A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,74

glad. No one, as you say, has told me anything— but now that I've examined my records, I realize a large number of our neighbors have given me shillings in payment for old bills, though silver has become difficult to find. It seems I now hold many pounds of counterfeit coins— enough to pray it's not confiscated one day! I feared to have it melted down, let alone to pass it on—though I'm sure I've already done so unwittingly. Is this… is this something you feel strongly about, Captain Montagu?”

“We shall have to see. Have you anything else to tell us, sir?”

“I will think very carefully, Captain, and let you know,” Jonathan answered. “But how did you gentlemen discover it?”

“I'll tell you later,” said Longfellow. “One evening, while we share a bottle or two of something rare and mellow, from your cellar.”

“I will be delighted to provide just the thing.”

“Good. Now, I've thought of another question or two, which I shall put to one of your clients. If you will excuse me?”

Slowly, Longfellow put his shilling back into a pocket, unwound his long legs, and rose. He made his way to a table by the fire, where Jack Pennywort had planted himself not long before. Already, it seemed, the small man was in his cups. He gave the approaching selectman a nearly toothless grin.

“I was hoping to see you here, sir, for I've read all of it now!” said Jack. “A lively place Otranto is, too. Full of wonders, and interesting Science.”

“Science, Jack? How is that?” Longfellow asked with some surprise.

“Well, Mr. Flint and Mr. Tinder have told me that's what must lie under most of the things the book sets out, after all. And I agreed with them, as I don't suppose you'd have anything to do with the kind of foolishness this seems to be, sir, not unless there was something real and true beneath it. Maybe you will explain to us at the tavern, one day. Gunpowder, I suppose, is involved—and perhaps brimstone, as before?”

Jack paused to chortle, for he'd recalled an unusual event of three years ago, in which he'd been a central character. “That was very good of you, sir, and it was then I first wished I had more learning myself—for it can be a useful thing, I see now. I was double pleased when you lent me that book to read, and offered to pay me for the privilege! Only I think, if you would be so kind, sir, you need not trouble my wife with the rest of what's been promised. You might save yourself some steps, if you will, and give it directly to me.”

Jack sat up, attempting to look steady and responsible, while his moist eyes continued to weave.

“Well…” Longfellow hesitated. He'd not been unmoved by the praise he'd heard. In fact, he felt a little ashamed of himself for what he'd asked of the small man before him. An education was, after all, a privilege, and not one to be taken lightly, or mocked in its absence. Still, had Pennywort seen fit, recently, to share what he knew, concerning certain local activities?

“How would you like it then, Jack? In shillings, I suppose. But what kind of shillings?”

“What kind, sir?”

“The regular ones? Or would you prefer some that are a little heavier and softer? Those that are, like yourself, of local manufacture?”

After a few moments, Jack jumped—for the information had taken its time reaching his brain. Only a cunning instinct for survival kept him from babbling what he knew.

“Have they got a mint now, in Boston?” he finally asked with a sweet, inquiring look.

“I don't think so. However, there may be a new one open out on Boar Island.”

“That would be curious, wouldn't it, sir?” Jack answered with a crooked smile.

“It would indeed. You're not going to tell me, are you, Jack? Even for your last payment?”

This made the other man consider carefully. He licked his lips, as he imagined the additional spirits he might buy over the next several hours. Then a look of resolve crept over his face. He shook his head, and clamped his lips together.

“Hmm,” Longfellow responded, pleased in spite of himself. “But tell me this, Jack. Why did no one tell me? Was it because I'm a selectman? Or do you mistrust me for another reason?”

“Well, you see…” Jack looked as if he were trying to remember the honest truth. Longfellow waited patiently, supposing this to be a rather rare occurrence. “You see,” Jack decided