Laura Richards
Jim of Hellas, or In Durance Vile; The Troubling of Bethesda Pool

"And I tell Mr. Bont," – Jim resumed the thread of his narrative, smiling apology around, – "I tell him, 'Let-a me go!' not ron avay, of course; I cannot ron avay if I wish. It is island. I tell him 'Let-a me go and work! I make ze door good; I mend ze windows; I do for ozer people work, perhaps zey give me ozer mess.' Is it not?" with a sudden flash and gleam of eyes and teeth.

There was a short pause. "How did you come here, anyway?" queried Captain Bije Tarbox.

It appeared that Jim had fallen overboard from his vessel. It was night, and his fall had not been noticed. Fortunately, the vessel was, even at the moment, passing the Island. He was a good swimmer, used to being in the water for a long time – briefly, behold him! He stole the hen. He was taken, brought before the "selected gentlemen." That was his story.

"Just step outside with Bunt a minute, my man," said Captain Asy Bean, "and we'll settle your case." Then, as the door closed behind the smiling criminal and his gloomy guardian, Captain Asy turned to the others:

"Gentlemen, this story may or may not be true. It sounds fishy; but, anyhow, the man must have come from somewhere, and I d'no as it matters much, s'long as he's here now. Question is, what to do with him now he is here. Just like them seleckmen, lettin' the jail go to rack an' ruin, an' then clappin' a man in thar for the sheep to nibble."

"Man's a seaman, anyhow," said Captain Bije Tarbox. "Ought t' ha' been sent straight to us."

"That's so!" assented the captains all.

"Wal!" resumed Captain Asy, "'pears to me the straight thing is for us to send for the seleckmen – they'll be goin' by to dinner direckly, an' we can toll 'em in an' say to 'em – "

"Thar she blows!" sang out Captain Abram.

"Where away?" asked Captain Moses Packard.

"Weather bow!" was the reply; and then the talk went on again.

Part II

Palmyra Henshaw was sitting in her neat kitchen, with folded hands. The kettle was singing cheerfully, the cat was purring contentedly by the stove; but for once Miss Palmyra's mood did not chime in with the singing or the purring. She had sprained her ankle the day before, and it was now so painful, that, after dragging it about till her work was "done up" (for, land sakes! she couldn't sit down in the dirt; and her kitchen had to be cleaned up, if she did it on her hands and knees), she was fain now to sit down and put the offending member up on a chair.

She looked at the poor foot with great displeasure. It was badly swollen; she had had to put on a green carpet slipper, one of an old pair of her father's; and the contrast with her other foot, in its trim, well-blacked shoe, was anything but pleasant.

As she sat thus in silent discomfort, she heard the sound of the pump in the yard. Somebody was working the handle up and down with firm, regular strokes.

"Well, what next?" said Miss Palmyra, fretfully, peering out of the window and trying to gain a sight of the intruder. "I sh'd like to know who's at that pump without askin' leave or license. I left the pail out there, too, didn't I? Like as not it'll go, same as the hen did. I must get up!" – she made a motion to rise, but sank back with a groan. "My Land! Have I got to sit here and have my things stole without liftin' a finger?"

At the same moment she heard quick steps crossing the yard: the door opened, and a man entered, carrying a brimming pail of water. Miss Palmyra opened her mouth to shriek, but closed it again when the stranger smiled.

"Good eve!" said the man, who had black curls, gold rings in his ears, and the brightest eyes that ever were seen. "I come to do ze work."

"Work!" ejaculated Miss Palmyra, faintly.

"Ze shores!" explained the man, with a brilliant flash of eyes and teeth. "You have hurt ze foot? So peety! Look! I fill ze kettel – so! I bring ze wood – so!" (He was gone, and back again with an armful of wood before Miss Palmyra could trust her bewildered senses enough to know whether she was awake or dreaming.) "I fill up ze stofe – so! And next? It is a cow zat you haf? I milk her!" He swept a glance around the kitchen, seized with unerring instinct the right pail, and was gone again.

Miss Palmyra pinched herself, and opened and shut her eyes several times.

"I wonder if I'm goin' crazy!" she said. "I feel kinder light-headed."

