Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine
by James Otis · English · Gutenberg #41708 · 383,996 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine
Author: James Otis
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACK THE HUNCHBACK: A STORY OF ADVENTURE ON THE COAST OF MAINE ***
[Illustration]
[Illustration: That which had come out of the east on this bright June
morning was a ship's lifeboat about eighteen feet long.--Page 4.]
JACK THE HUNCHBACK;
A STORY OF ADVENTURE ON THE
COAST OF MAINE.
BY JAMES OTIS,
_Author of "The Castaways," "A Runaway Brig,"
"Search for the Silver City," "The Treasure Finders,"
"With Lafayette at Yorktown," "With Washington at
Monmouth," "The Treasure of Cocos Island," "Wrecked on
Spider Island," etc., etc._
NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER
Copyright, 1892,
BY BRADLEY & WOODRUFF.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ADRIFT 1
II. AT AUNT NANCY'S 14
III. LEARNING TO MILK 28
IV. PURSUED 40
V. AN ENCOUNTER 52
VI. A MENTAL STRUGGLE 64
VII. FARMER PRATT 75
VIII. A SECOND WARNING 88
IX. THE ALARM 99
X. SICKNESS 111
XI. GARDENING 122
XII. LOUIS'S ADVENTURE 137
XIII. THE SEWING CIRCLE 152
XIV. AFTER THE STORM 167
XV. BROTHER ABNER 179
XVI. A HURRIED DEPARTURE 191
XVII. CAMP MEETING 204
XVIII. A DISASTER 218
XIX. JACK'S PROPOSITION 232
XX. BILL DEAN 247
XXI. STARTLING INFORMATION 261
XXII. THE ARRIVAL 273
_JACK THE HUNCHBACK._
CHAPTER I.
ADRIFT.
Tom Pratt firmly believed he was the most unfortunate boy in Maine when,
on a certain June morning, his father sent him to the beach for a load
of seaweed.
Tom had never been in love with a farmer's life.
He fancied that in any other sphere of action he could succeed, if not
better, certainly more easily, than by weeding turnips or hoeing corn on
the not very productive farm.
But either planting or digging was preferable to loading a huge cart
with the provokingly slippery weeds which his father insisted on
gathering for compost each summer.
Therefore, when the patient oxen, after much goading and an unusual
amount of noise from their impatient driver, stood knee-deep in the surf
contentedly chewing their cuds and enjoying the cool footbath, Tom,
instead of beginning his work, sat at the forward part of the cart
gazing seaward, thinking, perhaps, how pleasant must be a sailor's life
while the ocean was calm and smiling as on this particular day.
So deeply engrossed was he in idleness that his father's stern command
from the hillside a short distance away, "to 'tend to his work an' stop
moonin'," passed unheeded, and the same ox-goad he had been using might
have been applied to his own body but for the fact that just as Farmer
Pratt came within striking distance a tiny speck on the water attracted
his attention.
"It looks to me as if that might be a lapstreak boat out there, Tommy.
Can you see anybody in her?"
"I reckon that's what it is, father, an' she must be adrift."
Farmer Pratt mounted the cart and scrutinized the approaching object
until there could no longer be any question as to what it was, when Tom
said gleefully,--
"It must be a ship's boat, an' if she hasn't got a crew aboard, we'll
make a bigger haul than we could by cartin' seaweed for a week."
"Yes, them kind cost more'n a dory," the farmer replied dreamily, as he
mentally calculated the amount of money for which she might be sold. "I
reckon we'll take her into Portland an' get a tidy--"
"I can see a feller's head!" Tom interrupted, "an' it shets off our
chance of sellin' her."
That the boat had an occupant was evident.
A closely shaven crown appeared above the stem as if its owner had but
just awakened, and was peering out to see where his voyage was about to
end.
Nearer and nearer the little craft drifted until she was dancing on the
shore line of the surf, and the figure in the bow gazed as intently
landward as the farmer and his son did seaward.
"It's a boy, father, an' he ain't as big as me!" Tom cried. "Well, that
beats anything I ever saw!"
This last remark probably referred to the general appearance of the
young voyager.
He was an odd-looking little fellow, with a head which seemed unusually
small because the hair was closely cropped, and a bent, misshapen body
several sizes too large for the thin legs which barely raised it above
the gunwales. The face was by no means beautiful, but the expression of
anxiety and fear caused it to appeal directly to Tom's heart, if not to
his father's.
Farmer Pratt was not pleased at thus learning that the boat had an
occupant.
Empty, she would have been a source of profit; but although there was
apparently no one save the deformed lad aboard, he could make no legal
claim upon her.
The craft was there, however, and would speedily be overturned unless he
waded out into the surf at the risk of a rheumatic attack, to pull her
inshore.
Although decidedly averse to performing any charitable deed, he did this
without very much grumbling, and Tom was a most willing assistant.
That which had come out of the east on this bright June morning was a
ship's lifeboat about eighteen feet long, and with the name "Atlanta"
painted on the gunwales.
She was a much more valuable craft than Mr. Pratt had ever seen ashore
on Scarborough beach, and yet he failed to calculate her value
immediately, because as the bow grated on the sand the misshapen boy,
from whose white lips not a word had escaped during all this time,
suddenly lifted what at first appeared to be a bundle of cloth.
This act in itself would not have caused any surprise, but at the same
moment a familiar noise was heard from beneath the coverings.
Farmer Pratt stepped back quickly in genuine alarm and wiped his face
with the sleeve of his shirt as he exclaimed,--
"Well, this beats anything I ever seen!"
"It's a baby, father!" Tom cried, starting forward to take the burden
from the crooked little sailor's arms; but the latter retreated as if
afraid the child was to be carried away, and the farmer replied
testily,--
"Of course it's a baby. Haven't I heard you cry often enough to know
that?"
"But how did it come here?"
"That's what beats me"; and then, as if suddenly realizing that the
apparent mystery might be readily solved, he asked the stranger, "Where
did you come from, sonny?"
"From Savannah."
"Sho! Why, that's way down in Georgy. You didn't sail them many miles in
this 'ere little boat?"
"No, sir. We broke adrift from Captain Littlefield's ship yesterday when
she blowed up, an' the baby's awful hungry."
"Ship blowed up, eh? Whereabouts was she?"
"Out there"; and the boy pointed eastward in an undecided manner, as if
not exactly certain where he had come from.
"What made her blow up?" Tom asked curiously.
"I don't know. There was an awful splosion like more'n a hundred bunches
of firecrackers, an' the captain put Louis an' me in the lifeboat to
wait till his wife got some things from the cabin. While all the sailors
was runnin' 'round wild like, we got adrift. I hollered an' hollered,
but nobody saw us." Then he added in a lower tone, "Louis cried last
night for somethin' to eat, an' he must be pretty hungry now."
"Well, well, well!" and as the thought of whether he would be paid for
the trouble of pulling the boat ashore came into the farmer's mind, he
said quickly, "'Cordin' to that you don't own this boat?"
"She belongs to the ship."
"An' seein's how the vessel ain't anywhere near, I reckon I've as much
right to this craft as anybody else. Where do you count on goin'?"
"If we could only get back to New York I'm sure I would be able to find
the captain's house."
"It's a powerful long ways from here, sonny; but I'll see that you are
put in a comfortable place till somethin' can be done. What's your
name?"
"John W. Dudley; but everybody calls me Jack, an' this is Louis
Littlefield," the boy replied as he removed the coverings, exposing to
view a child about two years old.
Master Tom was delighted with the appearance of the little pink and
white stranger, who was dressed in cambric and lace, with a thin gold
chain around his neck, and would have shaken hands with him then and
there if Jack had not stepped quickly back as he said,--
"He's afraid of folks he don't know, an' if you get him to cryin' I'll
have a worse time than last night. What he wants is somethin' to eat."
"Take 'em right up to the house, Tommy, an' tell mother to give them
breakfast. When I get the boat hauled around (for I've got every reason
to consider her mine), I'll carry both out to Thornton's."
Jack clambered from the craft, disdaining Tom's assistance, and, taking
the child in his arms, much as a small cat might carry a very large
kitten, stood waiting for his guide to lead the way.
Farmer Pratt's son was in no especial hurry to reach home, for while
escorting the strangers he certainly could not be expected to shovel
seaweed, and Jack said as Tom walked leisurely over the hot sand,--
"If you don't go faster, the baby'll begin to cry, for he's pretty near
starved."
"Why not let him walk? He's big enough; his legs are twice as large as
Mrs. Libby's baby, an' he went alone a good while ago."
"I'd rather carry him," Jack replied; and then he refused to enter into
any conversation until they were at the foot of the narrow, shady lane
leading to the house, when he asked, "Who's Mr. Thornton?"
"He keeps the poor farm, an' father's goin' to take you out there."
"What for? We want to go to New York."
"Well, you see I don't reckon you'll get as far as that without a slat
of money, an' father wants to put you fellers where you'll be took care
of for a while."
Jack stopped suddenly, allowed the baby to slip from his arms under the
shade of an apple-tree whose blossoms filled the air with perfume, as he
said angrily,--
"Louis sha'n't be taken to the poorhouse! I'll walk my feet off before
anybody but his mother shall get him."
"You couldn't go as far as New York, an' if he's so hungry you'd better
let him have some bread an' milk."
"How long before your father'll be back?"
"It'll take him a couple of hours to carry the boat down to the Neck,
an' that's the only place where she can lie without gettin' stove."
"Then we'll go into your house long enough to feed the baby, an' I'll
leave before he comes."
"All right," and Tom took up the line of march once more. "I don't know
as I blame you, for Thornton's ain't the nicest place that ever was, an'
I'd rather haul seaweed for a month than stay there one night."
Jack looked wistfully at the little farmhouse with its beds of old
maid's pinks and bachelor's buttons in front of the muslin-curtained
windows, thinking, perhaps, that shelter should be given him there
rather than among the town's paupers; but he made no remark, and a few
moments later they were standing in the cool kitchen while Tom explained
to his mother under what circumstances he had made the acquaintance of
the strangers.
Mrs. Pratt was quite as economical as her husband; but the baby face
touched her heart fully as much as did the fact that the boat in which
the children had drifted ashore would amply repay any outlay in the way
of food and shelter.
She accepted the statement made by Tom, that the children were to be
sent to Thornton's, because the town provided such an asylum, and there
was no good reason, in her mind at least, why it should not be utilized
in a case like this.
Thus, with the pleasing knowledge that her involuntary guests would
remain but a short time and cost her nothing, she set out a plentiful
supply of fresh milk and sweet home-made bread, as she said,--
"Fill yourselves right full, children, for it will rest you to eat, and
after you've had a nice ride, Mrs. Thornton will give you a chance to
sleep."
Jack looked up quickly as if about to make an angry reply, and then, as
little Louis went toward the table eagerly, he checked himself, devoting
all his attention to the child by waiting until the latter had finished
before he partook of as much as a spoonful.
Then he ate rapidly, and after emptying two bowls of milk, asked,--
"May I put some of the bread in my pocket?'"
"Certainly, child; but it won't be needed, for there is plenty to eat at
Thornton's, and most likely in a few days the selectmen will find some
way to send word to the baby's relatives."
Jack put three slices of bread in his pocket before replying, and then,
as with an effort he lifted Louis in his arms, said,--
"We're not goin' to the poor farm, ma'am. We are bound to get to New
York, an' thank you for the bread an' milk."
Just at that moment Mrs. Pratt was intent on carrying the dishes from
the table to the pantry, therefore she did not see the deformed boy
leave the house quickly, Tom following close behind.
Jack heard her call after him to wait until Mr. Pratt should return; but
he shook his head decidedly, and trudged out from the green-carpeted
lane to the dusty road, bent only on saving his little charge from
the ignominy of the poorhouse.
