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

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Aunt Ella lingered for a week, then passed quietly away while asleep.
She was laid beside Sir Stuart in the family vault, and the name
Fernborough lived only as that of a little country town in New
England.

At the funeral Quincy met his sister Florence who looked upon him as
one raised from the dead.

"I did not forget you, Quincy, for my first-born bears your name."

Linda, Countess of Sussex, came with her husband the Earl, and her
daughter, the Lady Alice Hastings, a tall, statuesque blonde, in her
twenty-eighth year.

"I've something wonderful to tell you," said the Countess to Quincy
and his wife. "My daughter is soon to be married, but not to one of
our set. Her choice has fallen upon Mr. John Langdon, an American.
He's very wealthy, and is coming to England to live. Isn't that
romantic--so out of the usual."

"America loses every time," said Quincy. "First our girls and their
father's money, and now our men and their money. In time, England
will form part of the great American nation."

"You mean," said the Countess, "the great English-speaking nation,"
and Quincy bowed in acceptance of the amendment.

The probating of the will, making arrangement for the sale of
Fernborough Hall, and providing for the payment of the proceeds and
annual income to Quincy Jr. caused a long delay, for English law
moves but little faster than it did when Jarndyce brought suit
against Jarndyce.

Quincy Jr. and Tom were thrown on their own resources during the long
wait. London was their resort, and, to them, Scotland Yard and its
detectives, the most interesting part of the city.

When the party finally embarked, by a coincidence, it was on the
_Gallia_ which had brought young Quincy and his companion to England
seven months before.

No storms or heavy fogs were met upon the way, and the party was
landed safely in New York.

CHAPTER XXVII

O. STROUT. FINE GROCERIES

During the summer that the foregoing events were happening in Europe,
Mr. Hiram Maxwell, in the little New England town of Fernborough had
a serious accident happen to himself the effects of which were far
reaching, and finally affected many people.

In unloading a barrel of sugar from a wagon, it slipped from the skid
and fell upon his leg causing a compound fracture. He was taken home,
but when the doctor was called he advised his immediate removal to
the Isaac Pettingill Free Hospital for he was afraid an amputation
would be necessary. Unfortunately, his fears proved to be true, and
Hiram's right leg was amputated just below the knee.

"That Hiram's an unlucky cuss," said Mr. Strout to his hearers one
evening at the grocery. "But think of me. This is our busy season and
with everything piled onto me I'm just about tuckered out. What help
will he be stumbling around on crutches?"

"Can't he have a wooden leg?" asked Abner Stiles.

"Yes, of course he can. An' if you lost your head and got a wooden
one in its place you'd be just as well off as you are now."

This remark caused a laugh at Abner which he took good-naturedly.
When Mr. Strout was out of sorts he always vented his spleen on
somebody.

"Well," said Benoni Hill, "I'm awful sorry for Hiram with a wife and
children to support. Of course his pay will go right on, bein' as
he's a partner."

"I don't know about that," said Strout. "That's for the trustees to
decide, and I've got to decide whether I'll do two men's work for one
man's pay."

"He would for you," Abner blurted out.

"If you think so much of him, why don't you come in and do his work
for him?" said Strout.

"When you were going to buy this store, and Mr. Sawyer got ahead of
yer, yer promised me a job here as pay for some special nosin' round
I'd done fer yer--but when yer got in the saddle you forgot the
feller who'd boosted yer up. When a man breaks his word to me onct he
don't do it a second time. That's why," and Abner went out and
slammed the door after him.

Mr. Strout was angry, and when in that state of mind he was often
lacking in prudence in speech.

"That comes of turning a place of business into a resort for loafers.
If I owned this store outright there'd be a big sign up somewhere--
'When you've transacted your business, think of Home Sweet Home.'"

"I reckon that's a hint," said Benoni Hill, as he arose and put on
his hat. "You won't be troubled with me or my trade in futur'. There
are stores in Cottonton jus' as good as this, and the proprietors are
gentlemen."

He left the store, and one by one the "loafers" followed him as no
one had the courage to break the silence that fell upon the company
after old Mr. Hill's departure.

Mr. Strout, left alone to close up the store, was more angry than
ever.

"What cussed fools. I was hitting back at Abner and they thought the
coat fit and put it on. They'll come round again. They won't enjoy
tramping over to Cottonton for kerosene and molasses."

The store was lighted by kerosene lamps resting on brackets. It was
Mr. Strout's custom to take them down, blow them out, and replace
them on the brackets. One was always left burning, as Mr. Strout said
"so burglars could see their way round."

