About a Barrel of Lard

MY uncle, Ben Slaughter, was an extensive cattle-dealer, who every fall sent his drovers with herds of beeves to Washington, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. Along the way he sold them in lots to farmers, who stall-fed them through the winter, and in the spring and early summer supplied our markets with fat beef. In the fall of 1837, the year of a great commercial crisis, he visited me for the first time since I had married, and stopped with me during his stay in Philadelphia.

He was an early settler in Kentucky, and well acquainted with Boone, Kenton, and other old pioneers, who remained lot a time after he went out. He was tall, well-proportioned, and, for a man of seventy, erect and of easy carriage. He was also a man of temperate habits and simple tastes. His chief hobby was " blooded stock.”Of course he was an admirer of good horsemanship. So one evening we went to the circus. When we returned, as I opened the street door with my latch-key and we walked in, he exclaimed, “ Whe-e-ew! I smell oysters.” Then a silvery voice from the stairway rang out, “ Walk into the dining-room, Uncle Ben, you and Ajax. I ’ll be down presently. I hear the baby stirring; she has some new teeth coming through, but she will soon be quiet.” We walked in and found a tureen of smoking oysters and a pitcher of foaming ale, with bread, butter, and pickles, on the table.

My wife soon joined us, and we sat down to supper. After it was over, and the table was cleared and set in its place against the wall, she drew her workstand before the grate of glowing coals and sat down to her sewing. I then asked the old man to repeat to Sue — that is, my wife — a story which he once told me in my boyhood. So he finished the cigar he was smoking and began.

“ You see I moved out to Kentucky a long time before railroads were thought of, or before the National Road across the Alleghanies was even contemplated. Emigrants from our part of Virginia then went through Winchester, crossed the mountains, and came to the Ohio opposite the place where the town of Marietta now stands. Here we made flat-boats, loaded them with our stuff, and floated down the river. People in those days sent back furs, bacon, lard, and whisky, all the way to Baltimore and Philadelphia by the same wagonroad we traveled.

“As you know, I was a childless widower at forty, when I married your Aunt Polly. According to our Virginia way of farming we merely managed to live comfortably. But, as my father used to say, ‘ The hogs ate all the corn, and the niggers, ate all the hogs.’ I had not got ahead in worldly goods, and determined to emigrate. So with my new wife, five hundred dollars in gold, three teams filled with household stuff, a few negroes, and some choice horses and cattle, I joined Shackelford’s train at Winchester one fine morning in September. We traveled along slowly, of course, but pretty comfortably, camping by the roadside at night, and buying horse-feed and provisions at the houses of the sparse settlers.

“ We got to the Little Kanawha and I was driving the hindmost team, one afternoon, when my off wheel-horse cast a shoe. We soon passed a blacksmith’s shop, and I stopped to get the shoe put on. The smith was a big, gruff, red-headed, pock-marked man, and eyed me very closely. It was some time before he could find a shoe to fit, and by the time I got off, the other wagons must have been more than a mile ahead. So I hurried my team somewhat, to catch up before they made camp for the night. When I got to the ford I heard a loud, shrill whistle, and turning and looking back I saw two men cross the road and go into the blacksmith shop.

I made no account of it at the time, but forded the river and drove up the long hill on the west side. It was tough pulling, and I had to chock my wheels every hundred yards or so, and let my horses blow. I had gone nearly a mile, and got on a level road, when I stopped at a fine, spring which came out from under a rock as high as the top of my wagon-tent. As I was watering my horses, who should step from behind the rock but the ugly blacksmith. I wondered how he came there; he must have taken some near cut to get to the spring before I did. When this occurred to me, I did n’t like it at all. Stepping up close to me as I set down the horse bucket by the spring, he asked the time of day. I would have pretended that I had no watch, but there was my father’s big seal and watch-key dangling by the chain from my fob; so I told him it had stopped. He then pulled out a battered old silver watch about the size of a good-sized turnip, and bantered me for a trade. I did not care to show my old time-piece within his reach, and felt a good deal riled at his impudence.

'Trade with your grandmother,’ said I; and throwing the bucket into the front of the wagon, I cracked my whip and chirruped to my leader.

