The Hidden Law

by Melville Davisson Post

　　WE HAD COME out to Dudley Belts' house and were standing in a bit ofmeadow. It was an afternoon of April; there had been a shower of rain,and now the sun was on the velvet grass and the white-headed cloverblossoms. The sky was blue above and the earth green below, and swimmingbetween them was an air like lotus. Facing the south upon this sunnyfield was a stand of bees, thatched with rye-straw and covered over witha clapboard roof, the house of each tribe a section of a hollowgum-tree, with a cap on the top for the tribute of honey to the humantyrant. The bees had come out after the shower was gone, and they hummedat their work with the sound of a spinner.

　　Randolph stopped and looked down upon the humming hive. He lifted hisfinger with a little circling gesture.

　　"'Singing masons building roofs of gold'," he said. "Ah, Abner, Williamof Avon was a great poet."

　　My uncle turned about at that and looked at Randolph and then at thehive of bees. A girl was coming up from the brook below with a pail ofwater. She wore a simple butternut frock, and she was clean-limbed andstraight like those first daughters of the world who wove and spun. Shepaused before the hive and the bees swarmed about her as about a greatclover blossom, and she was at home and unafraid like a child in acompany of yellow butterflies. She went on to the spring house with herdripping wooden pail, kissing the tips of her fingers to the bees. Wefollowed, but before the hive my uncle stopped and repeated the linethat Randolph had quoted:

　　"'Singing masons building roofs of gold,'...and over a floor of goldand pillars of gold." He added, "He was a good riddle maker, yourEnglish poet, but not so good as Samson, unless I help him out."

　　I received the fairy fancy with all children's joy. Those little mensinging as they laid their yellow floor, and raised their yellow walls,and arched their yellow roof! Singing! The word seemed to open up somesunlit fairy world.

　　It pleased Randolph to have thus touched my uncle.

　　"A great poet, Abner," he repeated, "and more than that; he drew lessonsfrom nature valuable for doctrine. Men should hymn as they labor andfill the fields with song and so suck out the virus from the curse. Hewas a great philosopher, Abner-William of Avon."

　　"But not so great a philosopher as Saint Paul," replied Abner, and heturned from the bees toward old Dudley Belts, digging in the fieldsbefore his door. He put his hands behind him and lifted his stern bronzeface.

　　"Those who coveted after money," he said, "have pierced themselvesthrough with many sorrows. And is it not the truth? Yonder is old DudleyBetts. He is doubled up with aches; he has lost his son; he is losinghis life, and he will lose his soul-all for money-'Pierced themselvesthrough with many sorrows,' as Saint Paul said it, and now, at the endhe has lost the hoard that he slaved for."

　　The man was a by-word in the hills; mean and narrow, with an economypast belief. He used everything about him to one end and with no thoughtbut gain. He cultivated his fields to the very door, and set his fencesout into the road, and he extracted from those about him every tithe ofservice. He had worked his son until the boy had finally run away acrossthe mountains. He had driven his daughter to the makeshifts of the firstpatriarchal people-soap from ashes, linen from hemp, and the wheel andthe loom for the frock upon her limbs.

　　And like every man under a single dominating passion, he grew insuspicion and in fear. He was afraid to lend out his money lest he loseit. He had given so much for this treasure that he would take no chancewith it, and so kept it by him in gold.

　　But caution and fear are not harpies to be halted; they wing on. Beltswas dragged far in their claw-feet. There is a land of dim things thatthese convoys can enter. Betts arrived there. We must not press theearth too hard, old, forgotten peoples believed, lest evil things aresqueezed out that strip us and avenge it. And ancient crones, feeble,wrapped up by the fire, warned him: The earth suffered us to reap, butnot to glean her. We must not gather up every head of wheat. The earthor dim creatures behind the earth would be offended. It was the oldestbelief. The first men poured a little wine out when they drank andbrought an offering of their herds and the first fruits of the fields.It was written in the Book. He could get it down and read it.

