BOOK SIX

December 9-18, 1896

47. Several Attempts at Tying Up Loose Ends

FROM MISTER TOBIAS WALTON
PORTLAND, DECEMBER 9, 1896

Dear Phileda,

It seems, as I told you at the station, that our friendship is foreordained to interruption, and though I would not presume that this is of great moment to yourself, I will admit that I am vexed to be taken from your pleasant company once more.

The situation regarding Mr. Tempest grows stranger by the day. On the morning of the seventh the local police were apprised that a body had been hauled onto the Portland, Bangor & Machias Company Wharf, and upon investigation they were fairly certain that the unfortunate man was Mr. Tempest, who had gone missing from the Caleb Brown. The ship herself had left the harbor unexpectedly—that is, Captain Matthews had given the police every reason to believe that he was leaving later in the week-and the authorities couldn’t help putting a suspicious blush upon this turn of events.

Yesterday, before I was able to meet with Deputy Chief Frith, a nephew and niece of Mr. Tempest’s arrived by train to identify and claim the body. They came from Cambridge and Deputy Chief Frith said they must have been waiting at the Cambridge station with tickets in hand when word of their uncle arrived. I asked for a description of these people, and they were as blond as our Mr. Eagleton.

I would have turned heel-about and come back to Hallowell immediately, but in explaining my brief connection to Mr. Tempest to the deputy chief, I told him about our adventures in Skowhegan and of the Broumnage Club, and he has asked me to stay on at Portland for a few days in case there are further developments in the case.

It does seem that my path has crossed with some culprits as of late, and the local constabulary is looking upon me as some sort of adventurer, which Sundry likes very much. He says he never knew there were so many criminals in the world till he met me!

In the meantime I propose to use the time shopping for presents and discussing with the Moosepath League the possibilities of a small trust fund that would clear the taxes and upkeep on Bird’s family estate in Hiram. (Or should I be calling him Bertram now, or Bert, now that we know his real name?)

We discussed, only the once, the possibility of seeing one another near the holiday, and I hope that this plan will bloom and come to fruition. If you are not too busy, perhaps I might come up to the Worster House for a day or so. Hope all is well. If you see the Covingtons, who are coming to Hallowell to meet the Burnbrakes (the Burnbrakes are understandably interested in the artifacts on their land), please give them my best. Sundry says, please pat Moxie for him.

Please take care.

Fondly,
Toby

Mister Walton sat back and considered the letter. It seemed pale and ineffective in light of the awkward scene between Phileda and himself at the Hallowell station two days ago. Seven or eight scraps of paper in the waste basket by his desk attested to the work he had put into the dispatch, however. Each successive draft was less interesting and more impersonal than the last, till he was left with this skeleton, which, not surprisingly, said little about the writer’s thoughts or temper.

One of the early drafts actually began with the words “I fear that I have been a dunderhead,” which was true, but the words hinted at too strong a feeling, when applied to their circumstances.

Aside from the letters that they had exchanged, he and Phileda knew one another only from three all too brief visits, and yet she occupied the bright and anxious precincts of his heart, filling him with a kind of giddy apprehension-joy and fear. Still, he could not presume that she felt anything like it for him, though he imagined-on certain days or even at certain moments-that she might.

He remembered her laughter as they walked together, her arm in his. He sighed to think of the moment before the Hallowell Harvest Ball when she had reached up to adjust his collar for him. He thought back on the previous July, when he first saw her bright eyes shining behind her round spectacles as she stepped onto the porch of the Weymouth House. Her hands were lovely, strong, and graceful. Well, he thought, this describes her entirely.

He was standing and didn’t remember getting up from his desk. He held his hands behind him and paced the floor. What he wanted to say he could not put in a letter. What he wanted to say he could not seem to say to her face. He valued her friendship so highly that he feared to dismantle it by professing anything else. He left the room but turned around in the hall and returned to the study and his desk.

He folded the letter and put it into an envelope, then addressed the envelope. He laid these aside and took up another sheaf of paper. He had other letters to write: first to Mr. Plainway to tell him of the Moosepath League’s plans to help in defraying the costs of the Linnett house till Bertram came of age or the hidden hoard of gems was discovered, the second to the O’Hearns to let them know that the mystery of Bird’s identity had been solved.