“As I started, he ran ahead, and, crooking his finger and putting it into his mouth, gave the same devilish whistle I had heard at the ford. Then two men stepped into the road twenty yards before me. I recognized the shorter, by his red shirt, as one who walked across to the blacksmith shop when I looked back before crossing the river. I saw there was going to be trouble, so I put my hand under the wagon cover and drew out my rifle, and cocked it. As the blacksmith turned to come towards me, I said, ‘ Halt, or you ’re a dead man! ’ and with that I raised my gun, the barrel fell into the palm of my left hand, and I had a dead sight on him right between the eyes. One step more and I drew trigger. There was no report, but a dull sound —a kind of a ‘cluck’—as the pan flew open. My eye fell on the cock, and in an instant I understood it all. The flint had been removed and a piece of black walnut to resemble it had been put in its place. This had all been done by the blacksmith, when I went down the hill behind his shop to drink at his spring. The fellow had replaced the gun in the wagon just as I left it, to avoid creating suspicion. I would have given ten years of my life-time if I could have held in my hand one of your doublebarreled percussion rifles. However, it was my life or my money, perhaps both; so clubbing my rifle, as the foremost advanced with a long horse-pistol, I determined to fight it out to the end. On he came, cocking and raising his pistol; but stumping his toe against a stone he stumbled towards me. Before he recovered, my old rifle, as it whirled, came in contact with his weapon and sent it spinning across the road. He dodged a second blow which I aimed at his head, and ran to recover his pistol. Here I was, for a moment, like a buck at bay. Two rascals, one armed with a bar of iron and the other with a big cudgel, were afraid to come within reach of my clubbed rifle. I had but a short respite. The red-shirted man soon recovered his shooting-iron and, advancing within five yards, fired. I jumped to one side, but there was a numb, dead feeling in my right arm, and it fell as useless against my side as the sleeve that encased it. I had now but one arm, and that my left, so of course there was a short scuffle. I saw one of them approaching, a large stone in both hands, raised above his head, as another was pulling me down. There was a heavy thud on my head, and I remembered no more.

“When I came to, — as I did, of course, or I would not be here to tell the story, — it seemed as if I was gradually awakening from a long, confused dream, a dream of years, in which I had lived over my whole life. But how I came where I was lying I could not tell. Then, as my faculties returned, I called to mind my starting from home, and the journey all along until I stopped to get my horse shod. Then I thought of the blacksmith and his villainous face, and realized my situation. The villains had dragged me for a dead man away from the road, — I did not know how far, — and covered me with leaves. I could not move my right arm, but brushed away the leaves from my face with my left. In a short time I shoved them from the lower part of my body, and felt for my money-belt. It was dangling by one of the strings, which had become entangled in a button of my pantaloons. Of course it was empty; and the money I had in my pockets, and my watch, were also gone. I did not know how long I had lain there; it might have been for hours or days, for what I knew. As it was hazy, there was no sun visible to tell me whether it was morning, noon, or evening. I was quite numb, but presently felt my body all over to find if I was bleeding. Much to my relief I was not, but there was a great deal of clotted and dried blood on the back of my head and down the back of my neck. There was also a large gash on the top of my head, and the hair was matted over it. Then I felt all over my head, and the skull seemed to be sound. So I was convinced that the terrible blow I had received, although it had cut my head dreadfully, had only stunned me. The loss of blood had in all probability saved my life.”

Here Sue laid down her sewing and drew a long sigh. Uncle Ben, putting a fresh quid of tobacco in his mouth, continued: —

“ After a while I found that I could rise, though with difficulty, and my wounded arm, when I stood up, was not as bad as I had supposed. The ball had struck that part of the elbow known as the ‘crazy bone,’ and had glanced. Although bruised and sore, I had some use of it; I could raise and lower it, and could open and close ray hand and work my fingers. Of course I lamented the loss of my money. It was all I had to pay Shackelford for the land I had agreed to buy of him. I also regretted deeply the anxiety and grief my absence would cause my wife. My immediate care, however, was to know where I was, and to find the road.

“ There was a small greensward in front of me, probably an old wind-clearing. The cattle of the few neighboring settlers had likely grazed here, and kept down the bushes. Walking forty or fifty yards down hill to the edge of the sward, I came to a precipice of about ten feet, and below it heard the sound of running water. Peering through the trees I also saw a bright, sparkling brook. I was very thirsty, and clambering down with much difficulty, went to the brook, took a hearty drink, and after a while drank again, and then again.

“ By this time I realized that it was evening, for it began to grow dark. I did not know on which side of the road I was, or how far from it, but felt certain that if I could even find the spring where I was robbed, it would still be three or four miles to the place where Shackelford intended to camp; I concluded, therefore, in my weak condition, to spend the night where I was, and to find the road and push on in the morning.

“ I found on searching my waistcoat pocket that I still had flint and steel, which I generally carried. So gathering a handful of furze from a birch-tree, and peeling off some of the bark, I struck a light and kindled a fire. I had selected a spot for this purpose on a bare flat rock some yards in extent, immediately below the slight precipice I have just mentioned. On the flat rock there were several cavities, or shallow holes, I might call them, about the size of the top of a hogshead, and filled with dry leaves. One of these holes was on the left-hand side of a bed of dry moss, on which I made up my mind to sleep. I was very hungry, which I considered a good sign, and lay down, as a relief to the uneasiness it gave me. Here I bemoaned the loss of my money, instead of feeling grateful to God that my life had been spared.