　　What did they know that they did this? Life was hard then; men saved allthey could. There was some terrible experience behind this custom, someexperience that appalled and stamped the race with a lesson!

　　At first Betts laughed at their warnings; then he cursed at them, andhis changed manner marked how far he had got. The laugh meant disbelief,but the curse meant fear.

　　And now, the very strangest thing had happened: The treasure that theold man had so painfully laid up had mysteriously vanished clear away.No one knew it. Men like Betts, cautious and secretive, are dumb beforedisaster. They conceal the deep mortal hurt as though to hide it fromthemselves.

　　He had gone in the night and told Randolph and Abner, and now they hadcome to see his house.

　　He put down his hoe when we came up and led us in. It was a house likethose of the first men, with everything in it home-made-hand-woven ragcarpets on the floor, and hand-woven coverlets on the beds; tables andshelves and benches of rude carpentry. These things spoke of the man'seconomy. But there were also things that spoke of his fear: The housewas a primitive stockade. The door was barred with a beam, and therewere heavy shutters at the window; an ax stood by the old man's bed andan ancient dueling pistol hung by its trigger-guard to a nail.

　　I did not go in, for youth is cunning. I sat down on the doorstep andfell into so close a study of a certain wasp at work under a sill that Iwas overlooked as a creature without ears; but I had ears of the finestand I lost no word.

　　The old man got two splint-bottom chairs and put them by the table forhis guests, and then he brought a blue earthen jar and set it beforethem. It was one of the old-fashioned glazed jars peddled by thehucksters, smaller but deeper than a crock, with a thick rim and twogreat ears. In this he kept his gold pieces until on a certain nightthey had vanished.

　　The old man's voice ran in and out of a whisper as he told the story. Heknew the very night, because he looked into his jar before he slept andevery morning when he got out of his bed. It had been a devil'snight-streaming clouds drove across an iron sky, a thin crook of a moonsailed, and a high bitter wind scythed the earth.

　　Everybody remembered the night when he got out his almanac and named it.There had been noises, old Betts said, but he could not define them.Such a night is full of voices; the wind whispers in the chimney and thehouse frame creaks. The wind had come on in gusts at sunset, full ofdust and whirling leaves, but later it had got up into a gale. The firehad gone out and the house inside was black as a pit. He did not knowwhat went on inside or out, but he knew that the gold was gone atdaylight, and he knew that no living human creature had got into hishouse. The bar on his door held and the shutters were bolted. Whateverentered, entered through the keyhole or through the throat of thechimney that a cat would stick in.

　　Abner said nothing, but Randolph sat down to an official inquiry:

　　"You have been robbed, Betts," he said. "Somebody entered your housethat night."

　　"Nobody entered it," replied the old man in his hoarse, half-whisperedvoice, "either on that night or any other night. The door wast fast,Squire."

　　"But the thief may have closed it behind him."

　　Betts shook his head. "He could not put up the bar behind him, andbesides, I set it in a certain way. It was not moved. And the windows-Ibolt them and turn the bolt at a certain angle. No human touched them."

　　It was not possible to believe that this man could be mistaken. Onecould see with what care he had set his little traps-the bar across thedoor precisely at a certain hidden line; the bolts of the windowshutters turned precisely to an angle that he alone knew. It was notlikely that Randolph would suggest anything that this cautious old manhad not already thought of.

　　"Then," continued Randolph, "the thief concealed himself in your housethe day before the robbery and got out of it on the day after."

　　But again Betts shook his head, and his eyes ran over the house and to acandle on the mantelpiece.

　　"I look," he said, "every night before I go to bed."

　　And one could see the picture of this old, fearful man, looking throughhis house with the smoking tallow candle, peering into every nook andcorner. Could a thief hide from him in this house that he knew inch byinch? One could not believe it. The creature took no chance; he hadthought of every danger, this one among them, and every night he looked!He would know, then, the very cracks in the wall. He would have found arat.

