The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

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"Wall, you may be right and you may be wrong, Obadiah. But when a
man's dead I don't think it does you any good to roast him and pick
his bones. It's too much like those _cannibiles_ that crazy feller
told us about. Quincy Adams Sawyer was always a good friend to me,
and a better one to you, Strout, than you deserved, judgin' from the
way you've been talkin'. His money has been the makin' of both on us,
and while we do business together I hope we'll let Mr. Sawyer, as the
church folks say, rest in pieces."

CHAPTER XIX

BOYHOOD TO MANHOOD

Until he was fourteen years of age, young Quincy attended the public
schools in Fernborough and Cottonton. While in England he had had a
governess and later a tutor, so that when he reached America he was
much farther advanced than Fernborough boys of his own age. Methods
in the New England town were different, however, and his Uncle
Ezekiel was satisfied to have him keep pace with the others, and not
arouse antagonism by asking for any special promotion.

Ezekiel's son Quincy had decided to become a farmer, following in his
father's footsteps. But scientific farming was supplanting old
methods, and he had taken the course at the Agricultural College and
received his diploma.

Young Quincy wished a college education. To obtain admission it was
necessary for him to attend a preparatory school, and, relying upon
Mr. Gay's description of its advantages, Andover was selected.

While at the Cottonton High School, Quincy's chum had been a boy two
years older than himself, named Thomas Chripp. He was the son of a
weaver at Cottonton. Like Quincy, he had been born in England, but
his father had been drawn to America by the lure of higher wages,
nothing having been said to him, however, about the increased cost of
living.

Thomas's father would not let him become a back-boy in the mill.

"I've breathed cotton all my life," said Mr. Chripp to Ezekiel, "and
I think too much of my only boy to condemn him to a life in a hot
room, where the only music is the whizzing shuttles. No, my boy Tom
shall breathe God's fresh air and become a big, strong man instead of
a wizened-up little fellow like me. Why, would you believe it, Mr.
Pettingill, I began work in a cotton mill when I was eight years old,
and I've lived in one ever since--forty years! Sundays when I walk
out in the fields I can't get the din out of my ears, and I told
Susan, my old wife, the other day, that if I died before she did to
have the lid screwed down extra tight so I could be sure of a little
quiet."

"My nephew," said 'Zekiel, "thinks a lot of your boy and wants him to
go to college with him."

"But I haven't got the money to pay his way," said Mr. Chripp.

"My nephew has plenty of money, and if he's willing to help your boy
along in the world there's nobody to object that I know of."

So it was arranged that Tom Chripp should go to the preparatory
school and college with Quincy, the latter to pay the expenses of
both. "'Twas a lucky day for Tom that sent that Sawyer boy to school
in Cottonton," said Mr. Chripp to his wife.

"It'll be the making of Tom," he added, and the happy mother thought
so too.

When Mr. Strout heard of it, he remarked to his partner Mr. Maxwell,

"More of the arrogance of wealth. If I was a young man like Tom
Chripp I'd make my own way in the world."

Hiram swallowed some smoke, coughed, and then replied: "Probably he
will, when he gits his eddikation. Money makes the mare go now as it
always has, Obadiah, an' you an' me can't stop it."

"Like father, like son, I guess, Hiram. His father used to enjoy
throwing his money away an' the son's goin' to sail in the same boat.
I shouldn't be surprised if he came back to town some day and licked
somebody jest to be like his father."

"I shouldn't nuther," said Hiram as he began putting up an order for
the Hawkins House.

While Quincy was attending the public schools, Mrs. Nathaniel Sawyer
made two visits each year to Fernborough to learn of her grandson's
progress. Thanksgiving he passed at his Uncle 'Zekiel's where he had
eagerly watched the growth of the turkey that was destined to grace
the festal board on that day. At Christmas he went to Boston and
returned laden with gifts, many of which were immediately donated to
his cousins and Mandy Maxwell's children.

Mr. Strout's ire was kindled when Hiram described the presents his
children had received from Quincy.

"Thank the Lord I've got money enough to buy my children's presents
myself without dependin' on second-hand things that other folks don't
want."

"So've I," said Hiram, "but what I save that way I puts in the bank,
for I'm bound to own the old Pettingill Place some day."

"Oh, spend your money, Hiram. Your rich friends will give you the
house some day." He was so pleased with the subtle humour of his last
remark that he tossed a scoop half full of coffee into the sugar
barrel, much to Hiram's amusement.