"Say, hold on for father!" Tom cried. "You can't walk even so far as
Saco, an' where'll you sleep to-night?"
"I'd rather stay in the woods, an' so had Louis," Jack replied; and then
in reply to the child's fretful cries, he added, "Don't fuss; I'll find
your mother."
"But how can you do it if the ship has blowed up?" Tom asked, quickening
his steps to keep pace with the deformed boy. "Perhaps mother'll let you
sleep in my bed to-night, an' you won't have to go out to the poor
farm."
"And then again she mightn't, so I guess we won't risk it."
"Have you got any money?"
"Not a cent."
Tom halted irresolutely for a moment, and then his charitable impulses
gained the mastery.
"Here's half of what I've got, an' I wish it was more."
Involuntarily Jack extended his hand for the gift.
Four marbles were dropped into it, and then Tom turned and ran like a
deer as if afraid he might regret his generosity.
The dusty road wound its way among the fields like a yellow ribbon on a
green cloth, offering no shelter from the burning rays of the sun, and
stretching out in a dreary length.
The hunchback plodded steadily on with his heavy burden, and as he
walked the good people in the neighboring city of Portland were reading
in their morning papers the following item:--
A SINGULAR EXPLOSION.
The ship "Atlanta" anchored inside the breakwater just before
midnight, and her master reports a remarkable accident.
The "Atlanta" loaded at Savannah last week with cotton and
turpentine, bound for Bremen. Owing to baffling winds she was
eighty miles off Wood Island yesterday afternoon when an explosion
occurred which blew off the main hatch, and was followed by dense
volumes of what appeared to be smoke.
Believing the ship to be on fire, Capt. Littlefield's first thought
was of his wife and child, who were on board. The lifeboat was
lowered, and in her were placed the captain's son and the cabin
boy, a hunchback.
Before Mrs. Littlefield could be gotten over the side, the sailors
reported no fire in the hold, and the vapor supposed to be smoke
was probably the gases arising from the turpentine stored in porous
barrels of red oak.
In the excitement no particular attention was paid to the children
for some time, since the boat was believed to be firmly secured,
and the consternation of the captain can be imagined when it was
discovered that the craft had gone adrift.
The ship stood off and on several hours without discovering any
signs of the missing ones, and was then headed for this harbor.
As a matter of course the captain will be obliged to proceed on his
voyage without delay; but Mrs. Littlefield is to remain in town
several days hoping to receive some news of her child, and it is
believed that the revenue cutter "Cushing" will cruise along the
shore until the boat is found.
It is understood that a liberal reward will be offered for any
information which may be given regarding the whereabouts of the
children, and until that has been done the editors of this paper
will thankfully receive tidings of the missing ones in case they
have been seen or sighted.
It is particularly desirable that masters of vessels should keep a
sharp lookout for a drifting boat.
CHAPTER II.
AT AUNT NANCY'S.
Jack toiled manfully on, running until his breath came in such short
gasps that he was forced to walk slowly, and then pressing forward once
more as if expecting Farmer Pratt was in full pursuit, urged to rapid
travelling by the fear that little Louis would be taken to the poor
farm.
Up the long, steep hill, past the railroad station, until three roads
stretched out before him: one straight ahead, another to the right, and
the third to the left.
He believed there was no time for hesitation.
The one leading toward the south was the most inviting because of the
trees scattered here and there along its edges, and into this he turned,
going directly away from the city where Louis's mother awaited tidings
of her darling.
The child grew fretful because of the heat and the dust, and the little
hunchback heeded not his own fatigue in the effort to quiet him.
On he went, literally staggering under his heavy burden, until the
yellow road seemed to mellow into a mist which danced and fell, and rose
and danced again before his eyes until further progress was wellnigh
impossible.
They had arrived at a tiny stream, the banks of which were fringed with
alders, and overhead a wooden bridge afforded a most pleasing shelter
from the sun's burning rays.
Wiping the perspiration from his face, Jack looked back.
No one was in sight.
If Farmer Pratt had come in pursuit he might have mistaken the road, or
turned homeward again some time previous, believing the boat not of
sufficient value to warrant the journey which, if successful, would only
end at the poorhouse.
"Here's where we're goin' to stop, Louis," Jack said, lowering the child
to the ground. "It'll be cool among these bushes, and if we turn into
the fields a bit no one can see us from the road."
Then Jack took off his shoes and stockings, holding them on one arm as
he raised the child with the other, and, wading through the shallow
water, made his way among the bushes a distance of forty or fifty feet
to where the leafy screen would prevent passing travellers from seeing
them.
"I tell you what, the water feels good around a fellow's feet. I'm goin'
to give you the same kind of a dose, an' then you'll be ready to go to
sleep."
Louis, sitting on the grass at the edge of the stream, offered no
objection to the plan, and Jack soon made him ready for the partial
bath.
As the child's feet touched the water he laughed with glee, and Jack's
fatigue was forgotten in his delight at having been able to afford this
pleasure.
After a few moments of such sport the misshapen guardian wiped the pink
feet carefully with his handkerchief, replaced the shoes and stockings,
took from his pocket the bread which was crumbled into many fragments,
moistened them in the brook, and fed his charge until the latter's eyes
closed in slumber.
Not before he had arranged a screen of leaves in such a manner that the
sun would be prevented from looking in upon the sleeping child did Jack
think of himself and then he too indulged in the much-needed rest.
The hours passed until the sun began to sink in the west.
The birds came out from among the leaves and peeped down curiously at
the sleeping children, while a colony of frogs leaped upon a
moss-covered log, croaking in chorus their surprise at these unfamiliar
visitors.
One venerable fellow seemed to think this a most fitting opportunity to
read his sons a homily on the sin of running away, and after the lengthy
lesson was concluded he plunged into the water with a hoarse note of
disapprobation, making such a splash that Jack leaped to his feet
thoroughly awake and decidedly frightened.
The hasty departure of the other frogs explained the cause of the
disturbance, and he laughed to himself as he said,--
"I reckon my hump frightened them as much as they did me."
He made a hurried toilet, bathed Louis's face with his wet handkerchief
until the little fellow awoke, and then continued what was at the same
time a flight and a journey.
"We've got to run the risk that somebody else will try to send us to the
poor farm," he said when they had trudged along the dusty road until the
child became fretful again. "At the next nice-lookin' house we come to
I'm goin' to ask the folks if they'll let me do chores enough to pay for
our lodging."
Fully half an hour passed before they were where this plan could be
carried into effect, and then Jack halted in front of a small white
cottage which stood at the head of an arm of the sea, partially hidden
by the trees.
"Here's where we've got to try our luck," the boy said as he surveyed
the house intently, and almost as he spoke a tiny woman with tiny
ringlets either side her wrinkled face appeared in the doorway, starting
back as if in alarm on seeing the newcomers.
"Goodness me!" she exclaimed as she suddenly observed Jack staring
intently at her. "Why don't you come out of the sun? That child will be
burned brown as an Injun if you stand there long."
Jack pressed Louis closer to him as he stepped forward a few paces, and
asked hesitatingly,--
"Please, ma'am, if you'll let us stay here to-night I'll do up all the
chores as slick as a pin."
The little woman's surprise deepened almost into bewilderment as she
glanced first at Louis, who had by this time clambered down from his
guardian's arms, and then at Jack's boots, which were covered thickly
with dust.
"Oh, I'll brush myself before I come in," the boy said quickly,
believing her hesitation was caused by the dirt on his garments, "an' we
won't be a mite of trouble."
The mistress of the cottage took Louis by the hand and led him, with
Jack following close behind, into the wide, cool hall, the floor of
which was covered with rugs woven with representations of impossible
animals in all the colors of the rainbow.
"Now tell me where you came from, and why it is necessary to ask for a
home?"
Jack hesitated an instant.
The fear that she too might insist on sending Louis to the poor farm
caused him to question whether he had better tell the whole truth, but
another look at the kindly face decided him.
He related his story with more detail than he had to Farmer Pratt, and
when he concluded the little woman said in a motherly tone,--
"You poor children! If the ship exploded there's no one for you to go
home to, and what _will_ become of such a helpless pair?"
"I can't tell I'm sure, ma'am; but I know we ain't helpless"; and Jack
spoke very decidedly now. "I'm big an' can work, so I'll take care of
Louis till we find his father."
"But if the ship was blown all to pieces?" the little woman continued.
"That don't make any difference," Jack interrupted. "We're goin' right
to his house in New York some time, no matter how far it is."
"But it's a terribly long distance, and you children will surely be
sun-struck before you get even to Boston!" Then she added quickly, "Here
I am forgetting that you must be hungry! Come straight away into the
kitchen while I see what there is in the cupboard, for Aunt Nancy Curtis
never lets any one, much less children, want for food very long in her
house."
"Are you Aunt Nancy?" Jack asked.
"I'm aunt to everybody in the neighborhood, which ain't many, and two or
three more nephews won't make any difference. Set right up to the table,
and after you've had a glass of cool milk, a piece of chicken and some
cake I baked to put away for the summer boarders, we'll see what can be
done."
Jack was disposed to be just a trifle jealous of Louis's evident
admiration for this quaint little Aunt Nancy. He had already taken her
by the hand, and, in his baby fashion, was telling some story which no
one, probably not even himself, could understand.
"You are a dear little boy," the old lady said as she led him into the
kitchen; "but neither you nor Jack here is any more calculated to walk
to New York than I am to go to China this minute."
"If you'll let me have a brush I'll get some of this dust off," Jack
said as he glanced at the well-scoured floor and then at his shoes. "I'm
not fit to go anywhere till I look more decent."
"Here's a whisk-broom. Be careful not to break the handle, and don't
throw it on the ground when you're done," Aunt Nancy said as she handed
the brush to Jack. "There's the pump, and here's a towel and piece of
soap, so scrub yourself as much as you please, for boys never can be too
clean. I'll comb the baby's hair while you're gone, and then we'll have
supper."
Louis made not the slightest protest when his misshapen little guardian
left him alone with Aunt Nancy. He had evidently decided that she was a
woman who could be trusted, and had travelled so much during the day
that even a journey to the pump was more than he cared to undertake.
Jack brushed and scrubbed, and rubbed his face with the towel, after
holding his head under the pump, until the skin glowed red, but cleanly.
When he entered the kitchen again where the little woman and Louis were
seated cosily at the table, he was presentable even to Aunt Nancy, in
whose eyes the least particle of dirt was an abomination.
He took the vacant chair by Louis's side, and was considerably
surprised, because it was something so unusual in his experience, to see
the little woman clasp her withered hands and invoke a blessing upon
"the strangers within her gates," when she had thanked her Father for
all his bounties.
"I went to meetin' once down in Savannah," Jack said; "but I didn't know
folks had 'em right in their houses."
Aunt Nancy looked at him with astonishment, and replied gravely,--
"My child, it is never possible to give too much praise for all we are
permitted to enjoy, and one needn't wait until he is in church before
speaking to our Father."
Jack did not exactly understand what she meant, but he knew from the
expression on the wrinkled face that it was perfectly correct, and at
once proceeded to give his undivided attention to the food which had
been put upon his plate with a liberal hand.
How thoroughly enjoyable was that meal in the roomy old kitchen, through
which the summer breezes wafted perfume from the honeysuckles, and the
bees sang at the open windows while intent on the honey harvest!
When the children's hunger was appeased, it seemed as if half their
troubles had suddenly vanished.
Louis crowed and talked after his own peculiar fashion; Jack told
stories of life on board the "Atlanta," and Aunt Nancy appeared to enjoy
this "visiting" quite as much as did her guests.
