Yet through it all I had a suspicion that the demonstration was directed at Blackamoor rather than against us; for I fancied that I had heard our bird say "Haw!" a moment before the hubbub burst forth. Still it was decidedly alarming while it lasted, and continued for a much longer time than was pleasant. I judged it more prudent to keep the door locked than to go forth to remonstrate.
Finally, after a great bombardment, the outcries and racket subsided, and with a vast sense of relief, I saw the Italians retiring across the pasture to their camp. As a matter of course the children carried home terrible accounts of what had occurred, and our small community waxed indignant over what was deemed an outrage by lawless foreigners.
The suspicion, however, remained with me that Blackamoor was at the bottom of all the trouble. I had the boys catch him and make him fast again, this time with a small dog-chain, which he could not bite off. He cawed vigorously, but we kept him at anchor for a week or more. And meanwhile the Italian camp was moved to a point six miles farther along the line of the new railway.
At a schoolhouse in the country it is often difficult to get small repairs made. Early that season the boys had broken a pane of glass in the low attic window at the front end of the house. I had been trying to get it replaced for two months; and now we had two panes broken. At last I bought new glass and a bit of putty and with the aid of Wiggan and another boy, set the panes myself one night after school.
But while setting the attic pane we made a singular discovery. In the low, dark loft, just inside the hole of the broken pane, lay a heap of queer things which caused us first to stare, then to laugh. The like, I am sure, was never found in the loft of a New England sehoolhouse before. I made a list. There were:
The much soiled photograph of an Italian baby.
Three photographs of pretty Italian girls.
Four very villainous old pipes.
Many straws of macaroni.
An old felt hat.
A dirty stick of candy.
Five small silver coins.
An harmonica.
An odd sort of flute.
The bonnet of an Italian baby.
Four soiled red bandannas.
A black wallet containing about a dollar in silver.
Two tin cups.
Two pictures of peasants.
Two plugs of tobacco.
These are but samples. All told, there were at; least ninety articles. It was Blackamoor's hoard; and all the while we were overhauling it he cawed and hawed in great glee!
That night we talked it over, and decided that restoration was our only proper course. The long-suffering Italians were now six miles away; but on Saturday we procured a pair of farm horses and a wagon with three seats for our journey of reparation. The purloined articles were put in a large basket, and we set up a perch in the wagon, to which Blackamoor was chained in token of punishment. After this manner six of us drove to the new camp.
When we arrived the gang was hard at work in a cutting; but when, one after another, they caught sight of our wagon, with Blackamoor atop, exclamations, not of a complimentary nature, burst forth all along the line.
But I beckoned to their Irish "boss," and after showing him our basket and explaining the circumstances, asked him to allow each of the men to take what belonged to him.