FROM CHARLESTON A. THISTLECOAT
EN ROUTE TO BANGOR, DECEMBER 9, 1896

Dear Miss McCannon,

I must apologize for leaving Hallowell without saying good-bye, but an unexpected business arose regarding the railroad at Bangor that I must attend straightaway. The journey is tedious, however, and as I have time on my hands, I thought it practical to pen my intentions, that you might consider a proposal till I return.

I believe, at this mature time in our lives, neither of us would benefit from a protracted courtship. I find you very suitable as a companion and appreciate that you are a person of intelligence and positive philosophy. I have had the impression that I am not disagreeable to you and thought the time we have spent together (admittedly short) was spent pleasantly. You have expressed a desire to travel and an alliance with myself would benefit this inclination, as I travel a good deal in the name of both business and pleasure.

It goes without saying that my pecuniary outlook is more than favorable and that you would do without nothing that you either needed or wanted. I am quite prepared to be generous, even extravagant with a person who so collaborates with me, and I believe that what I do have would give me more pleasure for having someone with whom to share it.

A is obvious, this is a union that would please me, and I flatter myself in imagining that it might do so you as well. Certainly it would benefit you. I hope you will consider this proposal in a friendly and thoughtful light. I shall return to Hallowell in about a week, when I shall forward this offer in person and hope for your answer.

With all due regard,
Charleston A. Thistlecoat

FROM ISABELLE COVINGTON
HALLOWELL, DECEMBER 9, 1896

Dear Mister Walton,

Frederick and I wanted to take the first opportunity to thank you and Mr. Moss for your gallant assistance in the recent business on Council Hill and for your sage advice and prudent wisdom. We have also yourself to thank for introducing us to Mr. Gaines, who continues to delight and who enveloped us in a protective shell of his friends and the relatives of his friends while we stayed in Skowhegan.

At the same time, Frederick and I want to express our regrets for having involved you in such a dangerous affair, as it turned out to be. It is extraordinary the entire business, and all the more so when coupled with the tale of the little boy and Mr. Plainway’s connection to it. We have had more diversion than we should connecting everyone in these affairs, and we had not met you and asked you to take dictation from poor Mr. Temyou and your fellow club members seem at the center of it all. Indeed, if pest, and if your friends had not delivered the same, Miss Burnbrake and Mr. Plainway would not have met-a circumstance, I promise you, for which she was very grateful.

We have enjoyed the Burnbrakes very much, Frederick and Moxie and I, and will be traveling back to Portland with them in the next few days, when we hope to see you and Mr. Moss and the members of the Moosepath League once again.

With fond regards,
Isabelle Covington

FROM CHRISTOPHER EAGLETON
PORTLAND, DECEMBER 9, 1896

Dear Mr. Millplate,

I was not able to find out the name of the man with the piano stools in his dining room, but the fellow at the grocery store on Exchange Street thinks he might know the man I was speaking of by sight. It is of course irksome that I am not able’ to be of more assistance in this matter, since it was I who raised the subject.

The weather continues bright and sunny, though cold, here in Portland, but the wind is expected to shift tonight and flurries to begin by morning. My friends Ephram and Thump came by yesterday and we took a walk to Mister Walton’s, whom you met upon the train to Hallowell.

Thump is reading a new novel by Mrs. Elbitha Philomena Grandoine, entitled Riches Never Rescued, that he says it is difficult to quit. I read Mrs.

Grandoine’s last novel, Be That Ever So, and thought it gripping, though I was a little startled by the brief episode with the dancing women. Ephram said he read the passage four or five times over, just to be sure he was understanding it, and was just as surprised the fifth time as the first! Thump hasn’t returned the book yet, so I don’t suppose he has read it.

It was very good to meet you the other day, and we certainly are interested in your duck. Mr. Moss says he knew a man who kept a goose in his pantry, so I wouldn’t be troubled by what the fellow with the missing button said. Did the duck have a name? And I can’t recall what you said your cat’s name is. At any rate, all my best, and I am sorry about the man with the piano stools. If you and your duck are ever in Portland, please let us know.