The housework was to be done, however, and could not be neglected,
deeply interested though the little woman was in the yarns Jack spun,
therefore she said as she began to collect the soiled dishes,--
"Now if you will take care of the baby I'll have the kitchen cleaned in
a twinkling, and then we'll go out under the big oak-tree where I love
to sit when the sun is painting the clouds in the west with red and
gold."
"Louis can take care of himself if we put him on the floor," Jack
replied, "and I will dry the dishes for you; I've done it lots of times
on the 'Atlanta.'"
The little woman could not refuse this proffered aid, although she
looked very much as if she fancied the work would not be done exactly to
her satisfaction, and after glancing at Jack's hands to make certain
they were perfectly clean, she began operations.
Much to her surprise, the deformed boy was very apt at such tasks, and
Aunt Nancy said as she looked over her spectacles at him while he
carefully dried one of her best China cups,--
"Well I declare! If you ain't the first boy I ever saw who was fit to
live with an old maid like me. You are handier than half the girls I
have here when the summer boarders come, and if you could only milk a
cow we should get along famously."
"It wouldn't take me long to learn," Jack said quickly; for he was eager
to assist the little lady as much as possible, having decided in his own
mind that this would be a very pleasant abiding place for himself and
Louis until the weather should be cooler, when the tramp to New York
could be continued with less discomfort. "If you'd show me how once I'm
sure I'd soon find out, and--"
"It won't do any harm to try at all events," Aunt Nancy replied
thoughtfully; "but the cow hasn't come home yet, and there's plenty of
time."
When the dishes were washed and set carefully away in the cupboard, the
little woman explaining to her assistant where each particular article
of crockery belonged, Jack began to sweep the already painfully clean
floor. Aunt Nancy wiped with a damp towel imaginary specks of dirt from
the furniture, and Louis, as if realizing the importance of winning the
affections of his hostess, laid his head on the rag rug and closed his
eyes in slumber before the work of putting the kitchen to rights was
finished.
"Dear little baby! I suppose he's all tired out," Aunt Nancy said as she
took him in her arms, leaving to Jack the important duty of folding one
of her best damask tablecloths, a task which, under other circumstances,
she would not have trusted to her most intimate friend. "I'm not very
handy with children, but it seems as if I ought to be able to undress
this one."
"Of course you can. All there is to do is unbutton the things an' pull
them off."
Aunt Nancy was by no means as awkward at such work as she would have her
guest believe.
In a few moments she had undressed Louis without awakening him, and
clothed him for the night in one of her bedgowns, which, as a matter of
course, was much too long, but so strongly scented with lavender that
Jack felt positive the child could not fail to sleep sweetly and
soundly.
Then laying him in the centre of a rest-inviting bed which was covered
with the most intricate of patchwork quilts, in a room on the
ground-floor that overlooked the lane and the big oak-tree, they left
him with a smile on his lips, as if the angels had already begun to
weave dream-pictures for him.
Aunt Nancy led the way out through the "fore-room," and, that Jack might
see the beauties it contained, she opened one of the shutters, allowing
the rays of the setting sun to fall upon the pictures of two of the dead
and gone Curtis family, an impossible naval engagement colored in the
most gorgeous style, two vases filled with alum-encrusted grasses, and a
huge crockery rooster with unbending feathers of every hue.
This last-named ornament particularly attracted Jack's attention, and
during fully five minutes he stood gazing at it in silent admiration,
but without daring to ask if he could take the brilliantly painted bird
in his hands.
"Handsome, isn't it?" Aunt Nancy asked, turning her head slowly from
side to side while she critically viewed the combination of colors much
as if she had never seen them before.
"Its perfectly splendid!"
"I'm glad you like it. I think a great deal of him; too much to allow a
live rooster on the place crowing around when he can't. It was presented
to me in my girlhood days by a young gentleman whom every one thought
was destined to be an ornament in the world; but--"
Aunt Nancy paused. Her thoughts had gone trooping down the dusty avenues
of the past, and after waiting fully a moment Jack asked,--
"Where is the young gentleman now?"
"I don't know," was the reply sandwiched between two sobs, and then Aunt
Nancy became her old self once more.
She closed the shutters carefully, waved her apron in the air to
frighten away any overbold dust specks, and the two went out on the
long, velvety lane that the little woman might admire the glories of the
setting sun.
CHAPTER III.
LEARNING TO MILK.
A low bench painted green and fastened against the trunk of the old oak,
that there might be no possibility of its being overturned, was the
place where Aunt Nancy told Jack she spent the pleasant summer evenings.
"Except where there are caterpillars around," she added, "and then I
carry the rocking-chair to the stone doorstep. If you could kill
caterpillars, Jack, you would be doing the greatest possible favor, for
they certainly make my life wretched at times, although I don't know why
a person should be afraid of anything God has made."
"Oh, I can kill 'em," Jack replied confidently. "Bring on your
caterpillars when you want 'em killed, an' I'll fix the job. There ain't
any trouble about that."
"But I don't want to bring them on," Aunt Nancy said, hesitatingly. "I
never like to touch the little crawling things, and you will have to do
that part of the work."
"I'll see to it," Jack replied, and believing she would be free in the
future from the pests which interfered with her twilight pleasures, Aunt
Nancy's face took on an expression of complete satisfaction.
"Now let's talk about yourself and the baby," she said. "You must not
attempt to walk to New York while this hot weather lasts, and it would
cost a power of money to go there on the cars."
"I know it," Jack replied with a sigh, "but so long as there isn't a
cent between us, I guess we'll have to foot it."
"I've been thinking why you shouldn't stay here a spell. You make
yourself so handy about the house that I sha'n't mind the extra trouble
with the baby, and there are times while the summer boarders are here
when I do need a boy very badly."
"That's just what I'd like," and Jack spoke emphatically. "If you'll let
us stay two or three weeks I'll pay my way in work, an' see that Louis
don't bother you."
"I believe that will be the best way out of it. The summer boarders are
to come in two or three weeks. Before then I'll write to my brother
Abner, in Binghamton, who'll be sure to know about Capt. Littlefield,
and perhaps he can make some arrangement for your passage."
"Where's Binghamton?" Jack asked in perplexity.
"Why, it's in York State. I ain't certain how near to the big city, but
of course it can't be very far away. Abner's a master hand at readin',
so if he don't happen to know Capt. Littlefield as a friend, he'd be
sure to have heard of him. When he was home here he was acquainted with
everybody for fifty miles around. He could tell you who each man
married, how many children they had, and kept the run of everything that
happened in the neighborhood. I used to say Abner minded other people's
business better than his own, and that _was_ his fault," she added with
a sigh. "But we all of us have our faults, and it's never right to speak
about those of another before we have fairly weighed our own. He's the
one, though, to find the baby's father, so you needn't have any further
trouble regarding it; but wait till we get a letter from him."
Jack was not as confident as Aunt Nancy appeared to be that this
"brother Abner" would know all the people in New York; but he was more
than content to remain where he was for a certain length of time in the
hope of being able to reach the city in some less laborious way than by
walking.
Then Aunt Nancy told him about herself, and of the farm which had
belonged to her father, but descended to her at his death, because Abner
was unwilling to spend his time on land so unproductive that the
severest labor failed to bring forth a remunerative crop.
"It isn't very good, I'll admit," she said reflectively; "but by taking
a few summer boarders I've been able to make both ends meet, and that's
all an old maid like me ought to expect."
"Have you always lived alone?"
"It's nigh on to twelve years since father died, and, excepting in the
summer, I've had neither child nor chick here. An old woman ain't
pleasant company at the best, and if Abner's daughters don't like to
visit their aunt, I can't say I blame them."
"Well I do!" Jack said decidedly. "I think you're the nicest old lady I
ever saw, and I'd be willin' to stay here all the time if I could."
Aunt Nancy was not accustomed to flattery; but it must be admitted, from
the expression on her wrinkled face, that it was far from unpleasant,
and by way of reward she patted Jack on the head almost affectionately.
"Perhaps you won't think so after a while," she said with a smile; and
then as Jack was about to make protestations, she added, "it's time to
go after the cow, and then I'll give you the first lesson in milking."
The farm was not so large that it required many moments to reach the
pasture, for the old lady had only to walk to the rear of the barn where
the crumple-horned cow was standing at the end of a narrow lane awaiting
her coming.
As the animal stepped carefully over the bars after they had been let
down, Jack could not help thinking she was just such a cow as one would
fancy should belong to Aunt Nancy.
She walked in a dainty manner, acting almost as if trying not to bring
any unnecessary amount of dirt into the barnyard, and behaving in every
way as one would say her mistress might under similar circumstances.
"While I go for the milking pail you pull some clover from under the
trees, for she always expects a lunch while being milked," Aunt Nancy
said; and in a few moments Jack had gathered such a feast as caused the
sedate animal to toss her head in disapprobation at the unusually large
amount she was expected to devour after having been cropping pasture
grass all day.
With a pail which had been scoured until it shone like silver, and a
tiny three-legged stool, white as the floor of her kitchen, the little
woman returned.
Then with many a "Co, Bossy! So, Bossy!" as if the quiet-looking animal
was expected to give way to the most violent demonstrations of wrath,
Aunt Nancy placed the stool in the most advantageous position, and said,
as she seated herself,--
"Now watch me a few minutes, and you'll see how easy it is after getting
the knack."
Jack gazed intently at every movement, his eyes opened wide with
astonishment as the streams of milk poured into the pail with a peculiar
"swish," and before the creamy foam had fully covered the bottom he was
quite positive it would be no difficult matter for him to perform the
same operation.
"I can do it now, if you'll get up."
Aunt Nancy vacated the stool without hesitation, for milking seemed such
a simple matter that there was no question in her mind but that it could
be learned in one very short lesson, and Jack sat down.
The cow looked around at this change of attendants, but was too
well-bred to express any great amount of surprise, and the hunchback
took hold of what appeared like so many fat fingers.
Fancying that strength alone was necessary, he pulled most vigorously.
Not a drop of milk came; but he accomplished something, for the animal
tossed her head impatiently.
Jack pulled harder the second time, and then, as Aunt Nancy screamed
loudly, the cow started at full speed for the other side of the yard,
facing about there at the boy whom she believed was tormenting her
wilfully, while she shook her head in a menacing manner.
Fortunately the milk-pail was not overturned; but in preventing such a
catastrophe, Jack rolled from the stool to the ground with no gentle
force, terrified quite as much by Aunt Nancy's screams as by the sudden
movement of old crumple-horn.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked, as he scrambled to his feet, looking
first at his hostess, and then at the frightened animal.
"I ought to have known a boy couldn't milk," Aunt Nancy said impatiently
and almost angrily. "It seems as if they have a faculty of hurting dumb
beasts."
"But I didn't mean to," Jack said apologetically. "I worked just as you
did, and pulled a good deal harder, but yet the milk wouldn't come."
Aunt Nancy made no reply.
Taking up the pail and stool she walked across the yard, trying to
soothe the cow in the peculiar language she had used when beginning the
task; and Jack, understanding that he had hurt the feelings of both his
hostess and her pet, followed contritely, as he said coaxingly,--
"Please let me try it once more. I am certain I can do it if you'll give
me another chance."
It was not until Aunt Nancy had led the cow back to the pile of clover,
and there stroked her head and ears until she was ready to resume the
rudely interrupted feast, that any attention was paid to Jack's
entreaties.
"I'll show you once more," she finally said, "and you must watch to see
exactly how I move my fingers. It isn't the pulling that brings the
milk, but the pressure of the hand."
This time Jack paid strict attention, and in a few moments began to
fancy he had discovered what Aunt Nancy called the "knack."
But she would not relinquish her seat.
"Take hold with one hand while I stay here, and be careful not to hurt
the poor creature."
Very tenderly Jack made the second attempt, and was so successful as to
extract at least a dozen drops from the well-filled udder.
