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Updated: April 30, 2025
I wouldn't have missed it." Fairbridge people, who were on the whole a good-natured set, were very sympathetic, especially the women. Bessy Dicky shed tears when talking to Mrs. Sturtevant about the disappearance of the baby. Mrs. Sturtevant was not very responsive. "It may be all for the best," she said. "Nobody can tell how that child would have turned out.
Then that mystery of a brass bound box; and now Uncle Moses breaking his bones, and so much going on. But Montgomery Sturtevant! That box! What did become of it? Would we dare, do you suppose we might go back to the woods and find it? It was all your fault.
What you must promise is that you will never, never speak of this box or its strange reappearance to any person, young or old. I shall put it out of sight where it will not be easily found again, and then forget it. You must forget it, too. You are Sturtevant and Maitland, descendants of honorable men and women, and for the sake of your forebears you must hide this thing."
Tradition has enlarged this reply to make Matilda Sturtevant his prettiest as Alice was his wittiest. Matilda's fresh beauty of the devil, her full yet delicate beauty of the twenties and early thirties, live in the galleries of Europe. The painters all had their try at her; she lived in creation which ran the line between miniatures and heroic canvases.
But she showed me, too, her shroud her shroud! Just think of it, Uncle Moses! And that was horrible." "Pooh! That's nothin'. Lots of women has 'em laid by. Same's some fool-men has a coffin built an' kep' handy. As for me, I'm goin' to worry 'bout things only up till the day o' my death, an' not a minute beyond. But, I was tellin' of Verplanck Sturtevant, an' must finish the job.
He looks very ill, and he certainly is no more intelligent than when he went away. But he is evidently faithful to Verplanck Sturtevant, as he always was. It is he that has brought back and for safe-keeping, presumably, hidden the brass bound box that Katharine found, and that has led to so many wild rumors.
But Planck is dead." In a dull despair the poor wretch who had journeyed so many leagues, across so many lands, through so many weary years, dropped his face in his hands, and wept like a child. But with dry eyes, if tremulous hands, Elinor Sturtevant opened the letter as she had been besought.
The town minister performed the ceremony. Mr. and Mrs. Sturtevant were present. Douglas had been invited; but whether he failed to get the message, or whether his new duties of teaching at Winchester prevented him from coming I do not know. We missed him greatly. An emergency arose in which his courage and gift of speech might have been of use.
Then she stood up in the midst of the women, sunk her double chin in her lace collar, and read her paper in a voice like the whisper of a blade of grass. Doctor Sturtevant had a very low voice. His wife had naturally a strident one, but she essayed to follow him in the matter of voice, as in all other things.
At which Madam Sturtevant exclaimed, with as much excitement of manner as she ever showed: "Company? Dear Eunice entertaining guests? Why, son, how did you learn that? Who are they, pray?" "D-d-didn't say 'g-guests. She's a g-g-gir-rl. How I learned, I s-s-saw. With my own eyes. M-m-more chicken, g-gramma." "Yes, dear heart. It is delicious poultry, and so sweet of Eunice to remember us.
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