Mr. Strout's anger rose higher and higher and there was no one
present upon whom he could expend it. He grasped one of the lamps,
but his hold on the glass handle was insecure and it fell to the
floor, the lamp breaking, while the burning oil was thrown in every
direction. He wished then that some of the "loafers" were present to
help him put the fire out. There was no water nearer than the pump in
the back yard. He grabbed a pail and started to get some water. He
forgot the back-steps and fell headlong. For some minutes he was so
dazed that he could do nothing. The glare of the fire lighted up the
yard, or he would have had difficulty in filling the pail. When he
returned, he saw that the fire was beyond his control. He could not
go through the store, so he climbed the back yard fence and made his
way to the front of the store crying "Fire" at the top of his voice.

It seemed an age to him, before anyone responded. He felt then the
need of friends, neighbours--even "loafers" would have been
acceptable.

A bucket brigade formed, but their efforts were unavailing. As the
other lamps were exploded by the heat new inflammable material was
thrown about. In a quarter of an hour the whole interior was in
flames, and in an hour only a grim, black skeleton, lighted up by
occasional flashes of flame, remained of Strout and Maxwell's grocery
store.

Next morning comment was rife. Mr. Strout had told how the fire was
caused but there were unbelievers.

"I think the cuss set it on fire himself," said Abner Stiles to his
employer, Mr. Ezekiel Pettingill.

"Be careful, Abner," was the caution given him. "It don't do to
accuse a man of anything 'less you have proof, an' your thinkin' so
ain't proof." Mr. Strout went to Boston to see the trustees. The
insurance was adjusted and Mr. Strout was authorized to proceed with
the re-building at once. During the interim orders were filled from
the Montrose store. Fortunately, the stable and wagon shed were some
distance from the store, and had not been in danger.

The new store was larger than the old one, and many improvements, in
Mr. Strout's opinion, were incorporated in the new structure. He
ordered the new sign. When it was put up, the whole town, including
the "loafers" were present. "I s'pose he fixed it with the trustees"
said Benoni Hill to Abner Stiles.

"Danged if I think so," was the reply. "He's allers been meaner'n
dirt to Hiram, an' has allers wanted to git him out. Burnin' up the
store giv' him his chance."

"You mean the store burnin' up," corrected Benoni.

"I dunno. The Bible says God works in a mysterious way his wonders to
perform, an' so do some individooals."

One noon after dinner, Mr. Strout said to his wife. "Bessie, put on
your things an' come down to the new store. I want to show you
somethin'."

"And leave the dishes?"

"You can bring 'em with you if you want to," her husband replied.

When they reached the store, upon which the painters were at work, he
pointed to the new sign.

"See that? Read it out loud."

Mrs. Strout complied:

"O. STROUT. FINE GROCERIES."

"What did I tell yer?" was his only comment.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HOME COMING

Quincy desired to have his return to America unheralded by items in
the newspapers of stories of his wonderful rescue, captivity, and
final recovery of his reason, so when he booked for passage on the
_Gallia_ he gave the name of Mr. S. Adams, wife and son.

During the homeward voyage the father and son had an opportunity to
become acquainted. The father told the story of his life at Mason's
Corner; first going back to his college days. He told his son how he
had opposed his father's wish that he would become a lawyer and
sustain the reputation of the old firm of Sawyer, Crowninshield, and
Lawrence; about his health breaking down and his visit to Mason's
Corner; about the blind girl whom he had made his wife, and how he
had secured medical assistance and her sight had been restored. Once
again he lived over his life in the country town, and told about his
friends and foes--Obadiah Strout and Bob Wood--who were enemies no
longer, and honest, good-hearted 'Zeke Pettingill, and his sweet
wife, little Huldah Mason. And Hiram who stammered so and Mandy who
didn't. Nearly all the people mentioned in their long talks were well
known to young Quincy and after his father had finished his
reminiscences the young man supplied the sequel.

"What do you think of Mr. Strout?" asked the father.

"Think? I know he's a dishonest man. You say that you parted friends.
He is no friend of yours or mine."

Then he told of his encounter with young Bob Wood.

"I had some trouble with his father many years ago," said Quincy.
"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing to me. He insulted a young lady, and I took her part. Tom
was going to help me but I arranged to handle him, in a very
unscientific way though."

"It was a rough and tumble of the worst sort," interjected Tom. "I
was afraid they'd bite each other before they got through."

"Quincy," said his father, "you must take boxing lessons. When
occasion requires, it is the gentleman's weapon."

The mention of Mary Dana naturally led to a rehearsal of the Wood
case, and all Mary had done in helping Quincy at the beginning of the
search for his father.