This was sufficient, however, to show him what should be done, even
though he was at first unable to perform the task, and, thanks to Aunt
Nancy's patience, and the gentleness of the animal, before the milking
was brought to a close, he had so far mastered the lesson as to win from
his teacher a limited amount of praise.
"I don't know as I should expect you to learn at once," she said; "but
you are getting along so well that by to-morrow night I wouldn't be
surprised if you could do it alone. Now I'll go and strain the milk, and
you may split me a little kindling wood if you will. Somehow I have
never been able to use an axe without danger of cutting my feet, and
it's almost like tempting Providence to take one in my hands."
Jack did as he was bidden, and although the axe was decidedly rusty and
very blunt, to say nothing of its being shaky in the helve, before she
finished taking care of the milk he had such a pile of kindlings as
would have cost her a week's labor to prepare.
"Well!" the little woman said as she came from the cool cellar and
surveyed the fruits of his industry, "if you can't do anything else on
a farm but that, it'll be a wonderful relief to me. An axe is such a
dangerous instrument that I always tremble when I touch one."
Jack looked at the ancient tool (which could hardly have inflicted any
injury unless one chanced to drop it on his toes) with a smile, but said
nothing, and after Aunt Nancy had shown him how to fasten the woodshed
door with a huge latch that any burglar over four feet tall could have
raised, she led the way into the house.
The milking pail was to be washed, a solitary moth which had found its
way into the kitchen was to be killed lest he should do some damage to
the rag carpet, and Aunt Nancy lighted a candle with a solemn air.
"This is the last work of the day," she said, "and perhaps I attach too
much importance to it, but I never allow myself to go to bed without
making sure there's no one hidden in the house. We'll examine the upper
part first, and after that has been done I will show you a chamber which
you can have until the summer boarders come. Then we must make different
arrangements, for the house is so small that I'm terribly put to it for
room."
Jack followed the little woman up the back stairs, and each of the four
apartments was subjected to the most rigid scrutiny, the boy holding the
candle while Aunt Nancy not only peered under the beds and behind the
bureaus, but even opened the tiniest closets in search of a supposed
intruder.
"We are safe for another day," she said with a long-drawn sigh of
relief, "and after looking through the fore-room once more I'll lock the
doors."
There was such an air of responsibility about the little woman that
Jack, not fully understanding what she expected to find, immediately
conceived the idea that peaceful though this portion of the country
appeared, it must be a very dangerous neighborhood, for his hostess
could not have taken more precautions had it been known positively that
a band of Indians were lurking in the vicinity.
Nothing more alarming than the moth was found, however, and after the
window fastenings had been carefully examined, Aunt Nancy led the way
back to the kitchen, where she once more surprised her guest by taking
down the well-worn Bible.
In a thin, quavering voice she read therefrom a certain number of
verses in which she seemed to find the greatest satisfaction, and then
replaced the book reverentially on the stand appropriated to its
keeping.
Then, to Jack's further surprise, she knelt by the side of the chair and
began a simple but heartfelt prayer, while the boy nestled around
uneasily, not certain whether it was proper for him to stand up, or
follow her example, therefore he remained where he was.
When the evening devotions had been brought to a close, he felt
decidedly uncomfortable in mind, but did not think it advisable to
expose his ignorance by asking the little woman what he should have
done.
"Now we'll go to bed," Aunt Nancy said as she arose to her feet with
such a look of faith on her wrinkled face as reminded the boy of
pictures he had seen.
Without a word he followed her upstairs to a small room directly over
the kitchen, which, however contracted it might seem to others, was
twice as large as he needed when compared with his quarters on board the
"Atlanta."
Then, as if her aim was to astonish and bewilder him on this first
evening, Aunt Nancy kissed him on both cheeks as she said "Good night,"
and left him to his own reflections.
CHAPTER IV.
PURSUED.
It was a long while before slumber visited Jack's eyelids on this first
night spent at the farm.
To have found such a pleasant resting place after his experience at
Farmer Pratt's, and when the best he had expected was to be allowed to
remain until morning, was almost bewildering; at the same time the
friendly manner in which the kindly faced old lady treated him made a
deep impression on his heart.
During fully an hour he speculated as to how it would be possible for
him to reach New York with Louis, and, not being able to arrive at any
satisfactory conclusion, he decided that that matter at least could
safely be left in Aunt Nancy's care.
Then, all anxiety as to the immediate future having been dissipated, he
thought of various ways by which he could lighten the little woman's
labors.
He laid plans for making himself so useful about the farm that she would
be repaid for her care of Louis, and these ideas were in his mind when
he crossed the border of dreamland, where, until nearly daybreak, he
tried to milk diminutive cows, or struggled to carry enormous tin pails.
Despite his disagreeable dreams, the sleep was refreshing, and when the
first glow of dawn appeared in the eastern sky he was aroused by the
sound of Aunt Nancy's voice from the foot of the stairs.
Jack's first waking thought was a continuation of the last on the night
previous, and, dressing hurriedly, he ran down to the kitchen to begin
the labor which he intended should make him a desirable member of the
family.
To his great disappointment the fire had been built, Louis dressed, and
the morning's work well advanced when he entered the room.
"Why didn't you call me before?" he asked reproachfully. "I meant to
have done all this while you were asleep; but I laid awake so long last
night that it didn't seem possible for my eyes to open."
"I am accustomed to doing these things for myself," Aunt Nancy replied
with a kindly smile, "and don't mind it one bit, especially when the
kindlings have been prepared. I got up a little earlier than usual
because I was afraid there might be some trouble about dressing the
baby; but he's just as good a child as can be, and seems right well
contented here."
"It would be funny if he wasn't," Jack replied as he took Louis in his
arms for the morning greeting.
There was a shade of sorrow in his heart because the child evinced no
desire to remain with him, but scrambled out of his arms at the first
opportunity to toddle toward Aunt Nancy, who ceased her work of brushing
imaginary dirt from the floor in order to kiss the little fellow as
tenderly as a mother could have done.
"It seems as if he'd got all through with me," Jack said sorrowfully. "I
believe he likes you the best now."
"Don't be jealous, my boy. It's only natural the child should cling to a
woman when he can; but that doesn't signify he has lost any affection
for you. It is time old crumple-horn was milked, and we'll take Louis
with us so he won't get into mischief. I'm going to give you another
lesson this morning."
Jack made a vain effort to repress the sigh which would persist in
coming to his lips as the baby crowed with delight when the little woman
lifted him in her arms, and taking the milking pail, he led the way out
through the dewy grass to the barnyard, where the cow stood looking over
the rails as if wondering why Aunt Nancy was so late.
Jack insisted that he could milk without any further instructions, and,
after gathering an armful of the sweet-scented clover, he set boldly to
work while Aunt Nancy and Louis watched him from the other side of the
fence.
This time his efforts were crowned with success, and although he did not
finish the task as quickly as the little woman could have done it, by
the aid of a few hints from her he had drawn the last drop of milk into
the pail before the cow began to show signs of impatience.
Then Aunt Nancy and Louis returned to the house while Jack drove the
meek-eyed animal to the pasture, and when this was done he searched the
shed for a rake.
He succeeded in finding one with not more than half the teeth missing,
and began to scrape up the sticks and dried leaves from the lane, a work
which was well calculated to yet further win the confidence of the neat
little mistress of the farm.
When the morning meal was served, Jack had so far become accustomed to
Aunt Nancy's ways that he bowed his head without being prompted, while
she asked a blessing.
After breakfast was concluded the hunchback proceeded to put into
execution the plan formed on the night previous.
"If you'll tell me what to do I'll go to work as soon as the lane is
cleaned, an' that won't take a long while. I s'pose there's plenty to be
done."
"Yes," Aunt Nancy replied with a sigh, "there's a great deal of work
which a woman can't do; but I don't know as a boy like you would be able
to get along any better than I."
"There won't be any harm in tryin'," Jack said manfully. "Tell me what
it is you want."
"Well, the pasture fence is broken in several places, and I was thinking
of getting Daniel Chick to come an' fix it; but perhaps you might patch
the breaks up so's a cow couldn't get out."
"Of course I can. It ain't much of a job if you've got nails an' a
hammer. I'll tackle it as soon as the lane is finished."
Aunt Nancy explained that the fence to which she referred bordered the
road a short distance above the house, and Jack was so impatient to
begin the labor that, contrary to his usual custom, he took a hurried
leave of Louis.
An hour was sufficient in which to finish the self-imposed task on the
lane, and then, with a very shaky hammer and a handful of rusty nails,
he set out to repair the fence, leaving Louis playing in the kitchen
with the gorgeous crockery rooster, while Aunt Nancy was busily engaged
setting the house to rights generally.
The scene of Jack's first attempt at fence building was fully an eighth
of a mile away, and in a clump of alder-bushes which shut off all view
of the house.
It was by no means a simple task which he found before him.
The posts had so far decayed that an expert workman would have
considered it necessary to replace them with new timbers; but since this
was beyond his skill, he set about mending it after his own fashion.
It must not be supposed that Jack loved to work better than does any
other boy; but he believed it was necessary for him to remain with Aunt
Nancy until such time as he could find an opportunity of continuing the
journey in some more rapid manner than by walking, and the desire to
make himself useful about the farm was so great that labor ceased to be
a hardship.
He had been engaged in this rather difficult task fully an hour, paying
little or no attention to anything save the work in hand, when the
rattle of wheels on the hard road attracted his notice.
Up to this time no person had passed in either direction, and it was
from curiosity rather than any idea the approaching travellers might be
connected with his fortunes, that he peered out from among the
alder-bushes.
Immediately he drew back in alarm.
He had seen, coming directly toward him in a lumbering old wagon and
hardly more than a hundred yards away, Farmer Pratt and his son Tom.
"They're huntin' for me!" he said to himself as he crept farther among
the bushes to conceal himself from view, and a secure hiding place had
hardly been gained when the travellers came to a full stop at the little
brook which ran on the opposite side of the road, in order to give their
horse some water.
As a matter of fact Farmer Pratt _was_ in search of the two who had left
his house so unceremoniously; but now he had no intention of taking them
to the poorhouse.
Quite by accident a copy of a newspaper containing an account of the
explosion on board the "Atlanta," and the information that Mrs.
Littlefield would remain in Portland in the hope of gaining some
information regarding her child, had come into his hands, and it did not
require much study on his part to understand that in the greed to
possess himself of the boat by ridding himself of the children, he had
lost the opportunity of earning a valuable reward.
There was a stormy time in the Pratt household when this fact became
known, and even Master Tom came in for more than his full share of the
scolding because the children had been allowed to go away.
"It would have been as good as a hundred dollars in my pocket if I could
have lugged them youngsters into town," the farmer repeated over and
over again as he blamed first his wife and then his son for what was
really his own fault. "I thought a boat worth twenty dollars would be a
mighty big haul for one mornin', but here was a show of gettin' five
times as much jest by holdin' them two over night, an' you had to let
'em slip through your fingers."
Farmer Pratt dwelt upon this unpleasant fact until he finally convinced
himself that he would have acted the part of a good Samaritan had the
opportunity not been denied him, and very early on this same morning he
started out for the purpose of earning the reward by finding the
castaways.
Jack, crouching among the bushes where he could distinguish the
movements of those whom he considered his enemies, heard the farmer say,
while the half-fed horse was quenching his thirst,--
"I reckon we've got a day's work before us, all on account of you an'
your mother, for that hunchback couldn't have walked as far with the
baby. Most likely he found some one who gave him a lift on the road. The
chances are he's in Biddeford by this time, other folks have heard the
whole story."
Tom made no reply, probably because he feared to say anything which
might again call forth a flood of reproach, and his father added,--
"I reckon our best way will be to push right on to town instead of
huntin' along the road as we've been doin'. Time is gettin' mighty short
if we want to catch him before people know what has happened."