　　Then, it seemed to me, Randolph entered the only road there was out ofthis mystery.

　　"Your son knew about this money?"

　　"Yes," replied Betts, "'Lander knew about it He used to say that a partof it was his because he had worked for it as much as I had. But I toldhim," and the old man's voice cheeped in a sort of laugh, "that he wasmine."

　　"Where was your son Philander when the money disappeared?" saidRandolph.

　　"Over the mountains," said Betts; "he had been gone a month." Then hepaused and looked at Randolph. "It was not 'Lander. On that day he wasin the school that Mr. Jefferson set up. I had a letter from the masterasking for money...I have the letter," and he got up to get it.

　　But Randolph waved his hand and sat back in his chair with the aspect ofa brooding oracle.

　　It was then that my uncle spoke.

　　"Belts," he said, "how do you think the money went?"

　　The old man's voice got again into that big crude whisper.

　　"I don't know, Abner."

　　But my uncle pressed him.

　　"What do you think?"

　　Belts drew a little nearer to the table.

　　"Abner," he said, "there are a good many things going on around a manthat he don't understand. We turn out a horse to pasture, and he comesin with hand-holts in his mane....You have seen it?"

　　"Yes," replied my uncle.

　　And I had seen it, too, many a time, when the horses were brought up inthe spring from pasture, their manes twisted and knotted into loops, asthough to furnish a hand-holt to a rider.

　　"Well, Abner," continued the old man in his rustling whisper, "who ridesthe horse? You cannot untie or untwist those hand-holts-you must cutthem out with shears-with iron. Is it true?"

　　"It is true," replied my uncle.

　　"And why, eh, Abner? Because those hand-holts were never knotted in byany human fingers! You know what the old folk say?"

　　"I know," answered my uncle. "Do you believe it, Betts?"

　　"Eh, Abner!" he croaked in the guttural whisper. "If there were nowitches, why did our fathers hang up iron to keep them off? Mygrandmother saw one burned in the old country. She had ridden the king'shorse, and greased her hands with shoemakers' wax so her fingers wouldnot slip in the mane....Shoemakers' wax! Mark you that, Abner!"

　　"Betts," cried Randolph, "you are a fool; there are no witches!"

　　"There was the Witch of Endor," replied my uncle. "Go on, Betts."

　　"By gad, sir!" roared Randolph, "if we are to try witches, I shall haveto read up James the First. That Scotch king wrote a learned work ondemonology. He advised the magistrate search on the body of the witchfor the seal of the devil; that would be a spot insensible to pain, and,James said, 'Prod for it with a needle.'"

　　But my uncle was serious.

　　"Go on, Betts," he said. "I do not believe that any man entered yourhouse and robbed you. But why do you think that a witch did?"

　　"Well, Abner," answered the old man, "who could have got in but such acreature? A thief cannot crawl through a keyhole, but there are thingsthat can. My grandmother said that once in the old country a man awokeone night to see a gray wolf sitting by his fireside. He had an ax, as Ihave, and he fought the wolf with that and cut off its paw, whereupon itfled screaming through the keyhole. And the paw lying on the floor was awoman's hand!"

　　"Then, Betts," cried Randolph, "it's damned lucky that you didn't useyour ax, if that is what one finds on the floor."

　　Randolph had spoken with pompous sarcasm, but at the words there-cameupon Abner's face a look of horror. "It is," he said, "in God's name!"Betts leaned forward in his chair.

　　"And what would have happened to me, Abner, do you think, if I had usedmy ax? Would I have died there with the ax in my hand?"

　　The look of horror remained upon my uncle's face. "You would have wishedfor that when the light came; to die is sometimes to escape the pit."

　　"I would have fallen into hell, then?"

　　"Aye, Betts," replied my uncle, "straightway into hell!"