"I think I see which way the wind blows," laughed his father, while
Quincy blushed to the roots of his hair, "and I want to meet the
young lady who did so much to bring us all together again."

Alice was proud of her son. He resembled her, having light hair and
blue eyes; a decided contrast to his father whose skin had been
darkened by Italian suns, who had dark eyes, dark hair frosted at the
ends, and a heavy beard, cut in Van Dyke fashion. Few, if any, would
have recognized in him the young man who more than twenty-three years
before had taken passage on the _Altonia_, looking forward to a
pleasant trip and an early return to his native land.

Alice explained to her son her apparent lack of affection for him in
allowing him to be separated from her so long.

"I knew you were with your relatives and good friends, Quincy. In my
nervous, depressed state I was poor company for a young, healthy boy.
Then, I had such a fear of the ocean I dared not go to you and was
afraid to have you come to me. Can you forgive me?"

"My darling mother," said young Quincy, "what you did turned out for
the best. I have been educated as an American and that fully atones
for my apparent neglect. Your beautiful letters kept you always in my
mind, and I used to take great pleasure in telling my schoolmates
what a pretty mother I had."

Alice, despite her years, blushed.

"Quincy, you are like your father in praising those you love."

Tom gave Quincy's father graphic descriptions of the changes in
Fernborough and fully endorsed his friend's opinion of Mr. Strout.

"He's a snake in the grass," said Tom. "He'd pat you on the back with
one hand and cut your throat, figuratively speaking, with the other."

"Do you think he'd recognize me?" asked Quincy.

"I think not," said Tom. "His perceptive powers are not strong. He's
sub-acute rather than 'cute."

Quincy and Alice sat for hours looking out upon the wide expanse of
ocean, and at the blue sky above them. It did not seem possible that
so many years had passed since they were together. Memory is a great
friend. It bridged the great gap in their lives. They were lovers as
of yore, and would be always. They did not hesitate to talk of the
cruel past--not sadly, for were they not in the happy present?

Said Alice one morning, "While you were gone I was in a terribly
nervous condition. Aunt Ella said that I must have something to
employ my mind--and I wrote, or tried to write. I couldn't keep my
mind on one thing long enough to write a story, but I have collected
the material for one, and now that I am happy once more, when we have
settled down, I am going to write it."

"What's the title, or, rather, the subject?" her husband inquired.

"Oh, it opens with a ship-wreck--not a collision but a fire was the
cause. Among the passengers are many children--of high and low
degree--and they get mixed up--fall into wrong persons' hands,--
fathers and mothers are lost and cannot claim them, and their future
lives have supplied me with the strongest and most intricate and
exciting plot that I have ever constructed."

"Which is the 'star' child?"

"He is the son of a Russian Grand Duke--the offspring of a morganatic
marriage--his mother is driven from the country by order of the Czar.
The title is _The Son of Sergius_."

They did not remain in New York but took the first train for Boston.
They were driven to the Mount Vernon Street house.

"I knew you were coming," cried Maude, as she ran eagerly down the
steps to meet them.

"Who has turned traitor? I pledged them all to secrecy," cried
Quincy.

"Harry told me, and I had a cablegram from Florence."

"Did she use my name? If so, we are undone and the reporters will
swarm like bees."

"You are safe," said Maude. "The message read: Brother found. Keep
quiet."

Tom was prevailed upon to remain in Boston until Quincy could go to
Fernborough. At supper they were introduced to Maude's family.

"Six of them," said Quincy. "I am uncle to a numerous extent. Maude,
what are all their names--the girls first."

"This is Sarah, named after mother; Ella for Aunt Ella, and little
Maude for her mother."

"Good! Now the boys."

"Stuart--the old gentleman was so nice to Harry and me when we were
on our wedding tour--Nat for father, and Harry--"

"Thank Heaven--no Quincy. That name was becoming contagious. I am
glad, Maude, that you were wise and kept the epidemic out of your
family."

That evening Quincy and Mr. Merry talked about business matters.
Harry told of Hiram's accident and the destruction of the store by
fire.

"There's something funny about it," said Harry. "We authorized Mr.
Strout to rebuild and restock at once, and we hear that he has done
so, but he has not called on us for a dollar, nor has he sent up any
bills for payment."

"I wish you would send a telegram to Mr. Ezekiel Pettingill the first
thing to-morrow morning asking him to come to the city--say important
business."

About three o'clock Ezekiel arrived at the office of Sawyer,
Crowninshield, Lawrence and Merry. He was shown into what had been
the late Hon. Nathaniel's private office, and came face to face with
Quincy.