The farmer was so impatient to arrive at the city that the horse was
urged on before his thirst was fully quenched, and as the noise of the
wheels told that the briefly interrupted journey had been resumed, Jack
crept cautiously out from among the bushes to where he could watch the
movements of the travellers until they should have passed Aunt Nancy's
farm.
As may be supposed, he was thoroughly alarmed.
That which he heard convinced him beyond a doubt the farmer was
searching for him, and there was no question in his mind but that it was
for the sole and only purpose of carrying him and Louis to the poor
farm.
"I s'pose Aunt Nancy would up an' tell the whole story if they should
ask her," he muttered, "an' then I'd have to come out an' go along with
'em, 'cause I wouldn't let that man carry Louis off alone."
The color came back to his cheeks, however, and the throbbing of his
heart was lessened as he saw the wagon wheel past the lane without
either of its occupants making any move toward calling at the house.
Most likely neither Aunt Nancy nor Louis were in the yard, and Farmer
Pratt was so eager to reach the town where he believed the children to
be, that, as he had intimated, there was no further stop to be made
along the road.
But Jack's mind was far from being relieved even after the clumsy
vehicle had passed out of sight, for he knew the farmer would return,
failing to gain any information of those he was so anxious to find, and
he might think it worth his while to call at Aunt Nancy's.
Jack had now lost all interest in his work, and seated himself near the
fence trying to decide whether he would be warranted in leaving the
temporary home he had found, to take refuge in flight.
This he might have done on the impulse of the moment but for the
restraining thought that it would be in the highest degree dangerous to
travel in either direction on the road, and to make his way through the
fields and woods was a matter of impossibility, since he had no idea of
the proper course to be pursued.
"I don't s'pose Aunt Nancy'd lie even to save us from goin' to the poor
farm," he said aloud to himself; "but if she would, I'd hide out in the
bushes with Louis till I was sure that man had got through huntin' after
us, 'cause he can't keep this thing up all summer."
This was by far the best plan Jack could devise for the baby's safety,
and yet it seemed hardly possible it would be carried into execution
because of the probable unwillingness of Aunt Nancy to so much as
equivocate.
After thinking the matter over fully twenty minutes without arriving at
any other conclusion which promised the slightest hope of escape from
his pursuers, he decided to boldly ask the little woman if she would
promise, in case Mr. Pratt should call upon her, to say that she had
seen neither of her guests.
"She can't any more'n get mad at it, an' if she won't agree then I'll
take the risk of startin' off once more, but it's goin' to be pretty
tough on both of us."
There was yet considerable work to be done in the way of fence building;
but now Jack had no idea of continuing the labor.
He was so agitated that the shaky hammer lay unheeded on the ground
where it had fallen when he first saw the travellers, and the nails were
left to gather a yet thicker coat of rust as he made his way up through
the line of bushes to approach the house from the rear, not daring to go
boldly around by the road.
CHAPTER V.
AN ENCOUNTER.
Believing his only enemies were those whom he had seen driving up the
road, Jack paid no attention to anything in front of him, save when it
was absolutely necessary in order to guide his footsteps, but kept his
eyes fixed upon the dusty highway.
Owing to the straggling line of bushes, he was forced to make a wide
detour to reach the barn unseen by any travellers, and he had not
traversed more than half the required distance when a loud cry from a
clump of alders which bordered the duck pond caused him to come to a
full stop.
"Hello, Hunchie! What are you doin' here?"
Jack looked up quickly in alarm, fancying the voice sounded like Tom
Pratt's, and for an instant believed his pursuers had apparently
continued their journey only for the purpose of taking him by surprise
in the rear.
There was no person in sight, however, and during a few seconds he stood
motionless, trying to decide whether it would be safest to run directly
toward the farmhouse, or attempt to make his escape through the fields.
Then the question was repeated, and before Jack could have fled, had he
been so disposed, three boys came out from among the alders, approaching
very near as if to prevent flight on the part of the hunchback.
"Who are you?" one of the strangers asked, "an' where did you come
from?"
"I'm Jack Dudley."
"Where do you live?"
"I'm stayin' over to Aunt Nancy Curtis's awhile," Jack replied
hesitatingly, doubtful if it would be well to give these not
over-friendly looking boys all the information they desired.
"What are you doin' there?" another of the party asked.
"Helpin' 'round at whatever she wants done till the summer boarders go
away."
"Oh! So you're the hired man, are you?" the first boy said in a sneering
tone.
"I ain't so very much of a man; but I reckon I can do her work, an' I
mustn't fool 'round here, for I'm pretty busy this mornin'."
"You'll stay till we find out what right you've got to run across this
field," the boy who had first spoken said decidedly. "We've always done
Aunt Nancy's chores, an' you're makin'a big mistake by takin' our job
away."
Jack looked once more toward the road to make certain Farmer Pratt and
his son were not returning.
Then he glanced in the direction of the house, hoping Aunt Nancy might
be in sight, for he understood from the tone and attitude of the
strangers that they were bent on mischief.
Not a person could be seen, and he had no other alternative save to
remain where he was until such time as the boys should be willing to let
him pass.
Any attempt at flight could have been easily checked, since, owing to
his deformity, he was not able to run as fast as others of his age.
Probably he felt just a trifle frightened; but he stood his ground
boldly, determined not to let the strangers see a show of weakness, as
he said,--
"I didn't come here to take any feller's job. Aunt Nancy gave me a
chance to stay this summer, an' I jumped at it, 'cause there's no boy
needs a home more'n I do jest now."
"Well, see here, Hunchie," the elder of the party replied in a
threatening tone, "we don't know how much you need a home, nor we don't
care; but there's one thing certain, you ain't goin' to stay 'round here
this summer." "Us fellers can do all Aunt Nancy's chores an' a good deal
more. The job belongs to us. If you say you'll leave before night, it'll
be all right, an' if not, we'll thump the life out of you."
[Illustration: "Does that mean you ain't goin' to leave?" And the boy
advanced threateningly with clinched fists, until he stood within a few
inches of the deformed lad.--Page 55.]
"Perhaps that can't be done," Jack said calmly, with an assumption of
courage which was far from natural.
"Last summer there was a feller come snoopin' 'round to help on the
summer-boarder business, but he soon found it wasn't safe to steal jobs
from them as lives here the whole year. We jest about killed him."
"Why didn't you stuff his skin an' set it up on the road here, so's
other fellers would know enough not to stop?" Jack asked in a sarcastic
tone as he stepped back a few paces toward a thicker clump of bushes,
where it would be impossible for the strangers to make an attack from
the rear. "You can't be any tougher than you look, an' I guess I'll be
able to keep on livin' till summer's over, even if I do stay."
"Does that mean you ain't goin' to leave?" And the boy advanced
threateningly with clinched fists until he stood within a few inches of
the deformed lad, who now understood that a fight was inevitable.
"It's pretty nigh the size of it," Jack replied; and despite all
efforts, his voice trembled slightly, for he knew full well it would be
impossible to hold his own against three bullies. "But before beginnin'
the row I want you to understand one thing: if I don't work for
somebody, I've got to live out of doors, for I haven't a cent. I ain't
sayin' but the three of you can lick me, of course, but you'll have to
do it every day in the week before I'll leave this farm."
Perhaps the bully was a trifle ashamed for threatening one so much
smaller than himself, and deformed, for, instead of immediately striking
a blow as at first had seemed to be his purpose, he drew back a few
paces to hold a whispered consultation with his companions, after which
he said,--
"Look here, Hunchie, we're willin' to give you a show, but won't allow
no fellers 'round takin' away money we could earn as well as not. Aunt
Nancy's always hired us to do her chores when the city folks was here,
till she got that feller last year, an' then the old fool said she'd
never pay us another cent jest 'cause we didn't jump spry enough to
please her. Now we're goin' to show that it's got to be us or nobody.
We're willin' to wait till to-morrow night if you say you'll go then.
There's plenty of jobs up Old Orchard way, so there ain't any need of
your feedin' on wind."
"Why don't you go there?"
"'Cause we don't want to. This is where we live, an' anything that's to
be done 'round here belongs to us. Now cross your throat that you'll
leave before to-morrow night, an' we won't say another word."
"I'll go an' see what Aunt Nancy thinks about it," Jack replied, not
with any intention of obeying these peremptory demands, but in order to
escape from what was a very awkward predicament.
"You won't do anything of the kind! Promise before leavin' this place or
we'll thump you!"
"Then thump away, for I won't go," Jack replied determinedly as he
backed still farther into the bushes and prepared to defend himself as
best he might against such an overwhelming force, although knowing there
was no question but that he would receive a severe whipping.
"Give it to him, Bill!" the boys in the rear cried. "You can polish him
off with one hand, so there's no need of our chippin' in."
Bill did not wait for further encouragement.
Jack's defence was necessarily very slight, and before he was able to
strike a blow in his own behalf, Bill had him on the ground, pounding
him unmercifully, while his companions viewed the scene with evident
satisfaction.
Jack made no outcry: first, because he feared that by bringing Aunt
Nancy on the scene the fact of Louis's being at the farm would be made
known; and, secondly, he fancied Farmer Pratt might be near enough to
hear his appeals for help.
Therefore he submitted to the cruel and uncalled-for punishment without
a word, although every blow caused severe pain, and when Bill had
pummelled him for fully five minutes the other boys interrupted by
saying,--
"Come, let up on him! That's enough for the first, an' if he ain't out
of town by to-morrow we'll give him another dose. Let's cool him off in
the pond."
Jack struggled in vain against this last indignity. It was a simple
matter for the three boys to lift and throw him half a dozen feet from
the bank into the muddy water.
There was no danger the little fellow would be drowned, for the duck
pond was not more than two feet deep, and as his assailants ran
hurriedly away he scrambled out, presenting a sorry sight as he stood on
the firm ground once more with mud and water dripping from his face and
every angle of his garments.
Jack was as sore in mind as he was in body; but even while making his
way toward the house he did not neglect any precautions which might
prevent his being seen by Farmer Pratt.
He skirted around through the straggling line of alders until he reached
the rear of the barn, and then, coming across crumple-horn's yard, he
was confronted by Aunt Nancy, who had just emerged from the shed.
"For mercy's sake!" the little woman screamed, raising her hands in
dismay as she surveyed the woe-begone Jack, who looked more like a
misshapen pillar of mud than a boy. "Where _have_ you been, and what
_have_ you done to yourself? It _is_ strange that boys _will_ be forever
mussing in the dirt. I thought I'd had some bad ones here, but you beat
anything I ever saw! Why, you must have been rolling in the pond to get
yourself in such a condition."
"Yes, ma'am, I have," Jack replied meekly as he again tried to brush the
mud from his face, but only succeeded in grinding it in more deeply.
"What's the matter with your nose? It's bleeding!" Aunt Nancy screamed
in her excitement; while Louis, who was sitting on the grass near the
broad doorstep, crowed and laughed as if fancying she was talking to
him.
"Three fellers out there tried to make me promise I'd go away before
to-morrow night, an' when I wouldn't, they gave me an awful poundin'.
Then the fun was wound up by throwin' me in the pond."
"Three boys!" and Aunt Nancy's tone was an angry one. "I'll venture to
say William Dean was among the party; and if he thinks he's going to
drive off every decent child in the neighborhood, he is mistaken. I'd do
my chores alone, and wait on the city folks too, before he should come
here again!"
Then Aunt Nancy peered in every direction as if fancying the evil-doers
might yet be in the vicinity where she could punish them immediately,
while Jack stood silent, if not quite motionless, wiping the mixture of
blood and mud from his face in a most disconsolate manner.