I am respectfully yours,
Christopher Eagleton

48. But Some Were Double-Knotted

FROM DANIEL PLAINWAY
HIRAM, DECEMBER 13, 1896

Dear Mister Walton,

Your letter of the ninth was very gratefully received, the more so since you have offered a solution to the problem regarding the Linnett estate. I of course would like to be a partner in forming such a fund, and will begin the legal work immediately. I plan to bring everything to Portland when we are ready to put signature to paper. The terms you have suggested are perhaps overgenerous, however, and I have been working on another plan that would take care of everything for the boy and not so pluck your pockets.

I have been drafting a letter to the O’Hearns in Veazie, introducing myself and assuring them of my intentions for Bertram. If they are half as good as you have made them out to be, they are far better guardians for the little fellow than myself. I hope to meet him, however, before very long. I have been back to the Linnett house since returning to Hiram, and more than ever I am filled with the desire to put this sad tale to rest.

You will not think me mad, I know, if I tell you that I can almost believe that a part of Nell is still there, waiting to know about her boy before she wholly quits this “vale.” And I still have the odd notion to light the place up once more, whether to drive away phantoms, real or imagined.

My regards to the good members of the Moosepath League and to Mr.

Moss. You might also tell Mr. Moss that I have been referring to my old Greek grammar and have found the word that so troubled him. By repeating the phrase “She’ll bust her feeding” his father is pronouncing the original more closely than he suspects. The word is boustrophedan, and it indeed means “as the ox plows”-that is, back and forth, left to right, right to left. I shall never look at an ox from now on without saying to myself,

“She’ll bust her feeding!”

I do not know how much Mr. Moss told you about our visit to Mr.

Francis Neptune, but he may make something of this knowledge in the light of the tale we were told.

Mister Walton, I wish words sufficed to express my gratitude for your courage and that of your friends and also for your compassion for a little boy whose family was unknown to you but greatly loved by myself. Your good works are like a stone thrown in a lake, the ripples of which will have happy effects that we cannot guess at.

With respect,
Daniel Plainway

FROM PHILEDA MCCANNON
HALLOWELL, DECEMBER 14, 1896

Dear Toby,

It does seem as if we are to learn more about one another by post than we ever will speaking in the same room. I was sorry to have you leave but understand that it was necessary. I am also sorry to read about Mr. Tempest; he did sound an interesting man, from your description. Did you have such adventures before you came home to Maine?

I too wish we might see one another near the holiday but have recently heard from a cousin who was unable to attend my aunt’s funeral but who has offered to help me close the house in Orland. She is arriving sometime this week, and I cannot tell how long it will take us or when I will be back.…

Phileda found herself fixated on the last words she had written. She wasn’t sure why it seemed so important to turn Toby down in this manner. a house can be closed up anytime, of course; Christmas comes but once a year, and how assuredly she was aware that her Christmases were dwindling, growing more precious with every advancing year.

She did not feel old-not most days-but she knew that she was of middle age, and having met Tobias Walton now had given her a renewed sense of vigor and purpose as well as filled her with apprehension.

The first time that he had hied off, when the Underwoods’ daughter was kidnapped up in Millinocket, she had been terrifically disappointed, if understanding; he had behaved as Phileda would have guessed-that is, nobly.

The second time, when he had hurried away from her to come to the aid of his fellow club members, she had nothing to hold against him, unless it was his loyalty to so many people. She was not a selfish person, but it was then that she felt the first twinge of resentment and the first inkling that he had better make up for lost ground when he returned. place in other people’s hearts and minds, and the very lack of assumption He didn’t. Tobias Walton was nothing if not circumspect about his that made him so fine a person was the one aspect of his personality that made her indignant. “If you’re going to gain my heart so quickly and so easily,” she wanted to shout at him, “the least you could do is take note!”

The third time, though he had been called away by the Portland police, she was on the verge of tears. It was in fact the first time that she had the opportunity to say good-bye to him properly-the first time!-and she had bitten her lip to keep from showing how disappointed she was. If he had only said, “Come with me.”

Ah, but Sundry had noticed; he had looked a little grimly from Toby to Phileda, and she had simply shaken her head once.