During Quincy's first year at Andover he was twice called from his
studies. The Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer after his return home from a
bank directors' banquet was taken with an attack of acute
indigestion. He was in great pain. One of the most prominent
physicians in the city was summoned. He gave a strong hypodermic
injection of morphine to stop the pain, but did nothing to remove the
cause. The pain itself was stopped by the anodyne, but the cause of
the pain--the indigestion--stopped the beating of Mr. Sawyer's heart
within an hour.

By his will, $250,000 were left to his daughter Florence, and
$100,000 to his daughter Maude. To compensate for the $150,000
difference in the bequests, the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer's interest in
the firm of Sawyer, Crowninshield, and Lawrence was conveyed to Mr.
Harry Merry, provided that one-third of his share from the income of
the law-business was paid to the trustees of the estate of his
grandson Quincy Adams Sawyer. The remainder of his property, both
real and personal, was left to his wife, Sarah Quincy Sawyer.

Quincy's grandmother did not live long to enjoy her fortune. Maude
wished her to sell the Beacon Street house and come to Mount Vernon
Street. Her mother wished her to come to Beacon Street. While the
_pros_ and _cons_ were being considered, the old lady died of
absolute inanition. She had been dominated so long by a superior will
power, she had been so dependent upon her late husband in every event
of her life, that without him she was a helpless creature, and so
willing to drop her burden, that she did not cling to life but gave
up without the semblance of a struggle. Her last will and testament
was very short, containing but one clause, which gave all her
property to her grandson Quincy Adams Sawyer. When Aunt Ella heard of
her sister's death, she said to Alice:

"They were not two distinct beings, Nathaniel was one and a half, and
Sarah only a half."

"That boy will sure go to the devil now," was Mr. Strout's comment.

"I don't think so," said Hiram. "He's too much like his father."

"How do you know where his father has gone?" snapped Mr. Strout, who
did not believe, evidently, that good works were a sure passport to
future bliss.

Quincy's vacation after his first year at Andover was passed at
Fernborough. He was warmly welcomed and congratulated upon the great
fortune that had fallen to him.

"He's got a big head, sure enough," said Mr. Strout, "but I think
he's a little weak in the legs. He won't disgust the community by
fightin' as his father did."

"I wish he'd thrash Bob Wood's son--he's too impudent to live," said
Mrs. Amanda Maxwell, to whom Mr. Strout had addressed his remark.

"No danger o' that," and Mr. Strout laughed gleefully. "Young Bob's
as good with his fists as his father was."

"He didn't amount to much when Mr. Sawyer tackled him," and with a
scornful laugh Mrs. Maxwell flounced out of the store.

"Your wife's as bad as the rest on 'em, Hiram."

"Yes, Obadiah; it seems to be whoopedemic, as the doctors say."

Quincy's second and third years at Andover passed quickly and again
vacation time had come.

"Let's go to Fernborough as usual," said Quincy, and Tom, without
argument, seconded the motion. This time, Tom was Quincy's guest.
They were young men now. Quincy was seventeen and Tom nineteen, but
the fields were as green, the fruit as sweet, the vegetables as crisp
and fresh, and their friends as glad to see them as when they were
children.

A year had brought some changes. Mrs. Maxwell mourned the loss of her
son Obadiah, who had been gored by an angry bull and found dead in
the West pasture. For a wonder, Mr. Strout showed some sympathy,
perhaps because the little boy was his namesake.

The Rev. Caleb Howe had passed away. In his place the church had
called the Rev. Hudson Quarles, a bachelor of forty, whose hobby was
fancy fowls. He joined the Grange and talked on "Poultry Raising" and
"A Small Fortune in Squabs." His hens were the heaviest for their age
in the community, and to prove it he was always willing to "weigh up"
at the grocery store.

Mr. Strout called him a crank and played a joke on him that led to a
division in the church and came near costing Mr. Strout his position
as organist.

There were two scales on the long grocery counter. Mr. Strout
tampered with one of them by affixing two pounds of lead to it which
he covered with gold paint to hide the deception.

Bob Wood's hen was weighed in the fraudulent scales and beat Mr.
Quarles' by a half pound, the clergyman's being really a pound and a
half the heavier. The plot would have been a success but for the
keen-eyed Quincy who examined the scales and discovered the
imposition.

Mr. Strout declared it was all a joke and that he was going to own up
when he got ready to do so. This explanation was accepted by some and
scoffed at by others. Naturally, Mr. Strout looked upon Quincy as a
meddler.

"By Godfrey!" he exclaimed to Hiram, "either that Sawyer boy or me
has got to leave town." "When are yer goin'?" asked Hiram, quietly,
but he got no reply.