Aunt Nancy's anger vanished, however, as she turned again toward the
cripple.
All her sympathies were aroused, but not to such an extent as to smother
her cleanly instincts.
"Did they hurt you very much?" she asked solicitously.
"They wasn't any too careful about hittin'," Jack replied with a feeble
attempt at a smile, to show that his injuries were not really serious.
"If there hadn't been more than one, I'd have hurt him some before he
got me into the pond."
"I wish you had flogged every single member of that party in the most
severe--No, I don't either, for it wouldn't be right, Jack. We are told
when anybody smites us on one cheek, we must turn the other also; but
it's terrible hard work to do right sometimes. I'm glad you didn't
strike them, though I _do_ wish they could be punished."
Again Aunt Nancy showed signs of giving way to anger, and one could see
that a severe conflict was going on in her mind as she tried to obey the
injunctions of the Book she read so often.
As if to turn her attention from vengeful thoughts, she immediately made
preparations for dressing Jack's wounds.
"If you can stand a little more water," she said, "we'll try to get you
into something like a decent condition."
"I reckon I can stand almost anything after the dose I've had," Jack
replied grimly; and Aunt Nancy led him under the pump, stationing him
directly beneath the spout as she said,--
"Now I'll wash the mud off; but if the water feels too cold let me know,
and we'll heat it."
"I'll take it as long as you can keep the handle goin'," Jack replied as
he bent his head and involuntarily drew a long breath preparatory to
receiving the expected shock.
Aunt Nancy could pump a long while when it was for the purpose of
removing dirt; and during the next five minutes she deluged Jack with
the cold spring water until he stood in the centre of a miniature pond,
no longer covered with mud, but dripping tiny streams from every portion
of his face and garments.
Sitting on the grass near by, Louis clapped his hands and laughed with
glee at what he probably thought a comical spectacle designed for his
own especial amusement.
It was not until Jack had been, as he expressed it, "so well rinsed it
was time to wring him out," that either he or Aunt Nancy remembered the
very important fact that he had no clothes to replace those which were
so thoroughly soaked.
"Now what _are_ we going to do?" Aunt Nancy asked in dismay, as she
surveyed the dripping boy, who left little rivers of water behind him
whenever he moved. "You haven't got a second shirt to your back, and I
can't let you remain in these wet clothes."
"I might go out to the barn an' lay 'round there till they dried," Jack
suggested.
"Mercy on us, child, you'd get your death of cold! Wait right here while
I go into the attic and see if there isn't something you can wear for a
few hours. Don't step across the threshold."
This last admonition was unnecessary.
Short a time as Jack had known Aunt Nancy, he was reasonably well
acquainted with her cleanly habits, and to have stepped on that floor,
which was as white as boards can be, while in his present condition,
would have been to incur the little woman's most serious displeasure.
He was also forced to remain at a respectful distance from Louis, who
laughed and crowed as if begging to be taken, and while moving farther
away he whispered,--
"It wouldn't do at all to touch you when I'm so wet, old fellow, but
I'll lug you around as much as you want as soon as I'm dried off. After
Aunt Nancy comes back, I'm goin' to talk with her about Farmer Pratt,
an' see if she'll agree to say we ain't here in case he calls. You an'
I'll be in a pretty hard box if she don't promise to tell a lie for
us."
CHAPTER VI.
A MENTAL STRUGGLE.
When Aunt Nancy returned from the attic, she had a miscellaneous
collection of cast-off garments sufficient to have clothed a dozen boys
like Jack, providing they had been willing to wear female apparel.
"I thought there might be some of father's things upstairs," she said,
examining once more each piece; "but I've given them away. You won't
care if you have to put on a dress for a little while, will you? Here
are some old ones of mine, and it will be a great deal better to use
them than to stand around in wet clothes."
Jack was not at all anxious to masquerade as a girl, and would have
preferred to "dry off," as he expressed it, in the barn; but, fearing
lest he should offend the old lady at a time when he was about to ask a
very great favor, he made no protest.
Aunt Nancy selected from the assortment two skirts, a pair of well-worn
cloth shoes, and a shawl, saying as she handed them to the boy,--
"Now you can go out in the barn and put these on. Then we'll hang your
clothes on the line, where they'll dry in a little while. In the mean
time I'll find some sticking plaster for your face, and a piece of brown
paper to put over your eye to prevent it from growing black."
Jack walked away as if he were about to perform a very disagreeable
task, and by the time Aunt Nancy had carried the superfluous wardrobe
upstairs and procured such things as she thought would be necessary in
the treatment of the boy's wounds, he emerged from the barn looking
decidedly shamefaced.
He knew he presented a most comical appearance, and expected to be
greeted with an outburst of laughter; but Aunt Nancy saw nothing to
provoke mirth in what had been done to prevent a cold, and, in the most
matter-of-fact manner, began to treat the bruises on his face.
A piece of court plaster fully half as large as Jack's hand was placed
over the scratch on his right cheek, another upon a small cut just in
front of his left ear, while a quantity of brown paper thoroughly
saturated with vinegar covered his eye and a goodly portion of his
forehead.
This last was tied on with a handkerchief knotted in such a manner as to
allow the two ends to stick straight up like the ears of a deformed
rabbit.
During this operation Louis laughed in glee. It was to him the jolliest
kind of sport to see his guardian thus transformed into a girl, and even
Aunt Nancy herself could not repress a smile when she gazed at the
woe-begone looking boy who appeared to have just come from some
desperate conflict.
"I s'pose I look pretty rough, don't I?" Jack asked with a faint attempt
at a smile. "I feel like as if I'd been broke all to pieces an' then
patched up ag'in."
"It isn't as bad as it might be," Aunt Nancy replied guardedly; "but out
here where we don't see any one it doesn't make much difference, and to
run around this way a few hours is better than being sick for a week."
"I reckon I can stand it if you can," Jack said grimly, "but I don't
think I want to fix fences in this rig. Them fellers would think I'd put
on these things so they wouldn't know me."
"No indeed, you mustn't leave the house even when your clothes are dry,
until I have seen that Dean boy's father."
"You ain't goin' to tell him about their poundin' me, are you?" Jack
asked quickly.
"Of course I am. You don't suppose for a single moment that I intend to
run the chances of your being beaten to death by them! If Mr. Dean can't
keep his boy at home I'll--I'll--I don't know what I will do."
"Seems to me it would be better not to say anything about it," Jack
replied hesitatingly. "If we go to tellin' tales, them fellers will
think I'm afraid, an' be sure to lay for me whenever I go out."
"I'm not going to tell any tales; but I intend to see if it isn't
possible for me to have a decent, well-behaved boy around this place
without his being obliged to fight a lot of disreputable characters such
as some we've got in the neighborhood."
This is not the time for Jack to make any vehement protests, lest Aunt
Nancy should be provoked because of his persistency, and he changed the
subject of conversation by broaching the matter which occupied all his
thoughts.
"That Mr. Pratt what tried to send Louis an' me to the poor farm drove
past here with Tom jest before them fellers tackled me, an' I heard him
say he was lookin' for us."
"Mercy on me!" Aunt Nancy exclaimed as she pushed the spectacles back
from her nose to her forehead and peered down the lane much as if
expecting to see the farmer and his son in the immediate vicinity. "Why
_is_ he so possessed to send you to the poorhouse?"
"That's what I don't know," Jack replied with a sigh; "but he's after
us, an' if he once gets his eye on me, the thing is settled."
"He has no more right to bother you than I have, and not half as much.
According to your story, he didn't even take the trouble to give you a
decent meal, and I'll soon let him know he can't carry you away from
here."
"But how'll you prevent it if he starts right in an' begins to lug us
off? He's stronger'n you an' me put together, an' if he's come all this
distance there won't be much stoppin' for anything you'll say to him,
I'm afraid. Now don't you think it would be better to tell him I wasn't
here?"
"Mercy on us, Jack! How could I do that when you _are_ here?"
"Well, you wouldn't like to have him lug us off if you knew we'd got to
go to the poorhouse, would you? 'Cause neither Louis nor me ever did
anything to you, or to him either."
"But you sha'n't go there, my dear child. So long as I am willing to
keep you here, I don't see what business it is of his, or anybody
else's."
"It seems as though he was makin' it his business," Jack replied
disconsolately; for he was now beginning to despair of persuading Aunt
Nancy to tell a lie. "If you'd say we wasn't here, that would settle it,
and he wouldn't stay."
"But I can't, Jack; I can't tell an absolute falsehood."
Jack gave vent to a long-drawn sigh as he looked toward the baby for a
moment, and then said,--
"Well, I didn't s'pose you would do it anyhow, so Louis an' me'll have
to start off, 'cause I won't go to that poor farm if I have to walk
every step of the way to New York an' carry the baby besides."
"I don't see why you should talk like that, my child. In the first
place, there is no reason for believing that hard-hearted man will come
here, and--"
"Oh, yes, there is!" and Jack repeated the conversation he had overheard
while hiding in the alder-bushes. "When he finds out we haven't been to
Biddeford, he'll ask at every house on the way back."
"Do you really think he would try to take you if I said to him in a very
severe tone that I would have him prosecuted for attempting anything of
the kind?"
"I don't believe you could scare him a bit, an' there isn't much chance
you'd be able to stop him after he's come so far to find us."
"But I can't have you leave me, Jack," the little woman said in a
quavering voice. "You have no idea how much I've been countin' on your
company."
"You won't feel half so bad as I shall to go," Jack replied mournfully.
"But it is out of the question to even think of walking all that
distance."
"It's got to be done jest the same, an' as soon as my clothes are dried
we'll start. Things will come mighty tough; but they can't be helped."
Aunt Nancy looked thoroughly distressed, and there was a suspicious
moisture in her eyes as she asked,--
"How would it do to lock the doors, and refuse to come down when he
knocked?"
Jack shook his head.
"I don't believe it would work."
"No, it mustn't be thought of, for then we should be acting a lie, which
is almost, if not quite, as bad as telling one."
"How do you make that out?" Jack asked in surprise.
"We shouldn't lock the doors unless it was to give him the impression
that there was no one at home, which would be a falsehood."
The expression on Jack's face told that he failed to understand either
the argument or the spirit which prompted it, and for several moments no
word was spoken.
Then, as a happy thought occurred to him, the boy said eagerly,--
"I'll tell you how it could be done without any lie at all, an'
everything would go along as slick as grease."
"How?" Aunt Nancy asked quickly, as a look of relief passed over her
face.
"I'll watch up the road a piece till I see the team comin'. Then I'll
run back here, get Louis, an' carry him off somewhere."
"Well?" the little woman asked as he paused.
"Why, can't you see how easy it'll be then? You'll only have to tell him
you don't know where we are, an' he'll be bound to leave."
"But, Jack dear, I should know where you were."
"How do you make that out?"
"You wouldn't leave the farm, an' while I--"
"That's jest what you don't know. I didn't tell you where we'd go. It
would be the same thing if we left for New York this minute; you might
think we was on the road somewhere; but that wouldn't make it so."
Aunt Nancy remained silent, and although he did not believe she was
convinced, Jack fancied there was a look of hesitation on her face as if
she might be persuaded into complying with his request, therefore he
added eagerly,--
"You want us to stay here, an'--"
"Indeed I do!" the little woman replied fervently. "I never knew a boy
who seemed so much like our own folks as you do, and since last night it
has been a great relief to think I should have you with me this summer."
"And if Mr. Pratt knows we're anywhere around, he'll snake us away for
certain."
"I don't understand how that can be done, Jack."
"Neither do I; but he has come to do it, an' you can't stop him. Now
I'll promise to go where you'd never guess of our bein', an' then there
wouldn't be the least little bit of a lie in sayin' you didn't know."
"I would do almost anything for the sake of keeping you here, Jack,
except to commit a sin."
