When Lammy reached home he hurried into the barn, carefully closing both door and windows. In looking about for an old axe whose edge would not be hurt by chopping metal, he stumbled over a rusty anvil that was half buried in litter. This he managed to drag into the light; then digging the tea-pot from the feed bin, he began his work.

First he wrenched off the cover and battered it into small pieces, which he put into the solder pot. Chop, chop! the handle gave way next, then the queer sprawling legs. He made several blows at the thick, clumsy, curved spout without hitting it, for his hands trembled with excitement combined with the chill of his wet feet.

Finally he landed a square blow a little above where the spout joined the body, but instead of cutting the metal quite through, the blade wedged, so he dropped the axe and seizing the tea-pot, proceeded to wrench off the spout.

“It’s got tea leaves stuck in it,” he said to himself, as he pulled and twisted at it. “Nope, brown paper,” as a small roll of paper, the size, thickness, and length of a cigarette fell to the floor. To this he paid no attention, but continued to chop at the tea-pot until it was all in bits, tightly packed in the solder pot, and covered with an old plate.

As he went to push back the anvil he stepped on the little bit of rolled-up paper and idly picking it up, turned it between his fingers, but with his mind wholly filled with the making of the magic bullets. It was too late to melt the pewter now; he would have to wait until Monday afternoon. How could he ever eat two more breakfasts, dinners, and suppers with the precious stuff in his possession?

As his hands worked, the stout oiled paper between his fingers unrolled by their warmth, as a leaf unfolds in the heat, and showed something green inside.

Lammy looked, and his heart almost stopped beating, while the sun, moon, and stars seemed to be floating past, trailing cloud petticoats and dancing, for the green stuff was money,—clean, crisp banknotes rolled as hard as a pencil!

Lammy sank down all in a heap on a pile of straw, his eyes closed and his fist clutching the little bundle like a vice. It was several minutes before he could steady himself sufficiently to part the tightly twisted roll and count his treasure, which was so compact that he had to use great care. Fortunately the oil paper had kept the money dry in spite of the bath in the river, in addition to a bit of cork that had been rammed tightly into the spout, but which Lammy had not noticed as it dropped out at the first chop.

At last a bill peeled from the roll. Lammy smoothed it out, and rubbed his eyes. Could it be? He had never seen a bank bill for a larger sum than twenty dollars before, but five hundred was printed on this. Then he fell to work in earnest, and after many stops to moisten his fingers, twelve of the green, damp-smelling bits of paper lay spread upon the barn floor, while Lammy was saying over to himself, “Twelve times five are sixty—sixty hundred dollars—ten into sixty six times—six thousand dollars! Oh, mother—Bird—the fruit farm!” he fairly shouted. This then was what Aunt Jimmy’s will had meant, after all.

Gathering the bills into his grimy handkerchief, blackened by polishing the tea-pot, he buttoned them inside his shirt and rushed into the house at the moment his mother was getting out of the chaise and bringing in the week’s supply of groceries, for which she had traded her eggs.

His father having come home from the wood lot, took the horse to the barn, fed and bedded him immediately,—for old Graylocks never went fast enough to become heated,—and then came to the kitchen sink to make his toilet for supper.

Lammy sat waiting his time by the stove with his feet in the oven door, trying to suppress the shivers that ran through him. Would his mother ever put the things away and stop bustling? They could not have supper until late that night, for the shop where his brothers worked was running over time, and they would not be home before seven.

Mrs. Lane put the potatoes on to fry, arranged the steak in the broiler (she was the only woman in Laurelville who did not fry her meat), and then sat down to rest, keeping one eye upon the clock. Presently she caught sight of Lammy’s face, and promptly jumped up again to grab one of his hands and ask anxiously: “Be you feelin’ sick, Lammy Lane? Your hands is frogs and your cheeks hot coals. I do hope and pray it ain’t goin’ to be a fever spell o’ any kind.”