　　The old man rested his hands on the posts of the chair. "The creaturesbehind the world are baleful creatures," he muttered in his big whisper.Randolph got up at that.

　　"Damme!" he said. "Are we in the time of Roger Williams, and is thisMassachusetts, that witches ride and men are filched of their gold bymagic and threatened with hell fire? What is this cursed foolery,Abner?"

　　"It is no foolery, Randolph," replied my uncle, "but the living truth."

　　"The truth!" cried Randolph. "Do you call it the truth that creatures,not human, able to enter through the keyhole and fly away, have Belts'gold, and if he had fought against this robbery with his ax he wouldhave put himself in torment? Damme, man! In the name of common sense, doyou call this the truth?"

　　"Randolph," replied Abner, and his voice was slow and deep, "it is everyword the truth."

　　Randolph moved back the chair before him and sat down. He looked at myuncle curiously.

　　"Abner," he said, "you used to be a crag of common sense. The legendsand theories of fools broke on you and went to pieces. Would you nowtestify to witches?"

　　"And if I did," replied my uncle, "I should have Saint Paul behind me."

　　"The fathers of the church fell into some errors," replied Randolph.

　　"The fathers of the law, then?" said Abner.

　　Randolph took his chin in his hand at that. "It is true," he said, "thatSir Matthew Hale held nothing to be so well established-as the fact ofwitchcraft for three great reasons, which he gave in their order, asbecame the greatest judge in England: First, because it was asserted inthe Scriptures; second, because all nations had made laws against it;and, third, because the human testimony in support of it wasoverwhelming. I believe that Sir Matthew had knowledge of some sixthousand cases...But Mr. Jefferson has lived since then, Abner, andthis is Virginia."

　　"Nevertheless," replied my uncle, "after Mr. Jefferson, and in Virginia,this thing has happened."

　　Randolph swore a great oath.

　　"Then, by gad, sir, let us burn the old women in the villages until thecreatures who carried Belts' treasure through the keyhole bring itback!"

　　Betts spoke then. "They have brought some of it back!"

　　My uncle turned sharply in his chair.

　　"What do you mean, Betts?" he said.

　　"Why this, Abner," replied the old man, his voice descending into thecavernous whisper; "on three mornings I have found some of my goldpieces in the jar. And they came as they went, Abner, with every windowfastened down and the bar across the door. And there is another thingabout these pieces that have come back-they are mine, for I know everypiece-but they have been in the hands of the creatures that ride thehorses in the pasture-they have been handled by witches!" He whisperedthe word with a fearful glance about him. "How do I know that? Wait, Iwill show you!"

　　He went over to his bed and got out a little box from beneath hiscornhusk mattress-a worn, smoke-stained box with a sliding lid. He drewthe lid off with his thumb and turned the contents out on the table.

　　"Now look," he said; "look, there is wax on every piece! Shoemakers'wax, mark you...Eh, Abner! My mother said that-the creatures greasetheir hands with that so their fingers will not slip when they ride thebarebacked horses in the night. They have carried this gold clutched intheir hands, see, and the wax has come off!"

　　My uncle and Randolph leaned over the table. They examined the coins.

　　"By the Eternal!" cried Randolph. "It is wax! But were they cleanbefore?"

　　"They were clean," the old man answered. "The wax is from the creatures'fingers. Did not my mother say it?"

　　My uncle sat back in his chair, but Betts strained forward and put hisfearful query:

　　"What do you think, Abner; will all the gold come back?"

　　My uncle did not at once reply. He sat for some time silent, lookingthrough the open door at the sunny meadowland and the far off hills. Butfinally he spoke like one who has worked out a problem and got theanswer.

　　"It will not all come back," he said.

　　"How much, then?" whispered Betts.

　　"What is left," replied Abner, "when the toll is taken out."

　　"You know where the gold is?"

　　"Yes."

　　"And the creatures that have it, Abner," Betts whispered, "they are nothuman?"

　　"They are not human!" replied my uncle.

