He led the way into a low-ceilinged, inner bedroom with the shades all pulled down. It was so dark, compared to the glaring road they had been following, that Georgina blinked at the dim interior. She could scarcely make out the figure on the high-posted bed, and drew back, whispering to Belle that she’d stay outside until they were ready to go home. Leaving them on the threshold, she went back to the shady door-yard to a seat in the swing beside Captain Kidd.
“It’s Uncle Darcy’s son’s rifle,” explained Richard. “He’s been telling me about him. Feel how smooth the stock is.”
Georgina reached over and passed her hand lightly along the polished wood.
“He and a friend of his called Emmett Potter used to carry it on the dunes sometimes to shoot at a mark with. It wasn’t good for much else, it’s so old. Dan got it in a trade once; traded a whole litter of collie pups for it. Uncle Darcy says he’d forgotten there was such a gun till somebody brought it to him after Emmett was drowned.”
“Oh,” interrupted Georgina, her eyes wide with interest. “Emmett’s father has just been telling me about this very rifle. But I didn’t dream it was the one I’d seen up in the attic here. He showed me the corner where Emmett stood it when he left for the wreck, and told what was to be done with it. ‘Them were his last words,’” she added, quoting Mr. Potter.
She reached out her hand for the clumsy old firearm and almost dropped it, finding it so much heavier than she expected. She wanted to touch with her own fingers the weapon that had such an interesting history, and about which a hero had spoken his last words.
“The hammer’s broken,” continued Richard. “Whoever brought it home let it fall. It’s all rusty, too, because it was up in the attic so many years and the roof leaked on it. But Uncle Darcy said lots of museums would be glad to have it because there aren’t many of these old flint-locks left now. He’s going to leave it to the Pilgrim museum up by the monument when he’s dead and gone, but he wants to keep it as long as he lives because Danny set such store by it.”
“There’s some numbers or letters or something on it,” announced Georgina, peering at a small brass plate on the stock. “I can’t make them out. I tell you what let’s do,” she exclaimed in a burst of enthusiasm. “Let’s polish it up so’s we can read them. Tippy uses vinegar and wood ashes for brass. I’ll run get some.”
Georgina was enough at home here to find what she wanted without asking, and as full of resources as Robinson Crusoe. She was back in a very few minutes with a shovel full of ashes from the kitchen stove, and an old can lid full of vinegar, drawn from a jug in the corner cupboard. With a scrap of a rag dipped first in vinegar, then in ashes, she began scrubbing the brass plate diligently. It had corroded until there was an edge of green entirely around it.
“I love to take an old thing like this and scrub it till it shines like gold,” she said, scouring away with such evident enjoyment of the job that Richard insisted on having a turn. She surrendered the rag grudgingly, but continued to direct operations.