“Spell be blowed!” said Joshua, who was now seated by the lamp, enjoying his weekly paper. “He’s been a-traipsin’ round all day among them soggy marshes that fairly belches chills in fall o’ the year, on a snack o’ cold food. What he needs is a lining o’ hot vittles; likewise do I.”

But Lammy had left the stove and stood by the table, his hands clasped tightly, and such a strange expression on his face that both his parents were startled.

“I ain’t sick—that is, not much,” he began, “though I’m awfully hungry, but I’ve got something to tell out first.”

Then he began slowly, and told about his visit to Old Lucky and his search for bullet material.

Here his father interrupted him with, “Shucks, Lammy Lane, ain’t you got better sense than to throw away dollars?” but his mother gave Joshua a look, and said: “Don’t you shet him off the track until he’s through. I knew he wasn’t working in his mind like he’s done lately for nothing.”

When he told of chopping up the tea-pot, his father chuckled, but his mother shivered and broke in with, “How could you ever set an axe in it? It seems to me ’bout as bad as cuttin’ up poor Aunt Jimmy for sausages!”

When he came to the end, and pulling out his handkerchief, spread the contents before his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Lane stood grasping the table edge and staring white and wide eyed, until Joshua broke the silence with “Jehosophat! Nancy Hanks! but I’m kneesprung dumbfounded!”

“And you’d better be!” snapped Lauretta Ann, as nearly as she could snap at her husband; “after all you’ve said against the memory of sainted Aunt Jimmy, and sneered and snipped at her will and meanings! Don’t you see now how she fixed things so’s I’d get the farm by biddin’ it in fair without bein’ hashed over in public for gettin’ more’n my equal share? She trusted me to fetch that pot home and, by usin’ it daily, find it wouldn’t pour out, as I would have did and diskiver the money. Oh, Joshua, Joshua, let this be a lesson to you an’ all husbands not to browbeat their trustin’ wives, as women’s allers the furthest seein’ sect.”

“Fur seein’, shucks!” snorted Joshua, who had enjoyed his recent authority too well to part with it; “between you and Aunt Jimmy yer’d made a fine mess o’ it, and it took a male, though not a full-grown one, to pull yer out of it, for yer allowed yer’d only stick up the pot for a moniment an’ not use it on account o’ its taste tainting the tea. It sartinly took us men folks to dig yer out o’ it; didn’t it, Lammy?

“Now as we know Aunt Jimmy’s intentions was that this be kept close, close it’ll be kept, and we’d better pack up them bills until we can bank ’em Monday, in case Mis’is Slocum should be drawd to look in the winder to see if we are havin’ a hot or cold supper, and real or crust coffee.”

“But mother,” said Lammy, as soon as he could be heard, “when shall we get Bird back? Need we wait until the auction?”

“Sakes alive, child, I’ll write as soon as I get my head, but there’s two letters unanswered now, and I’m afeared they’ve moved again. Somehow, with all we’ve got to face just now, I think ’twould be better waitin’ until everything’s settled up certain and we’ve got the place safe and sound. Then pa and me and you could kind er celebrate, and take a trip to N’York and get her. I ain’t never been there but onct in my life, an’ that was to a funeral when it wasn’t seemin’ fer me to look about to see things, and it rained and I spoiled my best bunnit. I reckon, now we can afford it, ’twould set us all up to go on a good lively errand o’ mercy, and maybe see a circus too if there’s any there, and eat a dinner bought ready made. Seems to me I should relish some vittles I hadn’t cooked, and to step off without washing the dishes.”

“Say, Lauretta Ann,” drawled Joshua, presently, when Lammy, hugging Twinkle and telling him the news, had gone upstairs to look at Bird’s paint-box, and sit in the dark and think of the bliss of going to New York and surprising her his very self, “who do you calkerlate owns them six thousand dollars?” rolling the words about in his mouth like a dainty morsel.

“Why, me,—that is we, of course!” she gasped. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong in takin’ it? Ah, Joshua, you don’t think there’s any wrong in takin’ it?”