Miss Dixie Schaffer retired from the stage and settled down. Her
mother-in-law, being an invalid confined to her room, prevented any
interference in her household affairs, and she was free from
suggestions as to what she should give, and what she shouldn't give
her son, who had been named Hugh after her own father.

Many new people had moved into the town. Among the newcomers was a
former detective on the Boston police force named Horace Dana.
Through an injury received in making an important arrest, he had
become a cripple, able to get around only slowly and with crutches.
He was a widower with one daughter, about fifteen years of age, named
Mary.

The young lady was as old in appearance as many girls of eighteen,
and her looks so belied her age, that the village beaux paid court to
her at once. Her most persistent suitor was young Bob Wood who had
just reached his majority.

As she was walking one day in the Center Road, far from any dwelling,
she met Bob. He improved the opportunity by asking her to be his
wife.

"Why, Mr. Wood, I'm too young to marry."

"But I'm just old enough," said Bob, "and you suit me exactly."

"Mr. Wood, I'm going to tell you the truth. I'm not yet fifteen years
old. Father says I can't have a beau till I'm eighteen, and I'm sure
I don't want one."

Bob had learned much street slang during his visits to Cottonton, and
considered its acquisition a benefit and its use an accomplishment.

"You've said it. Now sneeze it, and dust your brain."

Mary regarded him with astonishment. "I don't understand such
language, Mr. Wood. What do you mean? I haven't a cold in my head."

Bob laughed insolently.

"No, but you've got a cold heart. What I meant by my French was that
you're bluffing. If you ain't eighteen, I'm a primary school boy."

"Then you don't believe me!" Mary's blue eyes opened to their fullest
extent.

Bob thought those blue eyes and light brown hair, golden in the
sunlight, those rosy cheeks, and pretty mouth made a most attractive
picture, and, in his rough way, he really loved her.

"I'm going home," said Mary, "and I shall tell my father you said I
lied to you."

"No, you don't," cried Bob, and he grasped her arm so tightly that
she winced. "You don't go until you promise me not to say anything to
your father."

"I won't promise!" Hot tears filled her eyes.

"Then you don't go," and Bob tightened his grip.

The next moment a hand clutched his coat collar and he was thrown
violently on his back.

Bob, who was agile, was quickly on his feet again and faced his
assailant. "Oh, that's you, Sawyer, is it? Why do you interfere with
what's none of your business?"

"I think it is," said Quincy, calmly. "My, friend and I--" He turned,
and at that moment Tom emerged from behind a clump of bushes at the
roadside.

"My friend and I," Quincy repeated, "were behind those bushes and
overheard your insulting language to this young lady and your brutal
treatment of her."

"Hiding to see what you could hear," said Bob, sneeringly.

"Not at all. We came 'cross lots and were just stepping into the road
when we espied you, and retreated, awaiting your departure."

"Very prettily said, Master Sawyer, but I don't believe a word of
it."

"You called this young lady a liar and she was powerless to resent
it, but I'm not. Tom, hold my coat."

"Oh, please don't fight," pleaded Mary. "I'll never speak to him
again."

"Say, Quincy," exclaimed Tom, "he's too heavily built for you. Let me
tackle him."

"Two to one! I s'pose that's what you city snobs call fair play."

Bob removed his coat and threw it on the ground. "If you'll come one
at a time, I'll lick you both."

Quincy addressed Mary. "Don't be distressed. You may pardon his
offence to you if you choose, but I'm going to settle my personal
account with him. He doubted my word. I'm going to make him believe
what I said, and by that time he'll be ready to apologize to you."

Bob squared off, but Quincy did not raise his hands.

"Are you 'fraid? Don't you know how to put up your dukes?"

"I'm not a boxer," said Quincy, "if that's what you mean. I'll look
out for myself, rough and tumble."

Bob rushed forward and aimed a blow at Quincy's face. It fell short,
for Quincy retreated; then, springing forward, he gave Bob a violent
kick on his left knee. As his opponent threw his right leg over to
keep his balance he was obliged to lean forward; Quincy caught him by
the collar and Bob went sprawling upon the ground. He leaped to his
feet, red with rage.

"Why don't you fight fair?" he bellowed.

"You fight your way and I'll fight mine," was Quincy's reply.

"All right," cried Bob, "I'll try your way."

He sprang upon Quincy and grabbed him by the collar with both hands
and pulled him forward. This just suited Quincy, for, catching Bob
around the legs, he lifted him high in the air and threw him
backwards over his head. Bob's face was cut and bleeding, when he
arose.

"Time's up," cried Tom. "Three straight falls settle it."

"The first one don't count," growled Bob. "He sneaked in on me and I
had no show."