"I'm heartily glad to see you again," he exclaimed as he wrung
Quincy's helpless hand after the first surprise of the meeting.
"Huldy'll be delighted too. You must come down and tell us all about
it. Just to think--more'n twenty years--but you're looking well."

Quincy assured him that his health was never better.

"What I wanted to see you about are affairs in Fernborough. What is
Strout up to?"

"You've used just the right word. He's up to something. He's got up a
sign--O. Strout, Fine Groceries--an' says Hiram's out of the firm,
and that he owns the whole business."

Quincy smiled. "So, I've got to fight it out with him again, have I?
Well it will be the final conflict. To use Mr. Strout's words, one or
the other of us will have to leave town. You aren't going back to-
night?"

"Oh, I must."

"Well, come up to the house first and see Alice and the boy. Well go
down to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE FINAL CONFLICT

When Tom Chripp showed his father the photograph of the house in
which he was born, he burst into tears.

"Just as pretty as ever," he exclaimed. "The roof's been mended,
beent it, and just the same flowers all around it as when I was a
boy. Tom, I'm glad to see you back safe and sound--but that picter--
Tom, when I die, you just put that picter in the coffin with me,
won't you? I want your grandfather to see that the old place was
looked after when he was gone."

Tom promised.

A dark featured, dark haired man entered Mr. Strout's store. The
proprietor knew he was a stranger--perhaps just moved into town, and
a prospective customer.

"What can I do for you?" he inquired blandly, for he was capable of
being affable.

"I am looking for Mr. Hiram Maxwell."

"He ain't here no more."

"But he's your partner, isn't he?"

"Didn't you read my sign? There ain't no partner on it."

"There ought to be."

Mr. Strout looked at the stranger with astonishment. Then he laughed,
and, with a remembrance of Mr. Richard Ricker, asked sneeringly:

"What asylum did you come from?"

"I beg your pardon," said the stranger. "I used to know Mr. Maxwell,
and they told me in the city that he was a member of the firm of
Strout and Maxwell."

"Who told ye?"

"The trustees of the estate of Mr. Sawyer. Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer.
Did you know him?"

"I never knew any good of him. So they told yer, did they? That shows
how much attention they give to business. The old store was burned up
and that busted the firm. This store's mine from cellar to chimney."

"The old firm must have paid you well."

"Pretty well--but I made my money in State Street, speculating and
I'm well fixed."

"I'm glad to hear that you've prospered. I wish my friend Maxwell had
been as fortunate. What became of his interest and Mr. Sawyer's in
the store?"

"Went up in smoke, didn't I tell yer?"

"I beg your pardon," said the stranger again. "But doesn't your store
stand on land belonging to the old firm?"

Strout squinted at the stranger. "I guess you're a lawyer lookin' for
points, but you're on the wrong track. You won't get 'em."

"I'm not a lawyer, Mr. Strout. I only inquired thinking my friend Mr.
Maxwell might--"

"Well, he won't," said Strout. "Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer cheated me
out of one store but he can't drive me out of this. He thought he was
awful smart, but when he bought the store he didn't buy the land. It
belonged to the town. I'm one of the selectmen, and one of the
assessors found it out and told me, and I bought it--an' this store
an' way up to the sky, and the land way down to China belongs to O.
Strout."

"I am much obliged, Mr. Strout, for your courtesy--only one more
question and then I'll try and find my friend Mr. Maxwell--if
somebody will be kind enough to tell me where he is."

"You didn't ask where he was. If you want to know he's up to the
Hospital. He's had his leg off, an'll have to walk on crutches."

"So bad as that,--I'm _very_ sorry," said the stranger.

"I've got to put up some orders--see that sign?" and he pointed to
one which read:

"When You've transacted your Business, Think of Home, Sweet Home."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Strout, for taking so much of your valuable
time. Do you know whether Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer is in town?"

Strout laughed scornfully. "In town? That's good. Why, man, he's been
dead more'n twenty years--food for fishes, if they'd eat him, which I
doubt. He's left a boy, same name, that used to go to school here,
but, thank Heaven, he's got lots of money, and probably won't trouble
us any more. Perhaps he's the one you want."

"Are you sure the boy's father is dead? I saw him in Boston
yesterday."

"I don't take any stock in any such nonsense. This ain't the days of
miracles."

"I saw him in this town this morning."

"Where?" gasped Strout.

"Right here. That's my name, Quincy Adams Sawyer. Do you want me to
identify myself?" He stepped back, puckered up his mouth, and began
whistling "Listen to the Mocking Bird."