"This way you won't be doin' anything of the kind. I reckon my clothes
are dry now, an' I'd better put 'em on so's to be ready to watch for Mr.
Pratt."
Then Jack hurried off as if the matter had been positively settled.
Aunt Nancy gazed after him with an expression of mingled pain and
perplexity on her wrinkled face, and just then Louis crept to her knee,
begging in his odd language to be taken on her lap.
"You dear little creature!" she cried, pressing him to her bosom while
he chattered and laughed. "It would be cruel to send you among the
paupers, when a lonely old woman like me loves you so much!"
Jack looked back just in time to see this picture, and there was no
longer any doubt in his mind but that Aunt Nancy would accede to his
request.
Five minutes later he returned clad in his own garments, which looked
considerably the worse for the hasty drying, and said as he ran swiftly
past the little woman,--
"Don't let Louis go into the house, for I'll want to get hold of him in
a hurry!"
Aunt Nancy began to make some remark; but he was moving so swiftly that
the words were unheard, and the old lady said to herself with a
long-drawn sigh as she pressed the baby yet more closely,--
"I'm afraid it is wrong to do as he wishes; but how can I allow cruel
men to take this dear child from me, when I know he will not be cared
for properly?"
Then she began to think the matter over more calmly, and each moment it
became clearer to her mind that by acceding to Jack's request she would
be evading the truth, if not absolutely telling a lie.
"I can't do it," she said, kissing the baby affectionately. "Much as I
shall grieve over them, it is better they should go than for me to do
what I know to be wrong."
Having thus decided, she hurried up the lane to warn Jack; but before
reaching the road the boy was met coming at full speed.
"Mr. Pratt has just shown up at the top of the hill; he's stoppin' at
the house over there! I'll get Louis and hide."
"But, Jack dear, I have been thinking this matter over, and I can't even
act a lie."
"Why didn't you say so before, when I had a chance to get away?" he
cried reproachfully. "By lettin' me think you'd do it, you've got us
into a reg'lar trap!"
The boy did not wait to hear her reply, but ran to where Louis was
seated contentedly on the grass, raised him in his arms and disappeared
behind the barn, leaving the little woman feeling very much like a
culprit.
CHAPTER VII.
FARMER PRATT.
Aunt Nancy was now in a fine state of perplexity.
Jack's reproachful tone had cut very deeply, and she began to consider
herself responsible for all which might happen because of not having
warned him in time.
"I'm a wicked woman," she said, wringing her hands distractedly, "and
accountable for all that happens now. Why was I so weak as not to give
the dear boy a decided answer when he came from the barn?"
Then she ran to the bars and called after Jack in a whisper; but if any
one had asked why she wanted him to come back just at that time, she
could not have explained.
Returning to the old oak, she was about to sit down again when the
rattle of wheels told that Farmer Pratt was near at hand.
Hardly aware of what she did, the little woman went hurriedly into the
house, and there awaited what must necessarily be a very painful
interview.
A few moments later the man whom Jack looked upon as a merciless enemy
knocked at the door, and Aunt Nancy said feebly, "Come in."
Farmer Pratt entered without very much ceremony, and as the little woman
gazed at his face she fancied, probably from what Jack had told her,
that it was possible to see covetousness and hard-heartedness written on
every feature.
He did not remove his hat, but stood in the centre of the floor, whip in
hand, as he said,--
"Mornin' ma'am, mornin'. I'm from Scarborough, an' my name is Nathan
Pratt. P'rhaps you've heard of me."
Aunt Nancy was about to say she never had, meaning that her neighbors
never had spoken of him as a person of importance; but she checked
herself on remembering this would be a falsehood because of what Jack
had said.
"I have heard the name," she replied faintly.
"I thought so, I thought so. I've lived, man an' boy, in Scarborough for
nigh on to fifty years, an' when that's been done without givin'
anybody a chance to say a word agin me, except that I want my own, as
other folks do, then it would be kinder strange if I wasn't known
within a dozen miles of home."
"Was that all you came here to say?" Aunt Nancy asked.
"Of course not,--of course not"; and the farmer seated himself without
waiting for an invitation. "The fact of the matter is, ma'am, I'm
huntin' for a couple of children what drifted ashore on my place the
other day. One of 'em was a hunchback, an' I must say he is bad, for
after eatin' all the food in my house that he an' the young one wanted,
he run away, leavin' me in the lurch."
"I don't suppose they stole it, did they?" and Aunt Nancy spoke very
sharply, for it made her angry to hear such things said about Jack.
"No, it wasn't exactly that," and the farmer hesitated, as if to give
her the impression something equally wrong had been done by the boy;
"but as a citizen of the town I don't want it said we let a couple of
youngsters run around loose like calves."
"What do you intend to do with them?" the little woman asked severely.
Farmer Pratt had no idea of telling a secret which he believed would be
worth at least an hundred dollars to him, and by keeping it he again
defeated himself.
"They oughter be carried to the poor farm till we can find out who owns
'em. You see I'm as big a tax-payer as there is in Scarborough, an' if
any other town takes care of the children, we're likely to be sued for
the cost of keepin'. Now I don't believe in goin' to law, for it's
dreadful expensive, so I've come out to save myself an' my neighbors
what little money I can."
If Farmer Pratt had told the truth, Aunt Nancy would have done all in
her power to aid him, and Jack could not but have rejoiced, although the
farmer received a rich reward; but by announcing what was a false
proposition, he aroused the little woman's wrath.
She no longer remembered that it was wrong even to act a lie, and
thought only of the possibility that those whom she had learned to love
were really to be taken to the refuge for paupers, if her visitor should
be so fortunate as to find them.
"It seems hard to put children in such a place," she said, with an
effort to appear calm.
"That's only prejudice, ma'am, sheer prejudice. What do we keep up sich
institoots for? Why, to prevent one man from bein' obleeged to spend
more'n another when a lot of beggars come around."
"And yet it seems as if almost any one would be willing to feed a
couple of children who were lost."
"There's where you are makin' a mistake ag'in, ma'am. Youngsters eat
more'n grown folks, an' I know what I'm talkin' about, 'cause I've
raised a family. Heaven helps them as helps themselves, an' when we
find two like the one I'm huntin' for, then I say since heaven won't
take a hand at it, the town should."
Aunt Nancy remained silent, but those who knew her intimately would have
said, because of the manner in which she moved her chair to and fro,
that the little woman was struggling very hard to "rule her spirit."
"I don't reckon you know anything about 'em, ma'am," Farmer Pratt said
after a long pause, during which Aunt Nancy had rocked violently, with
her gaze fixed upon an overbold honey bee who was intent on gathering
the sweets from a honeysuckle blossom which the wind had forced through
the open window.
"I know this much," she replied with vehemence, "that I hope you won't
find the children if it is simply to carry them to the poor farm. We are
told of the reward which--"
"Who said anything about a reward?" the farmer asked in alarm, fearing
that which he wished should remain a secret was already known.
"The Book tells us what shall be the reward of those who give a cup of
cold water only to these His little ones--"
"Oh! is that it?" and the visitor appeared greatly relieved. "I count
myself about as good as my neighbors, but when it comes to keepin' a
parcel of children, after I've paid my taxes to run a place especially
for sich as they, then I say it's a clear waste of money, an' that's as
much of a sin as anything else."
"We won't argue the matter," the little woman replied with dignity, "but
I hope the time will never come that I, poor as I am, can count the
pennies in a dollar when it is a question of giving aid or comfort to
the distressed."
"Since you haven't seen the youngsters, there's no need of my stayin'
any longer, ma'am, but it does seem funny that nobody has run across
'em, when I heard for a fact that they'd come up this road."
Aunt Nancy knew full well that by remaining silent now, she was giving
the visitor to understand she knew nothing about the missing ones; but
just at the moment she would have told a deliberate lie rather than give
Jack and Louis up to such a man, however much she might have regretted
it afterward.
"Of course there's no harm in my askin' the questions," Farmer Pratt
said as he moved toward the door, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in
mind because of the little woman's sharp words.
"Certainly not; but at the same time I am sorry you came."
"Why, ma'am?"
"Because I have learned how hard-hearted men can be when it is a
question of a few dollars. If the children should come to me, they would
be given a home, such as it is, until their relatives could be found."
"If they should come, I warn you that it is your duty to let me know,
for they drifted ashore on my property, an' I've got the first claim."
This was rather more than meek little Aunt Nancy could endure; but she
succeeded in checking the angry words, and rose from her chair to
intimate that the interview was at an end.
Farmer Pratt went out very quickly, probably fearing he might hear more
unpalatable truths, and the old lady watched him until he drove away.
"It was wicked, but I'm glad I did it!" she said emphatically. "The idea
of hunting up such children as Jack and Louis simply to send them among
paupers!"
Not for many moments did the little woman remain in this frame of mind.
After a time she began to realize that she had done exactly what she
told Jack would be impossible--acted a lie, and her conscience began to
trouble her greatly.
She tried to read a chapter in the Book with the hope of finding
something to comfort her, and, failing in this, her thoughts went out to
the children who had left so suddenly.
"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed. "Suppose Jack really has gone away,
believing I would tell that man all I knew about him!"
This idea was sufficient to arouse her to action, and she went behind
the barn, where she called softly,--
"Jack! Jack! Where are you?"
Not until this very feeble outcry had been repeated half a dozen times
did she receive any reply, and then the hunchback, with Louis clasped in
his arms, peered out from among the bushes.
"Has the farmer gone?" he asked in a whisper.
"Indeed he has."
"And you didn't tell him where we was?"
"He never asked the question; but all the same, Jack dear, I did wrong
in allowing him to suppose I knew nothing about you."
"You're the sweetest aunt any feller ever had," the hunchback said
heartily as he came swiftly up and kissed one of the old lady's wrinkled
hands before she was aware of his intentions. "I couldn't believe you
wanted us taken to the poorhouse, so I didn't go very far off."
"I almost wish I hadn't done it, for--No, I don't either! After talking
with that wretch it would have broken my heart to see him take you away!
Give me the baby this minute; it seems as if I hadn't seen him for a
week."
Jack willingly relinquished his charge to the motherly arms extended to
receive the laughing child, and said, as Aunt Nancy almost smothered
Louis with kisses,--
"You sha'n't ever be sorry for what you have done. I'll work awful hard,
an' take care of the baby whenever you've got somethin' else to do."
"I know you are a good boy, Jack, and I wouldn't undo what's been done
if I could; but at the same time my conscience will reproach me, for I
realize that I acted wickedly."
So far as the sin was concerned, Jack did not think it of great
importance, and wondered not a little that as good a woman as Aunt
Nancy should attach so much importance to what, in his mind at least,
was nothing more than a charitable act.
He took care not to give expression to his thoughts, however, and led
the way back to the old oak-tree, where he said,--
"You sit down here awhile, an' I'll go out to make certain that man has
gone. It might be he's waitin' 'round somewhere to find whether we're
really here."
"I don't think there is any danger of that," Aunt Nancy replied as she
seated herself on the bench and fondled Louis until the little fellow
was tired of caresses.
Jack could not be comfortable in mind unless positive his enemy had left
the vicinity, and he walked quite a long distance up the road before
convincing himself of the fact.
When he returned the desire to make himself necessary to the little
woman was stronger than ever, and he proposed to finish the work of
fence mending at once.
"Better wait till after dinner now that it is so near noon," she said.
"We'll have a quiet talk, and then I will start the fire."
"Is it about Farmer Pratt you want to say something?"
"No, we'll try to put him out of our minds. It is the baby."
"What's the matter with him?"
"He must have another frock and some clothes. These are very dirty, and
I'm afraid he'd take cold if I should wash them at night, and put them
on again in the morning."