　　Then he got up and began to walk about the house, but not to search forclews to this mysterious thing. He walked like one who examinessomething within himself-or something beyond the eye-and old Bettsfollowed him with his straining face. And Randolph sat in his chair withhis arms folded and his chin against his stock, as a skeptic overwhelmedby proof might sit in a house of haunted voices. He was puzzled uponevery hand. The thing was out of reason at every point, both in the lossand in the return of these coins upon the table, and my uncle's commentswere below the soundings of all sense. The creatures who now had Belts'gold could enter through the keyhole! Betts would have gone into the pitif he had struck out with his ax! A moiety of this treasure would betaken out and the rest returned! And the coins testified to no humanhandling! The thing had no face nor aspect of events in nature. Mortalthieves enjoyed no such supernal powers. These were the attributes ofthe familiar spirit. Nor did the human robber return a per cent upon hisgains!

　　I have said that my uncle walked about the floor. But he stopped now andlooked down at the hard, miserly old man.

　　"Betts," he said, "this is a mysterious world. It is hedged about andsteeped in mystery. Listen to me! The Patriarchs were directed to makean offering to the Lord of a portion of the increase in their herds.Why? Because the Lord had need of sheep and heifers? Surely not, for thewhole earth and its increase were His. There was some other reason,Betts. I do not understand what it was, but I do understand that no mancan use the earth and keep every tithe of the increase for himself. Theydid not try it, but you did!"

　　He paused and filled his big lungs.

　　"It was a disastrous experiment...What will you do?"

　　"What must I do, Abner?" the old man whispered. "Make a sacrifice likethe Patriarchs?"

　　"A sacrifice you must make, Betts," replied my uncle, "but not like thePatriarchs. What you received from the earth you must divide into threeequal parts and keep one part for yourself."

　　"And to whom shall I give the other two parts, Abner?"

　　"To whom would you wish to give them, Betts, if you had the choice?"

　　The old man fingered about his mouth.

　　"Well," he said, "a man would give to those of his own householdfirst-if he had to give."

　　"Then," said Abner, "from this day keep a third of your increase foryourself and give the other two-thirds to your son and your daughter."

　　"And the gold, Abner? Will it come back?"

　　"A third part will come back. Be content with that."

　　"And the creatures that have my gold? Will they harm me?"

　　"Betts," replied my uncle, "the creatures that have your gold on thisday hidden in their house will labor for you as no slaves have everlabored-without word or whip. Do you promise?"

　　The fearful old man promised, and we went out into the sun.

　　The tall straight young girl was standing before the spring-house,kneading a dish of yellow butter and singing like a blackbird. My unclestrode down to her. We could not hear the thing he said, but the singingceased when he began to talk and burst out in a fuller note when he hadfinished-a big, happy, joyous note that seemed to fill the meadow.

　　We waited for him before the stand of bees, and Randolph turned on himwhen he came.

　　"Abner," he said, "what is the answer to this damned riddle?"

　　"You gave it, Randolph," he replied-"'Singing masons building roofs ofgold.'" And he pointed to the bees. "When I saw that the cap on one ofthe gums had been moved I thought Belts' gold was there, and when I sawthe wax on the coins I was certain."

　　"But," cried Randolph, "you spoke of creatures not human-creatures thatcould enter through the keyhole-creatures--"

　　"I spoke of the bees," replied my uncle.

　　"But you said Betts would have fallen into hell if he had struck outwith his ax!"

　　"He would have killed his daughter," replied Abner. "Can you think of amore fearful hell? She took the gold and hid it in the bee cap. But shewas honest with her father; whenever she sent a sum of money to herbrother she returned an equal number of gold pieces to old Betts' jar."

　　"Then," said Randolph, with a great oath, "there is no witch here withher familiar spirits?"

　　"Now that," replied my uncle, "will depend upon the imagery of language.There is here a subtle maiden and a stand of bees!"