Strout was both startled and mad. "Just like you to come spyin'
round. You allers was a meddler, an' underhanded. But now you know
the truth, what are you going to do about it?"

Quincy walked to the door. "Well, Mr. Strout, I'm going to put it
about as you did when I first came to Mason's Corner, Either you or I
have got to leave town. This is our last fight, and I'm going to
win."

He left the store quickly and made his way to where Ezekiel was
waiting for him with the carryall.

"Now, 'Zeke, we'll go to the Hospital and see poor Hiram."

They found him hobbling about on crutches in the grounds of the
Hospital.

"How long have you been here, Hiram?" was Quincy's first question.

"About twelve weeks. You see, besides breaking my leg I cracked my
knee pan an' that's made it wuss."

"We'll fix you up very soon. I'll get you an artificial leg from New
York. You'll be able to walk all right but you mustn't do any heavy
lifting."

"Guess I shan't have no chance to lift anything now Strout's got the
store."

"Don't worry about that, Hiram. There are towns that have two stores
in them. How's Mandy?"

[Illustration: "'JUST LIKE YOU TO COME SPYIN' ROUND. YOU ALLERS WAS A
MEDDLER.'"]

"Gettin' along all right. Mr. Pettingill, there, sends a man over to
help her, and Mrs. Crowley is as good as two any day."

"Don't worry, Hiram. You'll come out on top yet"

"If I do, 'twill be because you'll put me there, I reckon."

As they were driving back 'Zekiel asked Quincy if he knew Mrs.
Hawkins was going to sell out.

"No, why. Getting too old?"

"No, she's as spry as a cat, and she's seventy odd. That ain't the
reason. Jonas is dead."

"What was the matter?"

"Chickens."

"What--overeating?"

"No, somebody stole his chickens. So he arranged a gun with a spring
and he must have forgotten it."

"He didn't 'kalkilate' on its hitting him?"

"Guess not. Mrs. Hawkins says she's too old to marry agin, and she
can't run the house without a man she can trust."

"Let's stop and see her."

When they entered, Mrs. Hawkins threw up her hands. "Lord a Massy! I
heerd at the store all about you comin' back, but where on airth
_did_ you come from? They said you was dead an' here you are as
handsome as ever. How's your wife, an' that boy o' yourn?"

"Both well, I'm happy to say. 'Zeke tells me you want to sell out."

"Yes. Now Jonas has gone there's nobody to take care of the chickens,
an' a hotel 'thout chickens an' fresh eggs is no home for a hungry
man."

"What will you take for the place just as it stands?"

"Well, I've figured up an' I should lose money ef I took less'n four
thousand dollars, an' I ought to have five."

"I'll take the refusal of it for forty-eight hours at five thousand.
Is it agreed?"

"I'd hold it a month for you, Mister Sawyer, but I want to go and
help Mandy soon's I can now that Hiram's laid up for nobody knows how
long."

"We'll have Hiram on his feet again very soon, Mrs. Hawkins. I'll be
down again in a few days."

"Give my love to Alice," she called after them as they were driving
away.

The next evening Quincy asked his son to come to the library with
him.

"Quincy, I want to borrow fifty thousand dollars. Can you spare it?"

"Twice as much if you need it. I'll give it to you. It's yours
anyway."

"No, I want to borrow it at six per cent."

"Are you going into business?"

"Yes." Then Quincy told him of his conversation with Mr. Strout.

"How are you going to beat him?" asked young Quincy.

"I'll tell you. I'm going to buy the Hawkins House. I shall have it
lifted up and another story put underneath. There will be room for a
store twice as large as Strout's, and a hotel entrance and office on
the ground floor. I'll put Hiram Maxwell in charge of the store."

"Who'll run the hotel?"

"'Zeke says Sam Hill is the man for the place, and his wife Tilly
will be the housekeeper, chief cook, etc."

"Do you mean to run Mr. Strout out of town?"

"That is my present intention. Not for personal vengeance but for the
ultimate good of the community."

"I'd like to help, but the work isn't in my line."

"Seriously speaking, Quincy, what is your line--the law?"

"No."

"Business?"

"No."

"What then?"

"Don't know. Am thinking it over."

"Have you seen that Miss Dana yet?"

"No. Mr. Isburn told me she is out West now on an important case."

"We'll get her to find Strout after he leaves Fernborough. Give me
that check to-morrow early. I'm going to Fernborough with an
architect to have plans made for the alterations."

Mr. Strout could look from his window and see what was going on at
the Hawkins House.

"Who's bought the hotel, Abner?"

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