She was a woman of some initiative, it is true, but a woman of her times, and there was only so much she was willing to make obvious before he did the same; yet his very reticence might be the signal that he did not feel toward her as she to him. She was not such a catch, was she, after all?with her spectacles and her hair done up without much thought and her plain, wiry body. She had no real notion that as her male peers matured, they had come to notice the eyes behind those spectacles and the grace of movement beneath her modest clothes. Some of the finest works of art, the deepest and the most meaningful, take more thought to appreciate.

Phileda glanced over Toby’s letter of the ninth, searching for a hint of something beyond the intents of friendship. Then she turned to Charleston’s letter of the same day, which she had received a day before Toby’s.

She read: “I believe, at this mature time in our lives, neither of us would benefit from a protracted courtship.”

Here at least was a man who sensed the urgency of their years.

She thought: I promised myself to grow old more gracefully than this!

She looked out over her desk. a bird flickered in the limbs of the red maple, and she leaned forward to see if it were a chickadee or a nuthatch.

She looked out over her glasses. The bird hopped and flew off before she had identified it.

She looked back at her desk and at the letter she was writing. Three or four earlier drafts lay in the basket beside her. She couldn’t say why she was so exasperated with the man, except that she was so very fond of him.

When she returned to her letter, she wrote:

… and it would not be fair to ask you to keep your plans in the air till the last moment.

Of course, I would be glad to hear from you while I am away and to hear how you and your friends spent the holiday. Perhaps sometime in the new year we will have the opportunity to walk and talk again.

She paused, her pen hovering over the sheet of paper. Finally she wrote:

My best to Sundry. And please have a lovely Christmas.

Phileda

49. And We Were So Sure That Was the Answer

TELEGRAMS
DECEMBER 15, 1896

PORTLAND TELEGRAPH COMPANY
Office : Federal Street

DECEMBER 15 AM 11:25

WORSTER HOUSE

MR & MRS FREDERICK COVINGTON

BOUSTROPHEDAN. EXCLAMATION MARK.

SUNDRY MOSS

“Just the three words?” said the man in the telegraph office. His gray hair might have been combed that morning, but he had a tendency to run his hands through it, unsettling his hat and disarranging his mop at the same time.

“Just those, yes,” said Sundry.

The fellow behind the counter squinted one eye and directed the one remaining at the piece of paper. “B - O - U - S - T -” he said.

“Boustrophedan,” agreed Sundry.

“Hmm!” said the fellow. “I’ve sent everything over the wires, I thought.” He made some marks on the paper. “A the ox plows,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” said Sundry.

“It’s Greek,” said the fellow.

“Yes,” said Sundry, “I guess it is.”

“Boustrophedan.”

“Yes.”

“Just the three words then?”

“Just those.”

“Hmm!” said the man again. He ran his hand through his hair, and his hat was pushed to the back of his head. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the paper again.

“That’s my name,” said Sundry.

EASTERN TELEGRAPH COMPANY
Hallowell

DECEMBER 15 PM 12:10
SPRUCE STREET
SUNDRY MOSS

CONTINUED AMAZEMENT WITH YOUR PERCEPTIVENESS. UNFORTUNATELY TRIED READING RUNES BOUSTROPHEDAN THOUGH NOT IN CONNECTION WITH OX PICTOGRAPH. NOTHING. SEEING YOU IN DAY OR SO. EXCLAMATION MARKS ALL AROUND.
FREDERICK COVINGTON

PORTLAND POLICE OFFICE
Congress Street

DECEMBER 15 PM 1:05
WORSTER HOUSE
MR AND MRS FREDERICK COVINGTON
MR WALTON INFORMS YOU WILL BE RETURNING TO PORTLAND.

PLEASE CALL WHEN YOU ARRIVE. QUESTIONS REGARDING ADAM TEMPEST.
DEPUTY CHIEF FRITH

PORTLAND TELEGRAPH COMPANY
Office : Federal Street

DECEMBER 15 PM 3:00
HIGH STREET
MR DANIEL PLAINWAY

BOUSTROPHEDAN NOT SOLUTION. THANKS THOUGH FOR PUTTING TO REST a FAMILY RIDDLE. DAD WILL BE PLEASED. MR WALTON WANTING TO COME TO HIRAM TO SIGN PAPERS. ALSO MOOSEPATH LEAGUE. ARRANGE ROOM AND BOARD?
SUNDRY Moss

50. Mutual Concerns

FROM DAEL PLAINWAY
HIRAM, DECEMBER 15, 1896

Dear Messrs. Walton and Moss,

It pleases me no end that you and the members of the Moosepath League are thinking of coming to Hiram. I have the sense that Bertram’s story will come full circle and that his legacy will once again rise above the surface of worldly ills. It seems right that those who were so consequential in his rescue should see whence he came, and I can imagine that this represents at least a portion of your motive.