I turned from side to side a great many times, and at last fell asleep. I had many wild, wandering dreams, waking occasionally just long enough to find out that I had been dreaming. I remember the last one I had very distinctly. I imagined I fought with the robbers again; that I killed one and drove another off, and followed him at a distance through the woods, and saw him go to a place very much like the flat rock where I was lying, and put money, which I supposed he had taken from travelers, into holes like those around me; that when he went away I groped in one of the holes and found the ill-gotten treasure.

“In my joy I woke up, and I was really clutching the leaves in the hole on my left. I withdrew my hand with a peevish exclamation, and found something entangled around my fingers. Was it a string? No, I could not break it. It was pliant, and, as I thought, was formed of small links. I drew it from the hole, feeling it. Then I put it to my tongue and then between my teeth, and sure enough it was a chain such as ladies and children wear around their necks. But what was my astonishment when something attached to it dangled against the back of my hand. I put this also to my tongue and between my teeth. It was circular, flat, and hard. I found it was a coin about the size of a doubloon.

“I was frightened at my dream thus becoming a reality; and then, again, doubted whether I was dreaming or really awake. Turning over on my wounded elbow I found I was truly awake and still held the chain and coin. I sprang to my feet, put the chain around my neck, and the coin in my waistcoat pocket. I raked the leaves from the boles and heaped them over the smoldering coals of my almost extinguished fire. The flames ascended and lighted up the woods around me. It occurred to me that if I set fire to the leaves in the holes, there might possibly be banknotes in them and they would be burned, so I thrust my hand deeper in the hole on the left of my bed of moss, and grasped hard money. I drew out a handful and jingled the pieces on the flat rock, and rubbed one and then another on my coat-sleeve until they were bright, and by the light of the blazing fire found them all yellow, true gold — guineas and half-eagles.

“ Then came the thought of my imprudence, and the risk I had incurred in building the fire. If this was a place where highwaymen hid their money, they could not be far off ; and the bright light would certainly attract them to the spot. I pulled the burning leaves away with the limb of a tree that had fallen close by, and trampled out the fire. Then I removed the leaves from the hole, and in the dark put all the coin I could lay my hands on into my hat, and clambered up the precipice. There I covered my hat with leaves by the side of a big stone, and, hiding under a bush near by, waited to see the result of my folly in building such a fire. I thought that daylight would never come, but was apprehensive the robbers would. While I lay under the bush I had opportunity, however, of collecting my thoughts. I reasoned thus: It would be a poor place to conceal money for any length of time. Highwaymen are not such fools. Some poor fellow has been murdered, and the money has been concealed in the hole with the intention of removing it soon. While I was turning the matter over in my mind time slipped away, day broke at last, and the bright sun peeped over the river bottom-lands to the east, and still no one came.

“I clambered down the ledge once more, and carefully removing the leaves from the depressions in the rock, examined them. I found no bank-notes, but only thirty half-eagles more in the hole where I found the other gold. Feeling quite feeble, I picked up what I supposed was the splinter of a broken log, intending to use it as a cane, and to make a shapely stick of it and keep it as a memento of my good luck. I walked this time around the ledge, got my hat, counted my gold, and placed it carefully in my old money belt, which I still retained. The treasure I found amounted to fifteen hundred and eighteen dollars, Federal money, I tied my belt around my body under my shirt, and started to find the road.

“ I retraced my steps to the place where the robbers had covered me with leaves, and walked around the bushy top of a tree which had fallen during the summer and still retained its withered foliage. Judge of my astonishment to find I was just on the side of the road, and opposite the spring where I had the fight with the highwaymen. I thought I would survey the battle-field before I took the road westward. As I crossed, I heard the sound of horses’ feet coming rapidly up the road. In a few moments Shackelford appeared in sight, rifle in hand. Then followed a dozen of my old neighbors. On they came, and such shouting and yelling, when they saw me, you never heard. They had given me up for murdered, and Polly Slaughter had made up her mind that she was a widow.

“ The rascals had driven my team into a timber road a little distance ahead, cut the traces, and immediately left for parts unknown. Shackelford ' hunted them up with a sharp stick,’ but to no purpose. The wagon and horses were found the day after I was missing. I had come to and had wandered away to the brook, while they were scouring the woods at some distance in the hollow on the other side of the road. I wondered that Driver, my old deer-hound, who was with them, had not scented me, but I suppose the fresher trail of the men and horses put him at fault. Some of the men forded the river in search of the blacksmith, for he had a bad name in the neighborhood, and threatened to burn his house; and they would have done so but for his wife and her little cotton-headed children.

