing and thinking of yersilf and
the byes you spake of.

"Me darling Mike, may the birds wake ye aich morning wid their
swaat songs of praise and soothe ye to slaap in the avening; may
the sun shine fur ye ivery day through; may yer draams be of angels
and no man or woman spake anything but wurruds of love to ye; and
whin old age bows yer head and the time comes to lave us all, may
ye be welcomed to heaven wid the blessed graating: 'Well done, good
and faithful servant!'

"Do you and the other byes come soon and see what a happy home ye
have made for Tam and me.

"Lovingly,
"Aunt Maggie."

THE END