"He's right, Tom," said Quincy. "We'll have one more after this if he
wants it."

This time Bob profited by having observed his antagonist's tactics.
He caught Quincy around the body and tried to crush him with his
brawny, muscular arms.

Tom gave a cry of alarm and came close to the wrestlers.

"Keep back, Tom," cried Quincy. As he spoke he fell backwards,
carrying Bob with him, who gave a yell of exultation as Quincy's
shoulders struck the ground. His hold was relaxed while falling.
Quincy doubled his legs up, put both feet against Bob's stomach, gave
him a violent kick, and Bob was once more upon his back.

"'Twarn't fair," he yelled. "I had him down first."

"We weren't playing for points," said Quincy, "and everything's fair
in rough and tumble. If you want some more, I'm ready."

Bob stood sullenly, but made no move forward.

"Now, let's talk it over," said Tom. "Do you think this young lady or
my friend lied to you? Before you answer, just remember this is my
fight now, and unless you take back the lie and apologize for what
you said and did to this young lady, I'll thrash you so they'll have
to send a wagon to carry you home."

Bob did not speak.

"Quincy," said Tom, "you go along with the young lady, and I'll
settle my account after you're gone. You look a little white around
the gills. You had no right to fight a heavy-weight like him."

"I wish to thank you both," said Mary, "but I'm a stranger in this
town--I have lived here only a few months, and--I don't know your
names."

She blushed prettily and the lids modestly covered the blue eyes. The
three had moved along the road a short distance while she was
speaking.

"My name is Quincy Adams Sawyer, and this is my friend and classmate
at Andover, Thomas Chripp."

The lids were lifted but the blush deepened. "My name is Mary Dana. I
live with my father on Pettingill Street."

"Why," cried Quincy, "Ezekiel Pettingill is my uncle--I live with
him. I'm going home your way, and, with your permission, I will
escort you to your father's house."

"All right, Quincy--you go ahead," said Tom. "But you must excuse me.
I've kept Mr. Wood waiting."

They were around a bend in the road by this time. When Tom returned
to the scene of the encounter, Mr. Wood was not in sight. Mr. Chripp
laughed, and paraphrased an old couplet.

"He who fights, then runs away,
Will have to fight some other day."

Quincy walked beside Mary, but said little. He would not acknowledge
it, but the exertion had been too much for him. His knees felt weak,
his sight grew dim, and, before Mary was aware of his condition, he
sank upon the grass by the roadside.

She knelt beside him, took off his straw hat and fanned him. Then she
lifted his head upon her knee and fanned more vigorously. Her big
blue eyes were gazing at him when he opened his and looked up into
her face. Again, a rosy flush came to her cheeks.

"I'm better now," said he. "I'm not very strong, but I can walk now."

He got up with a show of vigour that did not deceive Mary.

"You rest here, and I'll send your uncle for you with a carriage."

"By no means, Miss Mary, It was only a momentary feeling. Throwing
him over my head is what did it."

"I'm so sorry you met Mr. Wood and me."

"Well, I'm not, Miss Mary. Uncle 'Zeke told me that Bob Wood's father
used to be the town bully, and that my father, when they were both
young, gave him a good thrashing. I've watched Bob--we were in school
together, and he was always impudent and overbearing to me when I was
a little fellow. I've felt that some day we'd have it out together.
I'm glad it's over, and that I had the good fortune to serve you at
the same time."

Mr. Dana thanked Quincy for his defence of his daughter from further
insult and perhaps injury.

"I've been in a good many scraps myself, Mr. Sawyer. For seventeen
years I was a member of the detective squad in Boston. I resigned
because of injuries received in a fight with some bank robbers," and
he pointed to the crutches beside his chair, "and although they
wanted me to stay at police headquarters I wouldn't hang onto a job I
couldn't do to my own satisfaction."

"I hope your daughter will have no further trouble with Mr. Wood."

"No danger, Mr. Sawyer. She is going to boarding school very soon to
finish her education. Why, Mary, we have been very remiss. Can you
not offer Mr. Sawyer some refreshment?"

Mary smiled and ran from the room.

"You'll be lonely without her," remarked Quincy.

"Yes, certainly, but I shall not be alone. It's a secret as yet, but
the fact is I'm going to marry a young lady who lives in Westvale,
part of Eastborough, you know, and I don't wish to force Mary to live
with a step-mother. I think they would agree all right, but my plan
will prevent any possible unpleasantness. I love them both too well
to make them, and myself, unhappy."