“When we got to Kentucky and Shackelford found I had money to pay for the land, notwithstanding I had been robbed, I had to tell him the whole story about finding the gold, but bound him to secreey, as I had a fear that I might be traced and waylaid by the robbers to recover their gold. It was at my own cabin I made the confession, and showed him the stick I had picked up by my money hole and used as a cane. He scanned it carefully for some time, and then laid it down, saying it was part of the stave of a barrel and looked as if it had been gnawed by bears.

“After paying Shackelford for my farm I bought government lands on speculation, and was very successful, selling them in two or three years at four or five times as much as I gave. I was a good woodsman and a good judge of land, and I explored and afterwards located, and then got warrants for fine lands known in those days as the Barrens in the Green River country, which was not then appreciated. People thought that because of its growth, —pine, oak, and so forth, —it was poor land; but I soon found out the contrary, and profited by their mistake.

“ As I was saying, I was exceedingly fortunate in my land speculations, and the money I found in the hole doubled and doubled itself every few years. When I let out the secret of being such a gainer by being robbed, few or none believed my story. It was generally thought a hoax got up by Shackelford in his mischief, — for he was a deuce of a fellow at practical jokes, — and that I indorsed it for the fun of the thing. I even advertised the money when I got well ahead in the world, for I was anxious to return it to the rightful owner. But I was only laughed at for publishing such an improbable story. Prentice often ridiculed it in the Louisville Journal after he started that paper. To this day the story — although I was the chief actor in the drama — goes by the name of ‘ Shackelford’s yarn.’

“ I have kept a regular account, principal and compound interest at ten per cent., that I may pay it some day to the rightful owner or his heirs, if they should ever turn up; for it was the foundation of my fortune. If they never appear, the amount at my death is to go to certain institutions mentioned in my will for the benefit of my fellow-men. For I have ever considered it a loan from the Giver of all good, and I intend to return it.”

When my uncle had finished his story I looked at my wife. The bloom on her cheek had faded. There was a singularly wild though serious expression in her face. She arose from her chair, and, approaching the old man, lifted her hands and laying one on each shoulder looked with her large gray eyes full into his. “ Uncle Ben,” she said, “I think you are sincere, that you are honest, that you are noble by nature, and that you will keep any promise you make to your fellow-man or your Maker. God help us, my dear uncle.” When she said this she kissed his wrinkled cheek, and bidding him good night went up-stairs.

After talking with Uncle Ben a short time and lighting him to bed, I found Sue in her chamber. She was sitting on the lounge by the side of the baby’s crib, wrapped in serious thought. Motioning to me to take a seat by her side, she said, —

“Ajax, that is a strange story that Uncle Ben has been telling us. If there was any reason for doubting it I think I could produce corroborative evidence to prove it.”

“Why, how you talk, Sue! and if you could, what of it? ”

“Well—no matter about it now.” Then, suddenly changing the subject, “ What amount did you tell me this house was mortgaged for ? ’ ’

“ Eight thousand dollars, my Sue. The bond is now overdue, and the holder is struggling to maintain himself and says he must go to protest if it is not paid within ten days. I have tried my best to have the mortgage renewed in other hands, but no one seems disposed to invest during this terrible crisis, so in a few days I fear we shall have the sheriff’s placard pasted against our front. You see those wild speculations in Mississippi and Texas lands in which my New Orleans partner ventured, and the worthless bills of exchange he has remitted me, have got us into all of this trouble.”

“ What amount of Comly & Co.’s bills did you hold, and where are they now? ”

“ Thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars when we went to protest. They have been discounted by the Farmers’ and Mechanics’ Bank. But Mr. Patton, on whose influence with the president and directors I can depend, assures me he can make that all easy. A kinder heart for unfortunate debtor never throbbed. He promises to have it so arranged that the bank will hold the protested bills as collateral, if I can only pay ten per cent. on them every ninety days. Although he blames us, as he says, for ‘ putting so many eggs into one basket,’ he has no doubt that Comly’s paper will eventually be worth fifty cents on the dollar.”

“ And about the rest of your creditors ? ’ ’

“ I exhibit a balance-sheet in which I show, in assets— available at farthest in twelve months — at least two to one, and all have agreed to a fair extension of time, except one obstinate French house. They have sued and obtained judgment for something over six thousand dollars. If I had funds to satisfy that claim and pay off the mortgage on our house, my creditors in addition to the extension of time would again give us liberal credits, and we could go on within a week.”

