ABOUT this time it became known to one person in the village that the Larkins had in their possession a tin box, contents unknown.
This is the way it happened:
Among the best-known village residents was Miss Melinda Sprague, a maiden lady, who took a profound interest in the affairs of her neighbors. She seldom went beyond the limits of Groveton, which was her world. She had learned the business of dressmaking, and often did work at home for her customers. She was of a curious and prying disposition, and nothing delighted her more than to acquire the knowledge of a secret.
One day — a few days after Florence Grants party — Mrs. Larkin was in her own chamber. She had the trunk open, having occasion to take something from it, when, with a light step, Miss Sprague entered the room. The widow, who was on her knees before the trunk, turning, recognized the intruder, not without displeasure.
“I hope you’ll excuse my coming in so unceremoniously, Mrs. Larkin,” said Melinda, effusively. “I knocked, but you didn’t hear it, being upstairs, and I took the liberty, being as we were so well acquainted, to come upstairs in search of you.”
“Yes, certainly,” answered Mrs. Larkin, but her tone was constrained.
She quickly shut the lid of the trunk. There was only one thing among its contents which she was anxious to hide, but that Miss Melinda’s sharp eyes had already discovered. Unfortunately, the tin box was at one side, in plain sight.
“What on earth does Mrs. Larkin do with a tin box?” she asked herself, with eager curiosity. “Can she have property that people don’t know of? I always thought she was left poor.”
Melinda asked no questions. The sudden closing of the trunk showed her that the widow would not be inclined to answer any questions.
“I won’t let her think I saw anything,” she said to herself. “Perhaps she’ll get anxious and refer to it.”
“We will go downstairs, Melinda,” said Mrs. Larkin. “It will be more comfortable.”
“If you have anything to do up here, I beg you won’t mind me,” said the spinster.
“No, I have nothing that won’t wait.”
So the two went down into the sitting-room.
“And how is Luke?” asked Miss Sprague, in a tone of friendly interest.
“Very well, thank you.”
“Luke was always a great favorite of mine,” continued the spinster. “Such a manly boy as he is!”
“He is a great help to me,” said Mrs. Larkin.
“No doubt he is. He takes care of the schoolhouse, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“How much pay does he get?”
“A dollar a week.”
“I hope he will be able to keep the position.”
“What do you mean, Melinda?” asked the widow, not without anxiety.
“You know Doctor Snodgrass has resigned on the school committee, and Squire Duncan has been elected in his place.”
“Well?”
“Mrs. Flanagan went to him yesterday to ask to have her son Tim appointed janitor in place of Luke, and I heard that she received considerable encouragement from the squire.”
“Do they find any fault with Luke?” asked Mrs. Larkin, jealously.
“No, not as I’ve heard; but Mrs. Flanagan said Luke had had it for a year, and now some one else ought to have the chance.”
“Are you quite sure of this, Melinda?”
Miss Sprague, though over forty, was generally called by her first name, not as a tribute to her youth, but to the fact of her being still unmarried.
“Yes, I am; I had it from Mrs. Flanagan herself.”
“I don’t think Tim would do as well as Luke. He has never been able to keep a place yet.”
“Just so; but, of course, his mother thinks him a polygon.”
Probably Miss Sprague meant a paragon — she was not very careful in her speech, but Mrs. Larkin did not smile at her mistake. She was too much troubled at the news she had just heard. A dollar a week may seem a ridiculous trifle to some of my readers, but, where the entire income of the family was so small, it was a matter of some consequence.
“I don’t think Luke has heard anything of this,” said the widow. “He has not mentioned it to me.”
“Perhaps there won’t be any change, after all,” said Melinda. “I am sure Tim Flanagan wouldn’t do near as well as Luke.”
Miss Melinda was not entirely sincere. She had said to Mrs. Flanagan that she quite agreed with her that Luke had been janitor long enough, and hoped Tim would get the place. She was in the habit of siding with the person she chanced to be talking with at the moment, and this was pretty well understood.
Luke, however, had heard of this threatened removal. For this, it may be said, Randolph was partly responsible. Just after Mrs. Flanagan’s call upon the squire to solicit his official influence, Prince Duncan mentioned the matter to his son.
“How long has Luke Larkin been janitor at the schoolhouse?” he asked.
“About a year. Why do you ask?”
“Does he attend to the duties pretty well?”
“I suppose so. He’s just fit to make fires and sweep the floor,” answered Randolph, his lip curling.
“Mrs. Flanagan has been here to ask me to appoint her son Tim in Luke’s place.”
“You’d better do it, pa,” said Randolph, quickly.
“Why? You say Luke is well fitted for the position.”
“Oh, anybody could do as well, but Luke puts on airs. He feels too big for his position.”
“I suppose Mrs. Larkin needs the money.”
“So does Mrs. Flanagan,” said Randolph.
“What sort of a boy is Tim? I have heard that he is lazy.”
“Oh, I guess he’ll do. Of course, I am not well acquainted with a boy like him,” said the young aristocrat. “But I’m quite disgusted with Luke. He was at Florence Grant’s party the other evening, and was cheeky enough to ask her to dance with him.”
“Did she do so?”
“Yes; I suppose it was out of pity. He ought to have known better than to attend a party with such a suit. His coat and pantaloons were both too small for him, but he flourished around as if he were fashionably dressed.”
Squire Duncan made no reply to his son’s comments, but he felt disposed, for reasons of his own, to appoint Tim Flanagan. He was hoping to be nominated for representative at the next election, and thought the appointment might influence the Irish vote in his favor.
“Shall you appoint Tim, pa?” asked Randolph.
“I think it probable. It seems only right to give him a chance. Rotation in office is a principle of which I approve.”
“That’s good!” thought Randolph, with a smile of gratification. “It isn’t a very important place, but Luke will be sorry to lose it. The first time I see him I will give him a hint of it.”
Randolph met Luke about an hour later in the village street. He did not often stop to speak with our hero, but this time he had an object in doing so.