Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 November 1892 — UNDER SUSPICION. [ARTICLE]

UNDER SUSPICION.

Something very unusual to quiet Talmlev had happened, and Talmley was decidedly uncomfortable about it. Of course everybody knew, as everybody knew everything in that delightful place, where each neighbor was a friend, each friend a brother and what the village folk knew was this—the miller, old Harvey Jameson, had been robbed. '•A queer business,” said the miller, shaking his dusty bead solemnly, and telling the circumstance for the fiftieth time to his near neighbor, Farmer Greene, who had dropped in to sympathize with his old friend: “nobody knew 1 had the money but my daughter Jennie and young Le▼oe, and 1 can’t suspect a single soul. I put the money in a tin box, and put that among a lot of other boxes in the cupboard, waitin’ until I could go to the bank with it, an’ lo and behold! when I went to get it out yesterday, there wasn’t a single sign of box or money. I can’t understand it” “Neither can I, neighbor,” said Greene, running a brawny hand over bis shock of untidy hair; “neither can 1 But I do think you’ve set too much store by that young man ye’ve took into your house, an’ mebbe ye’ve mistook him. He’s a deal toe fine about his cloths an’ his hands, -an’ his hair, to be any too honest; but,” cautiously, as he saw the flush that stole over Jameson’s face, “but mebbe I’m talkin’ too fast; but it’s mighty curious. and one don’t know what to think. ”

“One might try to think nothin’ that weren’t charitable,” said the miller, gravely, “an’ I don’t suspect the lad. It is more’n I’d like to lose, for it takes a time to earn it But young Levoe didn’t have nothin’ to do with the stealin’—no more’n you or me—an’ I’d rather people wouldn’t kinder hint he had.” “Taint in nature not to think it seein' he’s a stranger, an’ nobody knows what or who he is; an’ he has fine ways with him an* talks like a schoolmaster,” said Greene, stubbornly. “I don’t like to see you took in, neighbor, and I’m mighty much afraid you are by that millhand of yourn.” Then Greene held out his hand to the miller, who was deep in thought, and bade him good-day, and betook himself to his duties on the farm hard by the mill. But the fawner had left a seed of doubt behind him; and when has such a seed not found soil to nurture it, until its fruit hung heavy on the giant (tree which shadowed a friendship, or darkened for ever a soul immortal?

It was not without many a struggle against the suspicion that at last Harvey Jameson admitted it with a sigh. Who had robbed him of his hard earnings, save some stranger? for his neighbors were his friends, and honest, as he knew. In Talmley there was but one who had not been born there, and that one was Dick Levoe, the stranger who had crossed his threshold six months before to ask for employment. Jameson wanted a hand in the mill and hired Dick, taking him as a boarder. The young man had “fine ways,” as Greene said. He was not especially handsome, but he was cheerful, courteous, and willing to work, and yet, for all that, showed unmistakable signs of having bad no occasion to perform any labor at some time not far pash He was educated—even Jennie, who had spent a year at boarding school, could be instructed by him. “I’ll just keep my eyes open, an’ not let on for awhile, ” thought the miller; “but as Greene said, who else could have stolen the money?” He perceived no change in Dick, no confusion, no sign of guilt; but greatly to the good man’s consternation, he discovered something else. The young man was in love with pretty Jennie, and she was fully conscious of the fact. There was a new difficulty, and one which the miller did not care to meet. He was pondering on it one day, three weeks after the robbery, when Glavin of the Hollow called and paid him ten pounds which had been due some time. “I hear your house isn’t a very secure place for money,” said Glavin, with a smile; “but I hope nobody will walk off with this while you’re asleep.” “I'll take care of that,” answered the miller, conscious that Dick could hear. “I don’t calc’late on bein’ robbed twice by the same person; an’ I’ve got over thinkin’ everybody I meet is honest. Good-day, sir. Much obliged.” Glavin departed, and the miller went into the bouse. Jennie was singing softly as she sewed at a window; Mrs. Jameson wm not in, having zone to visit a sick Without a word the old man passed into his chamber, and there secreted the ten pounds, frowning as be did so. “I’D send that rellow packin’ soon, whether I find him stealin’ or not,” he muttered. “It ain’t none -too comfortable a feeliQ* to know you’ve got to lock up every shilling you get, aod not toll anybody where you put H* sto hi* supper that evening in

silence; Jennie and Dick chattering incessantly, and Mrs. Jameson told about every ache and pain that racked the woman she had been to visit. But the miller could only wonder whether or not that frank, manly face and those cherry tones of his employee belonged to a knave and a scoundrel. “An’ Jennie and him seemed to understand one another far too well,” he soliloquized; “I used to like the lad, but now I’d as lief see my girl care for old blind Jack the tiddler as this fine gentleman. As Greene says, he’s too fancy about himself to be honest I’ve often heard the greater the rascal, the more genteel, an’ I guess I’ll load the rifle.” He did load his rifle, and placed it near his bed, telling his wife that he “warn’t going to. lose any more money, but the first one that came for dishonest purposes would lose his life.” Mrs. Jameson was very nervous concerning the proximity of tbe rifle; she begged her husband to put it farther away; declaring he might touch it in his sleep, “an’ make the thing go off,” and probably kill her. “I never move in my sleep, bo you needn’t be scared,” he told her. “If I touch the gun, you can be sure it will go off; but I’ll not touch it in my sleep; I sleep like an honest man, j da”

