“Thank you. Thank you,” said the old man. “It will be a heap of comfort to me. You don’t know how long the time seems without it.”
“Yes, I know. I like a smoke pretty well, and I would not give it up to please anybody. Now you run along to the house and in a few minutes I will be there. A keepsake,” he muttered to himself. “It is money, I know. I believe I took the right course when I shut down on that man’s weed.”
It was astonishing what that word “keepsake” made in Jonas’s feelings. He had but two expressions which came to his face—the smile and the frown. No one to have seen him as he finished putting out his team, would have thought that a frown ever came on his countenance. He was all smiles, and once or twice he forgot himself so as to try to strike up a whistle. This attracted the attention of Caleb who was amazed at it.
“What’s the matter with you, pap?” said he.
“There is nothing the matter with me,” replied Jonas, cheerfully. “When a man does right he always feels happy. That’s the kind of opinion you want to grow up with. If you make everybody around you jovial, of course you are jovial yourself.”
“Are you happy because you didn’t get the old man what he wanted?” continued Caleb, who would have given everything he had to know what had brought about that wonderful change in his father’s appearance. Caleb knew that he could bring the frown back to his face in short order. He had but to mention that the old man had a plug of tobacco in his pocket, and that he had seen him dig it out of the fence corner; but something told him that he had better keep quiet. He was going to keep close watch of Nat and Mr. Nickerson now—he did not know how he was going to do it, for he kept close watch of them already—and perhaps they would lead him to the place where they had concealed some money.
“Yes, sir, that is a point that I want you to remember all your life,” Jonas went on. “I forgot all about Mr. Nickerson’s tobacco, and that was the reason I didn’t bring it. But I will make up for it after supper. Have you milked, Caleb? Then pick up your pail and let’s go up to the house. A keepsake,” Jonas kept saying to himself, as he walked along. “He knows that I want money worse than anything else, and that was what he meant. The idea that he should keep money in that house so long, and I was looking everywhere for it!”
Jonas was in a hurry, anybody could have seen that and he kept Caleb in a trot to keep pace with him. When he opened the door he greeted his wife with a cheerful “hello!” and picked up his youngest child and kissed him. Mrs. Keeler was as much amazed at his actions as Caleb was. She stood in the middle of the floor with her arms down by her side and her mouth open, seemingly at a loss to comprehend his movements.
“Now, then, where is Mr. Nickerson?” said Jonas, pulling an empty chair toward him.
“Mr. Nickerson,” said Caleb to himself. “There is something in the wind there. He never called him Mr. Nickerson before unless he had something to make out of him. He was always ‘that old man’ or ‘that inspired idiot’ when he wanted him to do errands for him. What’s up, I wonder?”