- end_line
- 6508
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:45.584Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 6411
- text
- old--don't you see him?"
"Dear uncle, I see the orchard, but I can't see any boy."
"He's a spy--I know he is," suddenly said my uncle, disregardful of my
answer, and intently gazing, shading his eyes with his flattened hand.
"Don't touch the box, Yorpy. Crouch! crouch down, all of ye!"
"Why, uncle--there--see--the boy is only a withered white bough. I see
it very plainly now."
"You don't see the tree I mean," quoth my uncle, with a decided air of
relief, "but never mind; I defy the boy. Yorpy, jump out, and shoulder
the box. And now then, youngster, off with your shoes and stockings,
roll up your trousers legs, and follow me. Carefully, Yorpy, carefully.
That's more precious than a box of gold, mind."
"Heavy as de gelt anyhow," growled Yorpy, staggering and splashing in
the shallows beneath it.
"There, stop under the bushes there--in among the flags--so--gently,
gently--there, put it down just there. Now youngster, are you ready?
Follow--tiptoes, tiptoes!"
"I can't wade in this mud and water on my tiptoes, uncle; and I don't
see the need of it either."
"Go ashore, sir--instantly!"
"Why, uncle, I _am_ ashore."
"Peace! follow me, and no more."
Crouching in the water in complete secrecy, beneath the bushes and
among the tall flags, my uncle now stealthily produced a hammer and
wrench from one of his enormous pockets, and presently tapped the box.
But the sound alarmed him.
"Yorpy," he whispered, "go you off to the right, behind the bushes, and
keep watch. If you see any one coming, whistle softly. Youngster, you
do the same to the left."
We obeyed; and presently, after considerable hammering and supplemental
tinkering, my uncle's voice was heard in the utter solitude, loudly
commanding our return.
Again we obeyed, and now found the cover of the box removed. All
eagerness, I peeped in, and saw a surprising multiplicity of convoluted
metal pipes and syringes of all sorts and varieties, all sizes and
calibres, inextricably interwreathed together in one gigantic coil. It
looked like a huge nest of anacondas and adders.
"Now then, Yorpy," said my uncle, all animation, and flushed with the
foretaste of glory, "do you stand this side, and be ready to tip when I
give the word. And do you, youngster, stand ready to do as much for the
other side. Mind, don't budge it the fraction of a barley-corn till I
say the word. All depends on a proper adjustment."
"No fear, uncle. I will be careful as a lady's tweezers."
"I s'ant life de heavy pox," growled old Yorpy, "till de wort pe given;
no fear o' dat."
"Oh, boy," said my uncle now, upturning his face devotionally, while
a really noble gleam irradiated his gray eyes, locks, and wrinkles;
"Oh, boy! this, _this_ is the hour which for ten long years has, in
the prospect, sustained me through all my painstaking obscurity. Fame
will be the sweeter because it comes at the last; the truer, because
it comes to an old man like me, not to a boy like you. Sustainer! I
glorify Thee."
He bowed over his venerable head, and--as I live--something like a
shower-drop somehow fell from my face into the shallows.
"Tip!"
We tipped.
"A _leetle_ more!"
We tipped a little more.
"A _leetle_ more!"
We tipped a _leetle_ more.
"Just a _leetle_, very _leetle_ bit more."
With great difficulty we tipped just a _leetle_, very _leetle_ more.
All this time my uncle was diligently stooping over, and striving to
peep in, up, and under the box where the coiled anacondas and adders
lay; but the machine being now fairly immersed, the attempt was wholly
vain.
He rose erect, and waded slowly all round the box; his countenance firm
and reliant, but not a little troubled and vexed.
- title
- Chunk 3