Perhaps, since you so kindly offer to come to me, you will indulge me further and answer a particular whim, and that is to come to the Linnett house itself-to light its lamps and fire its hearths. I will hire help to ready the place for the five of you and myself. It will take a few days, but by the beginning of next week we should have the house cleaned and habitable again.

I have had a very nice letter from Mrs. O’Hearn, and I must thank you for whatever good report you have given of me. She has very graciously invited me to spend Christmas Eve with her family, when I can meet Bertram (again). I hope that I can find something a four-year-old boy would like from St. Nicholas.

To Mr. Moss, regarding “boustrophedan”: I am sorry that the word did not provide an answer to the runes, but I wonder if you or Mr. Covington have ever seen an ox at the plow. My uncle had oxen, and he had a system of plowing that I understand is very old in some places in the world. Not everyone is adept at turning oxen hard, and some farmers will plow along the field, turning down only every other furrow-the odd furrows, if you will. Then they plow back down the field, turning up the unplowed rows-the even furrows. Some old folk in fact would plant the odd furrows when the moon was waxing and the even ones when the moon was on the wane.

Some might argue that this is the true meaning of boustrophedan that is, every other furrow, back and forth. But perhaps you have thought of this.

I wonder if you have seen Miss Burnbrake. Has she returned to Portland? Did her cousin ever reappear? These of course were not your concerns, but he proved some trouble for her and her uncle. Messrs. Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump were very good to escort Mr. Burnbrake in the absence of his nephew. And Miss Bumbrake is a very fine person. I also can’t help wonder what happened with the man the police thought drowned.

There do seem to be a lot of tendrils to those affairs that met at the Worster House.

Thank you again for all that you have done, and all that you will do. I wait to hear confirmation on your plans.

With regard,
Daniel Plainway

Daniel looked from his desk over the white lawn. “I am going to suggest to Mister Walton,” he said to his sister, Martha, who stood at the door to the study, “and the other men that they stay at the Linnett place when they come.”

“I wondered if you would think of that,” she said. She was wiping her hands on her apron. “It is too bad, though,” she added, “that you won’t be going to Portland.”

“Oh, I can go to Portland if l want to,” he said.

“I just thought you might want to look in on this Miss Bumbrake whom you spoke of.”

Daniel tried to make a face that indicated perplexity. He wondered how she could know so much from what little he had told her.

“You know, I’m quite able to take care of myself, Daniel,” she said.

“Now, what does that mean?” he asked.

“Only that you’re not to worry about me if you had a thought to be married.”

“Good Lord!” he said.

“Daniel!”

“Who’s to say we wouldn’t all stay right here if l were to?”

“Two women in the kitchen…” she said.

“Ridiculous. It’s the furthest thing from my mind. And it’s ridiculous anyhow. Two women in the kitchen! As likely say two men in the boat! I don’t suppose you wotnen are any more warlike than we are, and I’ve worked alongside some difficult fellows, I want to tell you.”

She was laughing softly. “I only thought that you were a little taken with this Miss Burnbrake.”

“And if l were, anything else would presuppose that she was taken with me.” He turned back to his desk and wondered briefly if he had made too much of Miss Bumbrake in his letter to Mister Walton and Mr. Moss.

“She might be, for all you know.”

“I think she might call me friend,” was his reply.

“Edward was my friend, certainly,”she said a little wistfully.

Daniel looked up again, his expression mild and sympathetic. His sister was keen proof that love transcended death. “And how did Edward first know that you were taken with him?” he asked.

“He said to me, ‘How very nice to see you, Miss Plainway,’ and I said,’I will be Martha, Mr. Bailey, if you will be Edward.’”