My Sue was a devout Methodist, had unflinching faith in prayer, and, as I thought, queer notions about special providences. As I gave her this brief sketch of my financial difficulties, her eyes were brimming with tears. She kneeled down and fervently prayed with upturned face. Her words to me were inarticulate. When she arose, her face was less sad. A faint smile even lighted up her features.

The following morning, as we sat by the grate waiting for breakfast, the servant brought in the daily paper. My wife seized it eagerly, and to my astonishment turned to the column of public amusements. After reading a few moments she handed it to Uncle Ben, pointing with her finger to the place. Uncle Ben read aloud : “ The whole to conclude with laughable Equestrian Burletta of The Hunted Tailor, or A Trip to Brentford. The part of Billy Button by Mr. John Cook.

“ Ajax,” said the old man, as he folded up his spectacles, ‘‘I must go and see that to-night. I have n’t had a laugh at Billy Button for twenty years.”

“ Certainly, Uncle Ben,” I replied. “ I would like to go with you and have a good laugh also; and as you have intimated that you will be detained at the drove-yard all day, we will meet at teatime.”

In the early dusk of evening, as I entered the hall, I heard Sue at the piano. Approaching the door of the back parlor I found her singing, to an old-fashioned cross-hand accompaniment, a song, the name of which I need not repeat when I say the words she uttered just then were, —

I had not heard the old song for years; I used to laugh at its queer sentimentalism. But now there seemed to be a pathos in the words, und a depth of feeling in their expression, quite unusual in Sue’s singing, notwithstanding my appreciation of its quaint drollery. Walking up softly behind her, and laying my hand gently on her shoulder, I said: —

“ Whose angel will you be, Sue? ”

“ Why, yours of course, my dear unsophisticated,” she replied, looking up; and her face flushed as if she had betrayed some closely kept secret. Recovering herself quickly, she continued : —

“ But your better angel is in the other room, tending the baby.”

Looking through the folding-doors, there sat Uncle Cook at the window, with Lulie on his knee. She had so completely daubed and smeared the window-panes with her little “ patties,” that I did not observe the happy pair as I walked up the front door steps.

I found that my wife had passed the day at Germantown with her uncle, and had prevailed on him to accompany her home. Uncle Cook was a short, stout, square-built old man, a little stoopshouldered, in whose face mantled the same rich Dutch blood that usually shone in Sue’s cheeks. I had scarcely time to shake hands with him before the street door bell rang. Sue flew to the door and ushered in Uncle Ben. Introducing them, she said: —

“Uncle Ben Slaughter, this is my Uncle John Cook. He is as fond of going to the circus as you are, and intends to stay all night with us, and go with you and Ajax to see Billy Button.”

The two old men shook hands, and our uncle on my wife’s side said: —

“ But I am not John Cook the clown.

I don’t look much like a circus-rider, do I? ”

“ No,” said Uncle Ben, in his bluff way, looking down at Uncle Cook’s portly figure. “ I think you are built more for dodging than jumping fences.”

They both laughed at this witticism, and we then sat down to tea. When it was over we went to see “the grand entrée; ” the “still vaulting by the whole company; ” the strange man who came staggering out of the pit into the ring and wanted to ride a certain vicious horse, and was allowed to do so, and after throwing off innumerable ragged garments as he rode, at last stood in a long white shirt, which he also eventually threw off, appearing in spangles, and then, “The Hunted Tailor, or a Trip to Brentford.” I had a heavy heart on account of my business troubles, and it was a great relief to join with these two simple old men in the laugh at the mishaps of Billy Button.

The performance was over early, and as we entered the hall on our return, Uncle Ben exclaimed, as he did the night before, —

“ Whe-e-ew! I smell oysters.”It struck me as a strange coincidence; and then Sue, from the stairway, called out pretty much in the same words as she did the night before, “ Walk into the dining-room, Uncle Ben, you and Uncle Cook and Ajax; I ’ll be down presently.”

This evening, however, her voice was tremulous, and had not its usual silvery tone.

It appeared to me that Sue had an object in all this. There was the same set-out we had the previous evening: oysters, ale, bread, butter, and pickles, and some cigars in the baby’s silver cup which Uncle Cook had given it, sitting on the mantel-piece.

After supper my wife took her sewing and sat down to her workstand as on the night before. She was pale now, and evidently nervous, but still tried to look composed. I felt anxious about her, and suggested that she should go to bed. If we had been alone I would have insisted on it.