She looked at the cat, who blinked quietly in return, and his calm air of tranquillity steadied her nerves. "If he'd been a tramp, he wouldn't ha' brought in that wood!" she said. "Would he, Eben?" The cat was named Ebenezer. Ebenezer purred assurance, and Miss Palmyra's spirits rose. "Like as not he's stayin' with some o' the neighbours!" she said. "Mis' Brewster's real kind: mebbe this is her nephew she was expectin', and she sent him in to help me. Well, I'm sure!" She twitched a little shawl over the carpet-slipper, and settled her neat collar and apron.

When the stranger returned, beaming over the brimming milk-pail, she was able to greet him with "Well, you're real obligin', I must say. I didn't hardly know what I should do about milkin', for I can't seem to put my foot to the ground. Stayin' at Mis' Brewster's, be ye?"

"No!" with a flash which illuminated the kitchen. "Not zere. Where he live, ze milk? Zis door?"

Miss Palmyra indicated the pantry door, where the yellow pans stood ready and waiting.

She listened keenly for a sound of spilling or dripping, but none came; only a steady, even pouring. "He's a real good hand!" she murmured.

"And now?" the dark eyes smiled on her again. "You lame, I get your sopper. What you like?"

"Oh, – no, sir, you can't do that!" cried Miss Palmyra. "I'm jist as obliged, I assure you, but I sha'n't want nothin' more to-night. I had a good dinner. Well, I'm sure!"

She felt utterly helpless when the stranger, with another smile, produced three eggs from his pocket, and taking a bowl, proceeded to break the eggs into it and beat them with right good will. "When you seeck, then you weak," he explained. "Most eat good sopper! I make!"

In the twinkling of an eye the frying-pan was on the stove; and, while it was heating, his keen black eyes spied a tray. Napkin, knife and fork were arranged upon it with swift precision. Setting a plate to warm on the back of the stove, he proceeded to do wonderful things with the beaten eggs, tossing them about with a fork, stirring, seasoning, tasting. This was done with the right hand, while the left was toasting a slice of bread. All the time the black eyes were glancing here and there, like darting sunbeams. Spying a string of onions, the stranger pounced upon them. A morsel was torn off, shredded fine, and stirred into the savoury mess.

In five minutes such an omelette was smoking on the hot plate as Miss Palmyra had never even dreamed of; and in one minute more it was beside her on the little light-stand, and she was bidden "Eat! I make tea!"

Now Miss Palmyra had not had a good dinner, and she was desperately hungry, and – oh! how good that omelette did smell! The toast was perfect!

Where had Mis' Brewster's nephew learned all this? And now, to crown all, a cup of tea was set beside her, – hot, strong and fragrant. And then —

"Please ze lady I also have a cup?" asked this astonishing person. The tone was soft and pleading, the dark eyes deprecating, as if he were a humble suitor, asking a royal boon.

"Well, I should hope you could!" cried Miss Palmyra, hospitably. The idea! I don't see what I was thinking of, Mr. —Is your name Brewster?"

"No!" said the stranger, softly. "Name is Jim!"

A good supper had Giorgios Aristides Evangelides Paparipopoulos, alias Jim, that night! There was more omelette than Miss Palmyra could possibly eat, she declared; indeed, Jim had meant that there should be. Then she told him where to find a certain loaf of spice cake, and a jar of damson jam; and she insisted upon his eating till he could eat no more. After a week of salted backbone of hog, Jim's appetite for these good things was keen enough.

He beamed with pleasure; his smiles made noonday in the darkening kitchen: Miss Palmyra thought him uncommonly handsome. Only – it was a pity he wore ear-rings. And, after all, who was he? She really must find out.

"You've never told me how you kem to know of my bein' lame!" she said, as her guest was washing the dishes with careful nicety. "You a stranger here, too! Who did send ye, if I'm not takin' a liberty?"

"Ze honourable captains send me," said Jim, with open cheerfulness; "and ze selected gentlemen."

"Well, I'm sure!" ejaculated Miss Palmyra.

"I steal your hen!" Jim explained, with winning grace. "Was very sorry; should not have done – but! Now I work t'ree mont'; do shores for ladies; do all works. But for you I work most, for I steal your hen. Is it not?" And putting away the cups and saucers, he swept the hearth with ardour.

"Well, I'm sure!" said Miss Palmyra again; and she really could not think of anything else to say.