“It was that simple,”said Daniel.

“It was that simple,” she replied, and again there was a wistful note in her voice. “At least it seems that simple now.” She let go of her apron and brushed an imaginary wrinkle from it. “You should look in on Miss Burnbrake, I think.”

“She may not be back in Portland yet, or if she has returned, she may not be there very long. She and her uncle live in New Hampshire. Besides, I have mentioned her in my letter to Mister Walton and Mr. Moss, and they are very apt to drop by themselves to see that everything is well. Is this Timothy with another wire?”

PORTLAND TELEGRAPH COMPANY
City Hotel Desk

DECEMBER 15 PM 5:47
HIGH STREET
MR DANIEL PLAINWAY

HOPE YOU ARE WELL. PLEASE BE AWARE THAT ROGER NOBLE MAY BE IN HIRAM. LETTER TO FOLLOW WITH PARTICULARS. THANK YOU FOR EVERY CONSIDERATION AGAIN. AS EVER.
CHARLOTTE BURNBRAKE

FROM CHARLOTTE BURNBRAKE
DECEMBER 15, 1896

Dear Mr. Plainway,

I hope this letter finds you and your sister well and that the efforts of Mister Walton and his friends have, in combination with your own magnanimous deeds, given you some measure of peace after the tragedies of the Linnett family. You must have realized how very moved I was by their tale, and even now it keeps a certain melancholy hold upon me.

Your own behavior in those sad circumstances was easily imagined, even though you spoke with undue modesty, for I have had firsthand experience of your kindness and gallantry.

It is of your generosity to me that I write, for I fear it may have purchased you more trouble than worth in the end. By the time that Uncle Ezra and I arrived in Portland yesterday, we were very troubled over the disappearance of my cousin Roger. It is true that he is no better than he ought to be and that he has contributed more complication to my life than happiness, but it is difficult to wipe the heart clean of regard when one has been fond in childhood of a playmate who helped while away so many hours.

Uncle Ezra himself is not without some feeling for Roger, and so when he did not return to Hallowell and did not communicate where he had gone to, Uncle went to Roger’s apartment and prevailed upon the landlord to let him in.

Sherlock Holmes could not have done better than Uncle Ezra, for he hunted every surface of the apartment for clues to Roger’s whereabouts, and it was during this investigation that he discovered a letter, carelessly left upon the dresser, from a Mr. Hawking, who expressed a very peculiar and definite interest in Roger’s going to Hiram.

You may be as surprised as Uncle and I were at this intelligence, and perhaps you know a Mr. Hawking or can guess what coincidence would send my cousin to the town where you live. Please do not hesitate to involve the authorities if Roger proves any trouble to you! Please write and let me know that you are well. My uncle and I will be staying in Portland for the holidays. And please have a fine Christmas, knowing that little Bertram will be having a wonderful holiday himself for the first time.

I am your friend,
Charlotte Burnbrake

51. Persistence

TELEGRAM
DECEMBER 18, 1896

PORTLAND TELEGRAPH COMPANY
Office : Federal Street

DECEMBER 18 AM 10:07
WORSTER HOUSE
MR & MRS FREDERICK COVINGTON

MR PLAINWAY SAYS THAT OXEN OFTEN SKIP FURROWS WHEN PLOWING THEN PLOW THE FURROWS MISSED ON THE WAY BACK.
SUNDRY MOSS

The man at the telegraph office was counting the words and he only glanced once at Sundry when he was done.

“Boustrophedan,” said Sundry. “It’s news to me,” said the fellow.

The Covingtons had picked up their bags and were getting ready to leave Hallowell, after a short stay with Captain Gaines, Mr. Noel, and Mr. Noggin at Skowhegan. It was only by chance that the boy from the telegraph office caught them in the lobby of the hotel.

“Mr. Moss again,” said Frederick as he frowned at the telegram. His wife found a coin in her purse and tipped the boy, who tipped his hat. “Every other furrow, huh?” said the husband under his breath.

“What is that, dear?”

“Mr. Moss again.”

“I heard that.”

Frederick was lost in thought. “There are seven rows of runes, four down, skipping every other one, and three up, catching the ones that remain.” He turned around in the lobby and fished through his pockets for the photograph of the runes on Council Hill. “Let me try it,” he said.