As soon as Uncle Cook had finished his cigar, she laid down her sewing and got up and came round the workstand, and sat on his knee, with her arm around his neck, and kissed him. Then she asked him to tell Uncle Ben and myself the story he used to tell her when she was a little girl and sat on his knee as she did then; to tell about his being a coppersmith, and how he received his money for the whisky stills he sold out to Kentucky — Uncle Ben was from Kentucky. The old man cleared his throat, and as Sue resumed her seat at the workstand he said: —

“ Well, it’s not much of a story, but when Sue was a little girl I frequently amused her by telling about my old boss, Samuel Lewis. When I had served out my apprenticeship with him, and set up for myself, we were neighbors in Front Street, and good friends for many years. We did not interfere with each other in trade. He sold his coppers mostly to Western Pennsylvania, and I sold mine in the main to Kentucky. He received his pay pretty much in silver, and I got mine, whenever l could, in gold, as it had to be brought farther. Sometimes it was queer coin, and it was hard to get at the exact value of it. A remittance was frequently composed of French, Spanish, English, and American coin, and occasionally a little cut silver; that is, Spanish dollars or half-dollars, divided into two or four equal parts, to make small change. There were no banks out there then, and no such things as bills of exchange, so we had to get our money of this sort, and in this way.

“ I remember when the Farmers’ and Mechanics’ Bank started. I forget whether Joe Taggert was president or not, but I know that Clay was cashier, and Billy Patton was teller. That was in the year 1807, and a queer, jolly fellow Patton was. Lewis and I were amongst the first to open accounts with the new bank. He put his kegs of silver on a dray, and I put my gold in a copper pan on a wheelbarrow, and covered it with my leather apron, and walked alongside up Chestnut Street, while Tom Warner, my oldest apprentice, wheeled it. When we got to the bank, and were waiting to have our money counted, Patton handed us the signature book and we wrote our names down.

“ ' Halloo! ’ says Patton; ' that won’t do.’

“ ' What won’t do? ’ says Lewis.

“ ' Why, those names,’ said Patton.

“ ' What’s the matter with the names ? ’

“ ' Why, you must change them somehow. We have just had a Samuel Lewis and a John Cook to open accounts here. We shall get you all mixed up. You would n’t like the other Lewis and the other Cook to have your money placed to their credit, or to check against your accounts, would you? ’

“ Then Patton laughed until he got as red in the face as a turkey-cock, and called Clay, the cashier, and he laughed too, and we all laughed.

“ ‘ I ’ll tell you how to fix it,’ said Clay. ' You, sir, sign your name Samuel Lewis, C; and you, sir, sign yours John Cook, C. That means Samuel Lewis, coppersmith, and John Cook, coppersmith; the other gentlemen of your names are both merchants.’

“So we appended ‘ C ’ to our names.

“ ‘ Where’s your money, gentlemen? ’ said Patton.

“ ' Here it comes,’ said Lewis, as his man rolled in his kegs.

“ Well, at last, with some help, Patton counted Samuel’s money. Then he counted mine, and laughed like fury when he was done. ' Why,’ said he, 'Cook, you had more in your copper pan than Mr. Lewis had on his dray.’

“When he counted my money I could n’t help smiling. He kept wiping his hands, for the pieces were slippery and bothered him a good deal. As I was going out of the bank he hallooed to me, 'Cook, don’t bring any more greasy money here. Wash it, before you make a deposit.’

“ The way it came to be greasy was this. You see, I frequently had my remittances come in a barrel of bacon or lard. Old Mr. Whittlesey, my agent in Kentucky, would send me, say, twenty barrels of either, and in one of the barrels he would pack my money, and advise me what was the number on the head of it. The barrels would be numbered from one to twenty, for instance, so as not to excite curiosity.”

Uncle Cook, perhaps thinking he had nothing further in the way of a story to tell, was about to stop here. My wife looked up from her sewing uneasily, then laying it down and folding her hands, asked him if he ever met with any loss by such manner of conveyance.

“ Only once,” he continued, “and a pretty round sum it was, too. I did not think it worth while repeating the story to Mr. Slaughter. I will do so, however, if it will interest him and Ajax. There was a deal of mystery about the matter, which I suppose will never be cleared up. Perhaps I did not follow it up as I ought to have done. It. happened in this way.

“ My old agent in Kentucky died having a smart sum of my money in hand. To conform to law I had to apply and make certain oaths in person, and therefore went out. After a delay of two or three weeks I got it from his executors. I bought ten barrels of lard and put them in the warehouse of Whittlesey’s successor. One day, alone, pretending to examine the quality of the lard, I took the head out of one of the barrels, put in my gold, and headed it up. I marked the numbers on them, and this one was number seven.