“Yes and no, not that egzactly; but as the Squire gave Lammy the law about things that’s been throwed out, it ’pears to me the find is hisn.”

“Well, if it is, I’m glad, and it’s the Lord’s doin’ anyway. We can put the deed in Lammy’s name, and earn him good schoolin’ out o’ it along o’ little Bird, for nobody knows how I’ve missed that youngster a runnin’ in and out these last months and feeling her head on my shoulder times when she was lonesome, and I mothered her in the rocker before the fire. What with the high school, and the painting school, and the female college over at Northboro, there’s all the eddication she’ll need for years close handy, and it’s no wrong to the others, for there’s this place for them to divide, and they’re strong and likely.”

“Remember the auction ain’t took place yet, Lauretta Ann, and don’t set too sure.”

“Joshua, the Lord has planned this out; it can’t go astray now.”

“Amen,” said Joshua; “but how about Old Lucky’s spell? and supposin’ Mr. Clarke takes a fancy to bid on the fruit farm. I hear he’s been for land hereabout.”

“Father, I’m shocked at you, and you nephew-in-law to a deacon!”

Mrs. Lane went upstairs to look for Lammy and found him lying across his bed in an uneasy sleep, with Twinkle keeping guard by him, while his fatigue and the soaked boots in the corner told the cause for the illness that was creeping over him.

“Pa,” called Mrs. Lane down the backstairs, in a husky whisper, “do you go for Dr. Jedd without waiting for the boys to come in. Lammy’s chilled and fevered and sweatin’ all to onct, and I can’t read nothing out of such crossway sinktoms. Dear me suz, it does never rain but it pours! Say, Joshua, you’d best fetch that money up here to be put in the iron maple-sugar pot afore you go.”

By the time Dr. Jedd arrived Lammy was in a heavy sleep, from which he roused at the physician’s firm touch on his pulse, and began to talk wildly.

At first he seemed to think that Dr. Jedd was Old Lucky, for he cried, “I gave you the silver dollar and I made the bullets, but when I went to shoot them, they turned into polliwogs and went downstream.” Then raising himself, he shook his pillow violently, saying, “You were a bad man to tell me lies. How could I shoot the shadow of a Christmas tree on a dark night? Cause when it’s dark there are’nt any shadows.”

Next he seemed to imagine that he was tramping over the hills with the surveyors, and he had an argument with himself, as to whether feet made rods or rods feet, and then mumbled something about a + b that they could not understand for they did not know that one of his new friends had started him in Algebra.

“He is tired out,” said Dr. Jedd, presently, “and in his mind more than his body. The professor over at the camp told me that he had a great head for mathematics, and was always asking questions and working out sums and things on every scrap of paper he came across, and that when paper gave out he’d smooth a place in the dirt and scratch away on that with a nail. Said that it was a pity that he couldn’t go to the Institute at Northboro and be fitted for the School of Mines in New York. Told me if he ever did, he could put him in the way of free tuition at least.”

“The pewter tea-pot! Take Bird out of the pewter tea-pot; she’s stuck in the spout, and when you chop it off, it will kill her!” shrieked Lammy, jumping out of bed.

Dr. Jedd gave him some quieting medicine, and he soon sank back among the pillows, with a burning red spot of fever on each cheek.

“Is it typhoid?” asked Mrs. Lane, her face white and drawn; “Janey died of that.”

“It is a fever, but I cannot be quite sure of exactly which one,” said the doctor, opening a little case he carried and taking out a fine needlelike instrument and a bottle of alcohol. “If I wait to know until it develops, we shall be losing time; if I prick his finger and send a drop of blood to Dr. Devlin in Northboro, who makes a study of such things, he will look at it through his microscope and tell me in the morning exactly where we stand.” So after washing a spot clean with alcohol he took the little red drop that tells so much to the really wise physician and prevents all the mistakes of guess-work, and then began to prepare some medicines and write his directions for the night.

