Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 January 1915 — HER FAMILY RELIC [ARTICLE]

HER FAMILY RELIC

Story of Coonskin Cap With Three Striped Tails Behind. By MARTHA M’CULLOCH-WIU LIAMS. (Copyright, 1914. by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate 1 “I am not your Baby Bunting, but 1 do wish, dad, you’d catch me a little rabbit skin,” Prue coaxed. “Several rabbit skins, indeed. Mrs. Jessy tans them beautiful —and says she’ll show me how.” “What are they good for?” dad questioned, wonderingly. “Nobody wears skin caps any more. I doubt if you could even give away your grandpap’s coonskin, though it’s perfectly good. I’ve kept it packed in tobacco because he wore it through the log cabin campaign back in 1840.” “Oh! Please give it to me! Then — I won't Z bother you about the rabbit skins,” Prue cried, excitedly. Her father at her over the tops of his glasses, smiling shrewdly. “I hardly think you’ll try to wear it — when you see it,” he said. “Even though it has three mighty fine tails at the back and is lined with copperas homespun.” “Get it! I’m wild for it,” Prue all but commanded. Squire Hazen got up sighing—he had settled himself for a half hour’s ease with the weekly paper, while the men and teams rested. “Now, where did I put it? In the cowhide trunk? Or the big chest? Or some of them plunder-barrels out in the lumber house? Blamed if I recollect. But it certainly is somewhere. I don’t believe, though, you’ll find it worth the trouble of hunting .up.” “I know I shan’t —not for me myself,” Prue admitted. “But say, daddy—do you Jknow about antiques? And heirlooms? Some folks are wild for them. Oh, do make hasty haste! I can hardly stand it —waiting to see.” “Oh, I remember now—it’s in the new hatbox —the last one I got —with the bell-crowned hat, you know —the year your mother died,” the squire said briskly. He mounted the stairs alertly, and after a bit of rummaging came down with a shapeless clump of something in loaf-sugar purple paper that gave out a scent of tobacco, red pepper and camphor so pungent it made him sneeze violently. “Indeed I won’t sun it,” she protested ; “won’t even air it, after one good look. The smell is a certificate of character —proving we’ve had the cap since the year one—” “No. Only 1840. I thought I told you.” the squire 'explained carefully. Prue did not answer —she was too busy mining for the cap, as she mined noting each fold of the enveloping papers, bo she could put them back just as she found them. Presently aim drew out something splendidly clumsy, a home-sewn fur cap, with, sure enough, three ringed tails pendant behind. The lining was as brilliant as ever, marked faintly in the center with the bear-grease which hH subdued the too abundant locks of the priginal wearer. There was no visor—only a roll of rich fur for brotfshade. It had not lost a hair, albeit the skin beneath was flinty. Prue danced about, the cap high on her right hand, crying f between steps: “Don’t say I’m an extortioner, daddy—but it is going to cost the Dunton family just SIOO to take back home with them this ‘relic of a revolutionary ancestor.’ You know they’re here especially to hunt relics. Can’t you remember, please, that this went to some of those tiresome Indian wars?"

“It might,” the squire admitted. “But I don’t know any farther back than the log-cabin-and-hard-cider time. Still, you surely are joking about the price. Why two dollars would be little short of highway robbery.” “Your commercial education is very deficient, sir,” Prue said, pursing her lips. “Where God goes and gives money like wool, I at least feel it my duty to do a little shearing.” “You ask the Duntons for it; they ought to know what things are worth to them,” the squire said, going to the lot where the men were getting the mules.