Some dainty cakes, fruit, and cold well water were served in the
dining room. Quincy ate slowly, but his thoughts were not about the
food. He had shown little interest in the Fernborough girls with the
exception of those in the families of his relatives and closest
friends. But he was nearing the susceptible age, when, to a pure-
minded boy, a girl playmate, by some mysterious transformation,
becomes an object of admiration, and even veneration. That delicious
mystery that surrounds young womanhood was attracting him. Mary was
the cause of his newly-awakened interest, and soon a strong
friendship sprang up between the two.

When Hiram heard that Quincy had got the best of young Bob Wood he
ran back to the store and told his partner.

"Say, Strout, you can run the store for an hour or so. I must tell
Mandy. She'll be 'mos' tickled to death."

Mr. Strout's disgust was shown in both voice and manner when Abner
Stiles came in.

"Say, Abner, is it true that Sawyer boy licked Bob?"

"I should say so," said Abner. "He must have got an all-fired
trouncing, for his face looks like a raw beefsteak, an' one of the
fellers said he'd been spittin' blood."

"Them Sawyers is brutes," was Mr. Strout's comment. "I hope to the
Lord that he is the last one of that brood to come to this town.
Their money's the best part of 'em, but it ain't any better, when you
come to that, than other folkses."

CHAPTER XX

MARY DANA

Quincy and Tom spent one more year at Andover. When they parted from
the old school it was with feelings of deep regret.

"I could be happy here for ten years more," said Quincy.

"So could I," replied Tom. "But, after all, this is only a narrow
path in the world of knowledge. Harvard is but a street and when we
get out into the world I suppose we shall find a boulevard."

"I'm going to look down upon the world before I investigate its
thoroughfares," remarked Quincy.

"What do you mean?"

"I shall visit Fernborough for only a short time this summer, a few
days in which to see the folks, and then I shall go to the White
Mountains. I'm going to stand on the top of Mount Washington, and
look down on the busy hives of men."

Tom knew Quincy had received a letter from Mary, saying that she and
her aunt intended spending the summer at Fabyans, and he felt that
Quincy, being near Mary, would probably be on a higher pinnacle than
any mountain could supply, and the "eternal hills" would become
objects of secondary importance. But, Tom wisely refrained from
mentioning these thoughts, for lovers do not seek confidants unless
help is needed.

Quincy found Fernborough but little changed, During the fourteen
years that he had been a resident of, or a visitor to, the town there
had been but little to disturb its serenity. Goldsmith's "Deserted
Village" could not have had a better record for unbroken placidity.
The wrestling match between young Quincy and Bob Wood had been an
incentive to some animated conversations at meal times and at the
grocery, but the "locals" in the _Fernborough Gazette_ had never
risen above the usual level of,

Hal Prentiss has bought a Jersey cow,

Strout and Maxwell have a new wagon,

William Jones has painted his fence green,

Sol. Peters cut twenty tons of hay from his lot on the Center Road,

Mrs. Jerusha May is visiting her daughter Hannah at Westvale,

And more of the same kind, interesting to a rural community but
considered inconsequential by those conversant with more exciting
intelligence.

But Fernborough was destined to have its share of important events,
which incidentally interfered with the well laid plans of both Quincy
and Mary for the vacation in the mountains.

For the first time in the town's history newsboys went through its
streets, calling out "All about the Murder at Cottonton," and
offering for sale copies of the _Cottonton Journal_. The boys held up
the papers so the headlines in large type could be seen. The word
"Fernborough" caught the eyes of those attracted by the word "Murder"
and the copies were soon disposed of, obliging many intending
purchasers to share the news with those who had been fortunate enough
to obtain copies.

Quincy was in Mason Square when the newsboys arrived and he purchased
a paper. He glanced at the headlines and saw a name that caused him
to utter an exclamation of astonishment. He did not stop to discuss
the matter with any of the large crowd that had been collected, but
whipping up his horse soon reached Mary's home. Leaving the animal
standing in the yard he burst into the sitting room crying loudly,
"Mary! Mary!"

"Why, what is the matter, Quincy--are you hurt?"

"No, but something has happened in Cottonton and they sent newsboys
over here with the papers."

"Somebody living in Fernborough must be mixed up in the affair," said
Mr. Dana, who was sitting in his rocking chair near the window.

"I should say there was, decidedly so. Sit down, and I'll read what
it says."

"THE MURDER AT COTTONTON

"A YOUNG MAN NAMED ROBERT WOOD, A NATIVE OF FERNBOROUGH, ARRESTED AS
THE CRIMINAL AND LOCKED UP WITHOUT BAIL. ANOTHER CANDIDATE FOR THE
ELECTRIC CHAIR!"

"Bob Wood, he was the one who insulted you, wasn't he?"

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