“Is there any one you would like me to send up to stay with you, Mrs. Lane?” the doctor asked as he prepared to leave. “This may be a tedious illness, and it won’t do for you to wear yourself out in the beginning.”

“Byme-by, perhaps,” Mrs. Lane replied “but not jest now while he talks so wild. You know, doctor, how the best of folks will repeat and spy. Joshua ain’t overbusy, and he’ll help me out.”

“What is that thing hanging round Lammy’s neck by a string under his shirt that he has such a tight hold of?”

“It’s the key of the lower one of his chest of drawers; he keeps odds and ends in it that he sets store by, and I guess he’s lost it so many times that he’s took to hanging it on safe by a string.”

The next afternoon when Dr. Jedd came, the smile on his face reassured Mrs. Lane even before he said: “No, it isn’t typhoid—merely plain malaria, and his worrying so much about Bird has made him light-headed. What has become of the child? Tired as she was in the spring, I would not answer for her little wild-wood ladyship after a hot summer in the city.”

Then Mrs. Lane told sadly of the frequent invitations and the unanswered letters.

“I’m going to town for a little vacation after the holidays, and I will look her up myself,” said the doctor, cheerily.

******

It was many weeks after the night that Lammy chopped up the pewter tea-pot and made his wonderful discovery before the fever left him, and then he felt so limp and weak that after sitting up a few minutes he was glad to crawl into bed again. His mind had only wandered during the first two or three days, but frequently he would wake up with a start from troubled sleep and ask his mother anxiously if it was really true about the tea-pot or only a dream. He was bitterly disappointed when the night before the auction came and the doctor told him that he must not go, even though his big brother Nellis had offered to put the great arm-chair in the cart and take him down in that way, all wrapped in comfortables. For the doctor said the excitement of thinking of the matter was enough without being there.

On his way out, Dr. Jedd spent a few moments before he went home, chatting to Joshua in the kitchen.

“To-morrow the tug of war is coming, Joshua,” said the doctor; “all of your neighbours wish you well and set great store by your wife, and we hate to think of seeing strangers in the fruit farm. If you can think up any way that we could accommodate or help you out to buy it, why, just speak out. If the two thousand dollars Miss Jemima left my wife would make any difference to you, she bid me say that, as she knows your dread of mortgages, she would loan it on your note of hand,” at the same time holding out his own toward Joshua as if it already held the proffered money.

Joshua’s honest face flushed with pleasure at the implied trust, yet he could hardly keep the smile from his lips and a mysterious twinkle from his eyes as he shook the doctor’s hand heartily and answered: “We’re much obleeged, and we’ll never forget that you and Mis’is Jedd held us well enough in esteem to make the offer, but I reckon the only way we could come to own the fruit farm would be by buying it out fair and square. I don’t say but I’d be downhearted to see it go by me, especially to ’Biram Slocum, for they’ve been days, doc, when I’ve even kind o’ pictured out the two farms, ourn and it, joined fast by your sellin’ me that wood bluff that runs in between from the highway. But you know the sayin’, doc, ‘Man proposes, woman disposes,’ and all that.”

This time the doctor caught the wink that Joshua’s near eye gave in spite of itself, but thought that it referred to Aunt Jimmy’s peculiarities.

“Well,” said the doctor, deliberately, a genial smile spreading over his features, “one thing I’ll do to help out your picturing, as you call it. If luck should turn so that you buy the fruit farm, I’ll sell you the wood knoll for what I gave for it, and that’s the first time I ever considered parting with it, though I’ve had no end of good offers.”

“Here’s the boys jest come home in time to witness that there remark o’ yourn. Ain’t yer gettin’ kind er rash ’n’ hasty, doc?”

“No, Joshua, the more witnesses, the better,” and the two men went out the door, toward the fence where the doctor’s chaise was tied, laughing heartily.

As to the boys, they were completely bewildered, for not a word did they know, or would until after the auction, and they had not the remotest idea that their father even dreamed of bidding on the fruit farm.