Everyone agreed that it was a special providence that Jim Popples (such being the popular rendering of our hero's name) had been cast away on the Island just when there was so much sickness "goin' about," and when Aunt Ruhamy Snell, the accredited nurse of the Island, was laid up with rheumatism The quick, active Greek was here, there and everywhere. He split wood, he made fires, he milked cows. He mended chairs, and set panes of glass; he kept all the children happy by plaiting wonderful things out of twine, and whittling royal navies with his jackknife.

He also mended up the jail as well as he could, and might be seen patching the walls of his cell, whistling merrily, while the jailer sat by in moody silence watching him. It was generally felt that Sefami Bunt had not done as he ought by his prisoner, and that he really was not fitted for the offices he held of jailer and hog-reeve; but, as Captain Zeno Pye said, "thar warnt nothin' else Sefami could do, and it kep' him off the town, anyway."

But Jim's best work, and his longest hours, were given to Miss Palmyra Henshaw. She had freely forgiven him his theft of the hen, and in the long period of inactivity to which she was now condemned (for if one trifles with a sprained ankle, one is apt to pay for it, and it was a month before she could do more than hobble about with a crutch), she found him an invaluable friend. Morning, noon and night would see him smiling at the door, with his cheery "How you do, Mees Palmyre? So better, is it not? Glad I am!"

Often he brought some little offering: a wooden dish of wild strawberries; a string of fish, gleaming fresh from the water; or it might be half-a-dozen crabs, which would crawl out of his pockets, only to meet a swift death in the kettle of boiling water, and be converted into some wonderful dish. Of Jim's skill in cookery, Miss Palmyra spoke with bated breath.

"Well!" she would say to Mrs. Brewster, who, toiling over her own cook stove, sometimes wished she had a sprained ankle and could have Jim Popples to do her work; "that man has a real gift, that's sartin'. Give him an egg and an onion, and it does seem as if he could git the flesh-pots of Egypt out of 'em. Jest you step to the cupboard, Mis' Brewster. Thar's a corner I left special for you to taste, a dish o' tomaytoes and rice he cooked for my dinner yesterday. Just them, and a bit o' butter and a scrap of onion, and – thar! Did you ever! Don't that relish good?"

Small wonder that Miss Palmyra grew plump and rosy in spite of the sprained ankle.

Many a housewife wished, like Mrs. Brewster, that she also might profit by Jim's gift; but though he did all kinds of chores for the whole village, he would cook for no one but Miss Palmyra Henshaw. "I steal you hen!" he said to her. "I wish to make you up for zat. I steal hens at no ozer lady."

So Miss Palmyra grew to feel a sort of ownership of Jim Popples, which was by no means unpleasant; and she sewed on his buttons (for pleasure; he could do it perfectly well himself, as she knew) and mended his clothes; while he, at work with broom or mop, or whittling away at basket-splints, told her wonderful stories of foreign lands, of apes and peacocks, cedars and pomegranates, till the good woman grew to feel that her thief was a very remarkable and very gifted person.

So three months slipped away, as fast as months are apt to do; and a day came when the captains sat all together in the Upper House at Bannister's, and Giorgios Aristides Evangelides Paparipopoulos stood before them, as he had stood once before, with his jailer glooming beside him.

The captains had sent for him, and now, at a murmur from the others, Captain Zeno Pye took up the word:

"Wal, Jim, yer three months is up, and I s'pose you're thinkin' about goin'. Me and the captains feel to say to you that you've done well, real well. Of course you started in mean, and stealin' aint right, however you look at it. But you've worked stiddy, and you've worked good; and I reckon you'd have to hunt round consid'able before you found anybody in town who wa'n't real sorry to have ye go. If you felt to stay, I don't doubt but you could get all the work you wanted, odd-jobbin' round. The seleckmen 'd oughter pay ye somethin' for repairin' the jail, but thar! – that's between you and them. Wal! the steamer comes to-morrer, and I s'pose you'll be movin'. What we want to say is, that we're right sorry to have ye go, Jim Popples. You're a handy fellow, and I don't doubt you're a good seaman; and if me or the other captains can speak a good word for ye, or help ye any way with a start, why, we're ready to do it. That's so, aint it?"

There was a growl of assent, in the midst of which —

"Thar she blows!" sung out Captain Abram Bannister.