So he went to bed, and thought more of his daughter than of the monev under the carpet. However, he did think of his money sometimes, and, in fact, his thoughts ran fromthat to Jennie, as the thoughts of the money-lender ran from his ducats to bis daughter. At last he slept, but not any too soundly; dreams visited him, and unpleasantones they were. Vision after vision came and laded', and his wife was alarmed beyond measure to see his unconscious hands go out again and again, perilously near sometimes, to the loaded rifle. It was midnight before she slept at all, but then her sleep was profund. It was broken at last by the strangest and most thrilling of sounds, no less startling than a heavy fall, andfa loud, harsh, reverberating report, as though a cannon had been tired at her ear. No woman is ever too frightened to scream, and Mrs. Jameson’s shrieks were loud and shrill as she cowered among the bedclothes; and a scrambling in tbe darkness and muttered words she could not understand did not tend to calm her. There was a rush of feet in the hall without; a stout shoulder sent the door inward with a crash, and Dick Levoe, who had made this unceremonious entrance, stood there, with a light high above his head, his keen eyes scanning the apartment swiftly. It took him a moment to comprehend, and then he laughed with immeasurable amusement. The miller, clad but lightly, was sprawling on the floor, a dazed wonder in his face, the old rifle, which he had struck as he fell, lying harmless beside him, and now unloaded; a window was open, and through it came a fine sheet of rain; the old man was soaking wet, and raindrops glistened on his hair and scanty garments: his bare feet were muddy, and altogether he presented anything but an agreeable or presentable appearance. “What has happened?” asked Dipk, as soon as bis mirth could be suppressed, as he aided the miller to his feet

“I—l don’t know,” stammered Jameson. His wife hearing voices, cautiously peeped out from under the coverlet. “Robbers!” she cried shrilly. “They have been here again. Have they shot you, Harvey?” “No, wife, I’m .not shot,” said Harvey; “an’ I don’t think there’s been any robbers ’round. Fact is, I’ve been sleep-walking.” “What!” “I’ve been walkin’ in my sleep,sure as you live,” groaned the miller. "I'm all wet, so I must have gone out of doors, an’ the Lord only knows where I have been or what I’ve been doin’. I was dreamin’ of that ten pounce— ’ He broke off, and hurried to the spot in which he had hidden the money. It was not there. “You’re rather old for such capers, Harvey,” his wife was saying. But he didn't hear her. Very blankly he turned to Dick, who had now retreated to the threshold where Jennie was standing, white and startled, but ravishly pretty. “Lad,” the miller said, solemnly, “I believe I’ve robbed myself. I’ve heard of such things, an’ now I believe I’ve just done that, an’ I hain’t got a notion where I put the money.” “Is it gone?” “Yes.”

“Tnen you had best put on dry clothes, sir, while ! I go out and try to follow the tracks you have probably left in the garden. Your feet are so muddy, I’m sure you must have been there. I’ll report in a few moments.” A whispered sentence to Jennie at the door, and Dick was off to don his boots, and laugh at toe remembrance of the miller’s plight. With a lantern be went out into the rain, and his gravity departed again as, under the window of the miller's chamber, he discovered deeply-indented footprints, which proved that Jameson had emerged like a schoolboy. The big. bare feet left plain traces in the soft soil ot the garden. Dick followed them on, across the road, and found that they ceased at one corner of the milt A loose board had been freshly replaced. He drew it out, and there, in the aperture, found a small tin box. Taking it out, he hurried back, to find Jameson, his wife, and Jennie up and dressed, waiting for him. The miller took the box eagerly, and opened it with scarcely steady hands. There were the ten pounds, and under them the money of which he had thought Dick had robbed him. “Lad, ” he said, turning to his employee, “I’ve been thinkiu’ ill of you for the last few days, an’ I ask your pardon. If I can ever do you a good turn call on me.” “I take your, word sir,” said Dick, cheerfully, going straight to Jennie, and taking -her hand. “I want your consent to my marrying Jennie some day, when I have proved ndyself able to take care of her. We love each other, and I hope, sir, you’U not iornt what love was to yourself once."

| “Na I don’t, lad,” said the miller, with a tender glance towards his wife. “But a mill-hand gets poor wages, an’ you’ll have to wait awhile.” “As for that” said Dick. “I think you’ll have to look up another millband, Mr. Jameson, for I have another offer, and intend taking it. I wasn’t brought up to labor, and was at college when my father died, leaving me, instead of the thousands I expected, nothing but my empty, untrained hands. I left the college, and fate led me hither. If I have shown no talent as a miller, I have won the sweetest girl in the world to love me. Now, a friend of my father’s offers me the post of bookkeeper in his bank, at a salary on which Jennie and I can live, I know. I didn’t take your money, sir, and I’ll forgive you for suspecting that I did if you’ll give me Jennie.” ‘ ‘What do vou say, daughter?” asked the old man, wistfully. “I love him, father.” she whispered. “Then I’ll only say. God bless you both!” said the miller.