“I had promised Mr. Lewis that I would come home by way of Pittsburg and the Monongahela River, and collect some money due him from distillers there; so I sent, my lard home by a trusty Lancaster County Dutch wagoner, who had come out from Philadelphia with a load of goods for the man who succeeded Whittlesey. I was a good while on the way, and found when I got home the lard had arrived the day before. Glancing at the barrels, number seven did not look like the others. It was not my marking, and was of rather different shape. With much anxiety I opened it, and to my dismay found no money. I then examined them all with as little success.

“ I immediately wrote out to the man in whose warehouse I had opened the barrel to put the money in. I waited a month for an answer, and then wrote to his brother, informing him of my loss. After some delay he answered that Whittlesey’s successor had gone west of the Mississippi on a trading expedition. Six months later the news came that he was killed by a drunken Indian at one of the trading posts.

“In the mean time I questioned the Dutch wagoner frequently and closely. He declared that the barrels were the same that the store-keeper had helped him to put into his wagon. The Dutchman’s character was above suspicion, and having no proof that I had put money into any barrel he brought from Kentucky, I had no legal claim against him even if I had been disposed to prosecute him. Three years after this he was taken sick and expected to die, so he sent for me and made this confession.

“ He came home by the Winchester route. On the way his wagon broke down, and he was obliged to unload on the roadside and take it to a blacksmith shop, a few miles away, to have it repaired. When he returned next day the barrels of lard and bacon had been knocked about, and one of them was missing. To preserve his reputation as an honest and careful teamster he bought another barrel of lard in Winchester and put the same number on it. When he arrived in Philadelphia and found me in such an anxious state of mind about the missing barrel, he concluded it had money in it, for he had brought remittances in this way for me before. Fearing he would be accused of theft, he insisted, up to the time that he was taken so dangerously ill, that none of the barrels had been exchanged or replaced on the way. Now he wished to die with a clear conscience, and acknowledged that he had lost a barrel, and had replaced it with another. To the surprise of himself and everybody else he recovered; but he always insisted that his last statement was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So in the end, all that I ever got front my old collector’s estate by going out to Kentucky was a queer sort of a gold piece, which I carried in my pocket for a good many years, and when Sue, there, was a baby, I gave it to her to cut her teeth on. I think it must have been an old medal of some kind, but the inscription had somehow been obliterated. As it was about the size of a doubloon I took it for that in settlement. I always told Sue if I ever got the money back that I lost in that barrel of lard, it should belong to her. And don’t you think the jade brought a paper out to Germantown this morning all formally drawn up by a lawyer, binding me to my promise. I think, Sue,” turning to her, “ you must have a soft place in your head. Why, bless you, child, I would have signed it twenty times, and in presence of ten witnesses instead of two, for all the good that will ever come of it.”

I laughed at Uncle Cook’s story; for my wife, although she was a portionless bride, had frequently told me in her merry moods that she had a fortune somewhere, if she could only find it. Uncle Ben did not join in my merriment; he appeared to be very serious.

Looking around at Sue, I saw what I had not noticed until then. There was a blue ribbon around her neck which belonged to the old medal that Lulie. our baby, had been mouthing, and cutting her little teeth against, just as Sue had done twenty years before—the same medal that Uncle Cook had given her.

“ Uncle Cook,” said Sue, “ how much money did you say was in that barrel of lard? ”

“ Fifteen hundred and eighteen dollars,” he replied. Then coming round her workstand she laid her hand on the shoulder of the old Kentuckian, and said, “Uncle Ben, when I asked you to change me a dollar this morning, to pay the milkman, you had a singular-looking old pocket-piece amongst the loose change you held in your hand; will you allow me to look at it ? ”

Uncle Ben, apparently wrapped in deep thought, pulled out the old pocketpiece and placed it in her hand.

“ Now, uncles,” continued Sue, drawing the baby’s medal from her bosom, and placing the two side by side on the workstand, “ both of you put on your spectacles and look.”

I saw at a glance that one was an exact duplicate of the other. There was the same big star in the centre of each, and on the reverse sides the same wreath inclosing what — until it had been filed or cut out—was a superscription, or motto.

“ Good God! ” exclaimed Uncle Ben, as his eyes rested on the two medals, and clapping his hand to his forehead, he stood as one bewildered.

Uncle Cook also looked, and raising his left hand to his chin and feeling it with an abstracted air, was mute.

Sue then placed the tip of her forefinger on two small links fastened in a loop brazed to the edge of the baby’s medal. Then her great gray eyes sought those of Uncle Ben. She did not speak, but gazed deep into them as she did the night before. The language of her eyes was plainer to the old man than words. Unbuttoning his waistcoat he pulled over his head a long gold guard-chain, and laid one end of it close to the two small links. He nodded his head three times affirmatively, and turning to Uncle Cook, said: —

“ When you packed your money in that barrel of lard, you broke the chain that held those two medals together, and packed one and put the other into your pocket.”

