THE MAGIC WAND.
A STORY OF OLD WILMINGTON.
BY HOWARD PYLE.
In the good old days of the city of Wilmington, some seventy or eighty years ago, there lived a couple in that quaint little Quaker town by the name of Vertz, better known as Dutch Dolly and her husband.
Dutch Dolly had a truck patch wherein she raised vegetables—peas, radishes, potatoes, and beans—supplying the better part of the town with such produce. Her husband was a tailor, and is described in the chronicles of the town as sitting cross-legged on his bench opposite the window that looked out on the stony street.
Dutch Dolly was a woman of much importance of demeanor, and is described as being the admiration of the rising generation when, on a fair-day or holiday, she appeared in "a black velvet hood, a bodice of the same, a petticoat of superior blue cloth, the whole dress trimmed with gold-lace and two rows of gold-fringe on the skirt." But Tailor Vertz was as puny and insignificant as his helpmate was large and imposing. Dutch Dolly attended to her husband's business, collected his bills for him, and took such good care of his money that the poor little fellow was driven to many an odd shift to get a stray cent or fip[1] to buy him a pinch of rappee or a small glass of strong waters to comfort his inner man. One of his means for gaming small contributions was by telling fortunes, which he did by the aid of astrology, knowing a great many stars, from Aldebaran downward. For those who consulted him, chiefly serving-maids and very young girls, he drew mysterious signs of the heavens, in which the sun, moon, and stars were represented in miraculous conjunction. But with all his faults, with all his cloudy reputation among the good folk, Tailor Vertz was a merry, chipper little fellow, and though not entirely trustworthy, had as blithe a heart as any in Wilmington. He was a great favorite with the boys; he could whistle as sweetly as a robin, he could sing numberless ballads and songs in his queer piping voice, and had a knack of whittling little trinkets out of wood, which he sold, thus turning an odd penny from his young friends.
There were two boy friends especially, Ned Springer and Billy Shallcross by name, who were fond of loitering at odd times in the dusty, musty little shop. They looked upon the tailor as one of the wisest of men, and would listen by the hour to his stories of wonderful adventures, of perils he had escaped, of magic books he had read, and of the wonders of his black-art, believing everything with the utmost sincerity; for boys were much more credulous then than they are nowadays. The little tailor delighted especially to talk of his mysterious art, and often bewailed himself that he had never been able to find a branch of witch-willow, which had such properties that he could with it tell wherever secret treasure lay buried. He generally spoke of this witch-willow in connection with old Jan Judson's house.
Jan Judson was an old Swede of a generation preceding that of which we are speaking. So far as trustworthy narratives tell of him, he appears to have been only an eccentric, miserly old bachelor. A very heavy thunderstorm which passed over the region in which Jan lived struck his house with lightning, and it was burned to the ground, all that was left being a tall stone chimney and a pile of stones. Whether it was the effect of the electricity, or merely the shock of losing his property that affected the owner, certain it is that the old Swede, though rescued from the flames, died a day or two after the accident. Of course the occurrence gave rise to many weird stories connected with old Jan Judson. It was said that One had appeared to him in fire and flame to carry him off bodily, and all agreed that he had left great wealth behind. Treasure-hunters had dug in the cellar, and had turned over the stones, but had found nothing; or, if they had, had said nothing about it.
One bright afternoon the two boys entered the shop of Tailor Vertz, whom they found sitting cross-legged on his bench, with one finger touching his forehead, apparently sunk in deep meditation—a position which he had assumed when he heard the boys approaching. He held up his hand to them to enjoin silence, and they stood looking at him, a little awe-struck and very much wondering. At last he roused himself, and, looking cautiously, beckoned them to draw near.
"I haf foundt it," said he, in a mysterious tone.