“Dear,” said Isabelle, “we’re going to miss the train.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, turning about-face. “This will wait, I suppose.” Moxie fell in with them at the top of the steps.

The dog was making friends with the man in the baggage car, and the Covingtons were not long settled in the train when Frederick pulled a notebook from his pocket. He wrote some things down, copying the runes from the photograph in an entirely different order. Isabelle sat opposite from her husband but attempted to see over his work.

He smiled, even chuckled to himself, then fell back to his study, frowning, and finally he looked up again.

“Does it say something?” said Isabelle.

He chuckled again, maddening her a little. He passed her the notebook and leaned back in his seat, looking out at the outskirts of Hallowell as they fell past. “The next stop I must wire Mr. Moss,” he said.

Isabelle read what he had written there. “Good heavens, really!” she said.

EASTERN TELEGRAPH COMPANY
Farming dale

DECEMBER 18 AM 11:35
SPRUCE STREET
SUNDRY MOSS

EXCLAMATION MARK. a WORD IS NOT TRUE JUST BECAUSE IT’S CARVED IN STONE. EXCLAMATION MARK.
FREDERICK COVINGTON

Frederick, who was not yet privy to the tale of Uncle Francis Neptune’s ancient grandfather, laughed when he returned from the station.

“What are you laughing about?” asked Isabelle, who knew very well that her husband was delighted beyond words, even if he was amazed and perplexed by the translation.

“We’ll see what Mr. Moss makes of that telegram,” said Frederick.

When Sundry came with the telegram into the parlor, he was able to suppress his excitement long enough to take note of Mister Walton’s preoccupied manner.

“A telegram?” said the bespectacled fellow. He seemed strangely motionless in his chair by the fire.

“You look as if you’ve had bad news,” said Sundry concernedly.

It was then that Mister Walton lifted the letter in his hand, though he shook his head dismissively. “Miss McCannon won’t be home during Christmas.”

“She’s not coming to Portland?”

“No, no,” said Mister Walton. “She’ll be in Orland with a cousin”-he looked about the old familiar room and thought that he would like to be away somewhere, but hardly had the energy to move-“closing her aunt’s house,” he finished.

“Oh?”

“There was a telegram?”

“From the Covingtons. Mr. Plainway’s notion of ox plowing seems to be the key.”

“Good heavens!” a certain animation revived the portly fellow’s limbs. “What does it say?”

“Well, look.”

“Good heavens!” said Mister Walton again. “Just as John Neptune’s uncle told you!”

“I’m wondering what else in his story was true,” said Sundry.

“Good heavens!”

“I should say.”

Mister Walton fell silent again, shaking his head and making low noises of amazement.

“Perhaps you could see Miss McCannon on the New Year,” said Sundry.

“She says perhaps after New Year’s,” answered Mister Walton. He gave an uncharacteristic sigh.

“Perhaps we should be going to Hiram, then, in the next few days,” said Sundry.

“Do you think?” Mister Walton looked interested.

“Mr. Plainway seemed very anxious to have us come. Near l as anxious as he was about Miss Burn brake.”

This raised a sympathetic chuckle from Mister Walton. “I am curious, I must confess.”

Sundry roamed across the room to the desk, where a small calendar stood. He considered what was left of the month. “Let’s go on the twenty-first,” he suggested.

“Oh? What day is that?”

“Monday. It’s the winter solstice.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Burnbrake assured us that it is the favorite night for ghosts to appear.”

“Are you anxious to see a ghost?”

“There’s one that’s been wandering my family’s house for years, and I’ve never seen it.”

Mister Walton chuckled. “The twenty-first,” he said.

“Who knows?” said Sundry. “Someone might have the opportunity to tell Eleanor Linnett that her boy is fine. I’ll send Mr. Plainway a telegram.” But not, he thought, before I write a letter or two.

PORTLAND TELEGRAPH COMPANY
Office : Federal Street

DECEMBER 18 PM 1:26
HIGH STREET
MR DANIEL PLAINWAY

COMING TO HIRAM ON 21ST. EXPECTING TO STAY AT LINNETT ESTATE IF STILL WANTED.
THE MOOSEPATH LEAGUE