Uncle Cook was still speechless, but nodded his head in assent.

“Now tell me,” continued Uncle Ben, “ did you ever travel that road and see the place where your barrel of lard was stolen? ”

“I did,” replied Uncle Cook, “ten years after it happened, and found a tavern standing on the identical spot. On the opposite side was an immense limestone rock, as high as this ceiling. It stood above a very fine spring. The landlord told me a queer story about the lost barrel of lard, which he said was generally believed at the time he settled there.

“ The story was, that a Pennsylvania wagoner going east, once, broke down, and placed his load just where the house afterwards stood, while he went across the Little Kanawha to get his wagon mended. When he returned there was a barrel of lard missing. The following winter the hoops and staves of the barrel were found at the foot of the precipice.

“We walked to the bottom of his garden, and he showed me the precipice. He said that a blacksmith at the ford, when hunting, the next winter, found the staves sticking above the snow, and collected most of them to make a barrel. That all of them were greasy, and some of them gnawed. The conclusion that the people came to was that the bears, which were then numerous there, had found the barrels of lard during the wagoner’s absence, and in trying to get at the inside of one of them had set it rolling down the hill, and it had gone over the ledge and lodged in one of the holes on the flat rock below. As it was partially broken in the fall, the bears pulled it to pieces and ate the lard. I was foolish enough to grope in the holes to see if I could find any of my lost gold.

“ The landlord then told me that the same blacksmith robbed and murdered a man who was driving his wagon on his way to Kentucky the next autumn, and threw his body over the precipice and ran away with his money; of course he got my money out of the barrel that rolled over the precipice, and took that along also.”

“ No, sir,” said Uncle Ben. “ When the bears ate the lard, as they had no use for the money they left it in the hole. The leaves of autumn and then the snows of winter covered it up snugly, and the blacksmith only got the staves and hoops. The man who, as they told you, was murdered, got your money and now stands before you. Your loss, Mr. Cook, has been my gain. The guineas and half-eagles that came out of that barrel of lard made my fortune.

I have kept a strict account with you for twenty-nine years, and to-morrow I will give you a cheek on the Bank of Kentucky for principal and compound interest at ten per cent. I am your debtor for nearly thirty thousand dollars. I may add that the pleasure of returning it is doubled by knowing that Sue, there, and Ajax, are to be made happy by its possession.”

The bloom, after fitful visits and flights, presently settled in Sue’s cheeks. The tears dropped from her long eyelashes. She laughed and wept by turns. At last she laid a hand on each shoulder of the old Kentuckian, and looking once more into his eyes, said: —

“I knew it, Uncle Ben. I knew last night it was Uncle Cook’s money you found. And all alone, by God’s help, I have worked out this deliverance from our troubles. Blessed be his name ! ” Then she kissed the two old men and bade them good night.

As we sat silently gazing into the grate after Sue had gone, my mind reverted to her nervousness at the conclusion of Uncle Ben’s story the previous evening, and her impressive act and words before bidding him good night; her allusion in our chamber to corroborative evidence of the truth of Uncle Ben’s story; her suddenly avoiding the subject; and her earnest, supplicating prayer. Then I thought of her seizing the newspaper before breakfast and drawing the old man’s attention to the circus advertisement, the day spent at Germantown, and the two lines of that old song. This guileless girl, with a woman’s intuition, had seized upon an incident in the narration of the old Kentuckian’s adventures, and connecting it with a story heard in her childhood, had “ worked out this deliverance from our troubles.”

Why did she not confide her plans to her husband, and seek his counsel and coöperation ?

Would she raise him to heights of hope for a few brief hours, perhaps only to plunge him deeper back into the slough of despond ?

Such, no doubt, were her thoughts as she sat by the baby’s crib the night before.

I placed the baby’s silver cup, with some cigars in it, before my uncles, and bade them good night, as the old Kentuckian commenced telling Uncle Cook the story of his adventure with the robbers, and his finding the money.

As I entered our chamber Sue arose from her knees, and putting her arm around my neck, said: —

“You wouldn’t believe me, Ajax, when I told you, after we were married, that I had a fortune somewhere, if I could only find it. Now you can pay those obstinate Frenchmen, and I will hold the mortgage on the house, and we will have sixteen thousand dollars left.”

Then Lulie stirred in her crib and opened her large gray eyes, so like Sue’s. Then we both kissed her, and kissed the dear old medal, and hung it around the baby’s neck.

Ajax T. Lamon.