Prue ran to the *phone the minute the door shut on him, did some very diplomatic but energetic talking, then rushed upstairs, flung on her fall suit, looked at her image with sparkling eyes, seeing in imagination how she would look when the cap had been transmuted into stole and muff; then Van down, picked up the hatbox in which she had carefully replaced the cap. loaded it into the - buckboard which stood ready at the stile and drove triumphantly away, sitting very straight, chin in air. Day Molly, fat, fresh and speedy, was pining for exercise, She had had only one scant jpg in two dtays.. So when another vehicle whirred up behind she lay down to* her work Uke a good fellow. When she chose nothing on four Tegs in the county could give her its dust- This was one of her times for choosing not to take it. Before Prue realised it she was racing over the dirt road at a rate that made the buckboard jounce wildly at the rough spots and swing perilously in rounding turns. The other vehicle had not come quite abreast —Prue would not be so underbred as to turn and stare at it. . Presently afee stop shprtj then come on faster than ever. As it approached her there was shouting—-

—-i- • ~ - y 1.. ■'' V ‘ ’’fTT f just what she did not make out. Molly took it evidently for a further challenge. They were coming to a focky stretch, but she went over it full tilt, with a result that half away across it a trace snapped short off. Molly did not mind such a trifle—but Prue was wiser. Tugging hard at the reins she stopped the mare by turning her into a fence corner. As she sat there ruefully wondering if after all she could not keep her solemn engagement with the Duntons, pursuit became overtaking—a man said, “Young lady, this is providential. I never should have caught up with yon to give you back what you lost.” “Lost,” Prue echoed, suddenly looking behind. The buckboard was bare —and the man held out to her the hatbox crushed out of all shape. “Ran over it before I could stop,” he explained. He had got down and walked to her side to add: “I hope I have not broken anything. Hat boxes are so full of possibilities I tremble at Bight of them.” “Nothing’s broken —unless maybe my luck,” Prue answered giggling. Then artlessly, she explained, winding up: “The Duntons are going on the down train tonight—so this is my only onliest chance. Otherwise I’d have made them come to me. Now —maybe I can get there in time — It all depends on whether between us we can mend that wretched trace.” “I doubt it. You see, I’m a duffer at such things,” the stranger explained. “But suppose we do this: let me drive you to the gate at the parsonage—you say the Duntons have boarded there —you can walk in and make out your accident was just outside—”

“But, won’t it take you out of your way?” Prue demanded, flushing red. “Not a bit,” the stranger answered, smiling consolingly. “In fact I have to pass the place; the parsonage was one of my landmarks.” “So you’re strange here,” Prue commented. He nodded. “Yes. But for that, I’d change rigs with you and let you drive all the way. It happens I also have an engagement to keep. With a lady—you see I can’t very well break it. Is it a bargain? I assure you I’m respectable at least.” “Dear me! Who would think it?” Prue said lawlessly, -beginning to laugh and scramble down. The slranger smiled wickedly. In a wink they were away, going at a slapping gait that made up for time lost. Thus Prue yas able to walk into the parsonage living room exactly to the minute of promise. She was looking her best —flushed and happy. Mrs. Dunton liked the look of her so well she did not in the least demur at the price. “It’s ridiculously cheap at a hundred,” she said, so heartily Prue blushed beet-red. She wanted to get away quickly—home was a long way off, but Mrs. Dunton kept her, assuring her Bhe must not think either of walking or risking that frisky mare again. She would be sent home properly—trust Mrs. Dunton for that — with her check and the very best grateful thanks of that lady. Meantime, she must have tea—it was almost time. It really seemed as though the rich lady purposely detained the girl, who felt herself a shameless plunderer. She had confessed as much to her unknown rescuer. He had laughed at her conscience, saying with a twinkle, “Don’t you know things are worth what they will fetch?” Prue did not think so now. Under the warm human kindness of the woman she had thought, a pretender, she grew restlvh. She got up meaning to say, “Now 1 really must go, but you are not to bother sending me,” when in walked her knight of the road, smiling at her quizzically as he was smothered In Mrs. Dun ton’a wellnourished arms. "Joseph, my son, Miss Hazen,” that lady made haste to explain. - “Only think, he has come all this way because he won’t let his old mammy and his pet sister make a Journey alone. Now, what do you think of that?” "That he is very kind,” Prue answered, looking down, wishing the earth would swallow her. He had taken her hand though she did not hold it out. As he pressed it gently he said under his breath, “I’m positive 1 never saw you before. And just as positive I mean to see you again.” He kept his word. Today, Mrs. Prudence Dunton is a very happy woman, noted for her poise, yet she blushes unaccountably whenever, she looks at one of the family relics —a coonskin cap with three striped toils behind and a copperas homespun lining.