"Haven't you got an old dress like the one I wore? By pinnin' it up he'd
get along all right."
"Indeed he wouldn't, Jack. Boys can't be expected to know what a child
needs; but it puzzles me how to get the material from the store."
"What's the matter with my goin' after it?"
"It is a very long distance--more than four miles away."
"That's all right; I walked a good deal farther the day I came here.
Jest say what you want, an' I'll go after it now."
"Do you really think you could get back before sunset?"
"I'm certain of it, providin' I don't wait for dinner."
"But you must have something to eat, Jack dear."
"I can take a slice of bread and butter in my hand, an' that'll last me
more'n four miles."
"I have half a mind to let you go," Aunt Nancy said as if to herself,
and Jack insisted so strongly that she finally decided he should do the
shopping.
Not one, but half a dozen slices of bread were spread thickly with
butter as a dinner for the messenger, and then the little woman wrote on
a slip of paper the different articles she needed.
"You must see that Mr. Treat gives you exactly what I've asked for," she
said as she read the list, and explained what the texture or color of
each article should be. "Watch him closely, and be sure he makes the
right change."
Then she gave him the most minute directions as to the road, the time
which should be occupied in the journey, and the manner the goods were
to be brought home.
A basket was provided for the purchases, and Aunt Nancy said as she gave
Jack a ten-dollar note,--
"Tie that in your handkerchief so's to be sure not to lose it, Jack
dear, for it's a great deal of money to a lone woman like me."
He promised to be careful, and kissed the baby good by.
Aunt Nancy leaned over for the same salute, and when it had been given
she said in a sorrowful tone,--
"It is a deal of comfort to have you with me, Jack; but I do wish I had
been bold enough to tell that man the truth, and then refused to let you
go with him."
"It's lucky you didn't, Aunt Nancy, for he'd been bound to have us any
way."
Then Jack walked swiftly down the daisy-embroidered lane, thinking he
was a very fortunate boy indeed in having found such a good friend as
the sweet-faced old lady.
CHAPTER VIII.
A SECOND WARNING.
True to his promise, Jack returned before the sun was very low in the
western sky, and Aunt Nancy expressed the greatest surprise at seeing
him so soon.
"When I send William Dean to the store he needs all day for the journey,
and on two or three occasions it has been late in the evening before he
came back."
"It isn't such an awful long walk, but it makes a feller kinder tired,
an' I s'pose he had to rest a good while before startin' back. I thought
I'd better come the minute the things were ready, 'cause I was afraid
you'd do the milkin'."
"Of course I shall. You don't suppose I'd let you work after that
terribly long walk."
"But I'm goin' to do the chores jest the same," Jack replied; and to
prove his words he carried in the kindlings for morning.
Aunt Nancy was perfectly satisfied with the purchases he made, and until
it was time to bring the cow up from pasture she explained her
intentions in the way of making clothes for Louis.
"This piece of calico isn't as pretty as some I've had from Treat's,"
she said, unfolding the goods, "but it seems to be a good quality, and
that's the main thing. Now, the question is whether I shall make his
frock with a yoke, or plain? What do you think, Jack dear?"
Jack hadn't the faintest idea of what she meant by a "yoke" or a
"frock," but, wishing to please the little woman by giving an opinion,
he answered decidedly,--
"I should make it plain."
"That was just my idea. How queer it is that you should know all about
such things, and have good judgment too!"
Jack came very near smiling because of this praise which he did not
deserve, but was wise enough not to make any reply, and Aunt Nancy
consulted him on every detail until the garment had been fully decided
upon.
Then it was time to attend to old crumple-horn, and when Jack came into
the kitchen again supper was on the table.
In view of the fact that he had had such a long tramp, the little woman
insisted on his retiring very early, and the Book was opened as soon as
the supper-table had been cleared.
On this day Aunt Nancy's evening devotions occupied an unusually long
time, and she prayed fervently to be forgiven for her sin of the
forenoon,--a fact which caused Jack to say when she had finished,--
"It don't seem to me as if you could ever do anything wicked, Aunt
Nancy, an' there ain't any need of fussing about what you said to Farmer
Pratt, for God knows jest how good you are."
"You mustn't talk like that, Jack dear. There are very many times when I
give way to anger or impatience, and there can be no question but that I
as much as told a lie when that man was here."
Jack would have protested that no wrong had been done, but she prevented
further conversation by kissing him on both cheeks as she said, "Good
night."
On the following morning, Aunt Nancy's "man of all work" took good care
she should not be the first one awake.
He arose as the rays of the coming sun were glinting the eastern sky,
and when the little woman entered the kitchen the fire had been built,
the floor swept, and the morning's milk in the pail ready for straining.
Her surprise at what he had done was sufficient reward for Jack, and he
resolved that she should never have an opportunity to do such work while
he was sleeping.
"I begin to feel quite like a visitor," the little woman said with a
cheery laugh as she bustled around in her sparrow-like fashion,
preparing breakfast. "This is the first time in a great many years that
the fire has been made and the milking done before I got up."
Thanks to Jack's labors, the morning meal was unusually early, and when
it had been eaten and the dishes washed, the hunchback said as he took
up his hat,--
"I'll go now an' finish mendin' the fence."
"Wait until I have seen Mr. Dean. I'm afraid those dreadful boys will do
you some mischief."
"I don't reckon they'll be stirring so early, an' it won't take me
more'n an hour longer. While I'm gone, think of somethin' else that
needs to be done, for I'd rather be workin' than layin' still."
"You're a good boy, Jack dear, and I should be very sorry to have you go
away from me now."
"There's no danger of that yet awhile, unless Mr. Pratt takes it into
his head to come this way again," Jack replied with a laugh as he left
the house.
It required some search to find the hammer and nails he had thrown down
when he was so frightened, and then the task of fence mending progressed
famously until a rustling among the bushes caused him to raise his eyes
suddenly.
Bill Dean stood before him, looking particularly savage and threatening.
Jack took a yet firmer grasp of the hammer, resolved to defend himself
vigorously providing there should be no other enemies in the vicinity.
"So you're still here, eh?" Bill asked sternly.
"Looks like it I reckon."
"When are you goin'?"
"I haven't quite made up my mind; but I'll write an' tell you before I
pack my trunk."
Bill stepped forward quickly, but Jack persuaded him to go back by
swinging the hammer unpleasantly near the bully's head as he said,--
"Don't come too near! You served me out yesterday because there was
three in the gang, an' I hadn't anything to defend myself with; but now
matters are a little different."
"Are you goin' to leave this place to-day?" Bill asked, as he retreated
a few paces.
"No, nor to-morrow either."
"Then remember what I say. This is the second warnin' you've had, an'
it'll be the last. Look out for trouble if you're in this town
to-night!"
"I shall be here, an' I want you to remember that somebody besides me
may get into trouble if there's any funny business. Aunt Nancy
threatened to tell your father about what was done yesterday, but I
coaxed her not to, an' I won't say a word another time."
"I don't mind what she says, we'll run you out of this place before two
days go by, so take care of yourself."
"That's jest what I count on doin', an' if you've got any sense you'll
keep away from me."
Bill shook his fist threateningly as near Jack's nose as he thought
prudent, and disappeared among the bushes, leaving the hunchback
decidedly disturbed in mind despite the bold front he had assumed.
"Them fellers can make it hot for me, of course," he said to himself
when the bully had gone, "an' I expect I shall catch it rough, but
almost anything is better than leavin' here after Aunt Nancy has fixed
it so nice with Farmer Pratt."
He worked more rapidly after receiving this second warning, and returned
to the house by the main road instead of going around past the frog
pond.
The little woman was under the old oak making Louis's new garments when
he arrived, and she saw at once by the troubled expression on his face
that something had gone wrong.
"What's the matter, Jack dear?" she asked kindly.
"Matter? I guess I don't know what you mean."
"Indeed you do, so now tell Aunt Nancy all about it. Have you seen that
Dean boy again to-day?"
Jack was forced to confess he had, and in a few moments the little woman
succeeded in learning the whole story.
She insisted that it was necessary for her to see Bill's father at once;
but the hunchback begged her not to do anything of the kind, and she
apparently abandoned the idea.
"Why is it you don't want me to go?" she finally asked.
"Because when any fuss is raised about me, I'm afraid it'll come to
Farmer Pratt's ears somehow, an' he'll be over here again."
"I wish he would, for then I could confess to him that I the same as
told a lie, and defy any one to take you children from me."
"When that time comes we shall have to go," Jack replied despondently;
and Aunt Nancy endeavored to cheer him by displaying Louis's frock,
which was rapidly approaching completion.
During the remainder of the day Jack busied himself around the farm at
such chores as he or Aunt Nancy could find, and when night came nothing
had been heard of those who insisted he must leave the town.
The baby sat under the old oak during the evening in all the bravery of
his new dress, and Aunt Nancy discussed the subject matter of her
proposed letter to "Brother Abner" until it was time to retire.
Then Jack went into his tiny room with a heart full of thankfulness that
his lines "had been cast in such pleasant places," and it seemed as if
his eyes had but just closed in slumber when he was awakened by the
pressure of a soft hand on his face.
Fear would have caused him to rise to a sitting posture very suddenly
but for the fact that the same gentle pressure forced him to remain in a
reclining position, and then he heard a familiar voice whisper,--
"O Jack dear, burglars are trying to get into the house! What _shall_ we
do?"
He was now thoroughly awake, and as the hand was removed from his mouth
he asked in a low tone,--
"Are you certain of that?"
"Absolutely. I thought I heard an unusual noise, and looked out
when--There! _Do_ you hear that?"
"It would be strange if I didn't," Jack replied as the creaking of the
shed door swinging back on its hinges sounded remarkably loud and harsh
on the still night air. "I'll get right up; go downstairs and wait for
me."
"It will be better if I stay in the hall-way," Aunt Nancy said in a
voice, the tremor of which told that she was thoroughly frightened.
Never before had Jack dressed so quickly, and as he did he tried to
think what course should be pursued.
There seemed to be no question but that burglars were on the premises,
and to encounter them single handed and alone would be the height of
folly.
As may be fancied, he had not made a very elaborate toilet when he
joined Aunt Nancy at the head of the stairs.
It was sufficient that he had on enough clothing to admit of his going
out of doors without danger of taking cold.
"Have you got a gun or a pistol?" he asked of the little woman who was
shivering with fear as if with an ague fit.
"No indeed, I never would dare to sleep in the same house with such
things."
"What have you that I can use as a weapon?"
"There isn't a single article in this house which is dangerous except
the carving knife, and that is very dull."
"It will be better than nothing."
"But you surely don't intend to go out there when desperate men may be
laying in wait to take your life!"
"Something must be done; we can't stay shut up here and allow them to do
as they please."
"But you'll be killed, Jack dear"; and poor old Aunt Nancy clung to the
boy in a frenzy of fear. "To think that I've been expecting something of
the kind all my life, and it has come at last!"
A sound as if the shed door had been closed told Jack he was wasting
what might be precious time.
"Get the carving knife quick," he whispered, "and when I go out lock the
door after me."
Aunt Nancy obeyed in silence.
She brought the knife much as though it was the deadliest of weapons,
and put it in Jack's hands with something very like awe.
"Don't kill the men if you can help it," she whispered. "It would be
better to frighten them very badly rather than stain your hands with
blood."
Jack made no reply; but the thought came into his mind that he would
stand a poor chance of frightening a burglar, with nothing but the well
worn knife.
He opened the door softly.
Aunt Nancy stood ready to close and lock it instantly he was on the
outside, and the decisive moment had arrived.
CHAPTER IX.
THE ALARM.
It must be confessed that Jack was not at all eager to face the alleged
burglars.
He knew very well that if there were no more than two he would stand a
slim chance of driving them away, and even one good sized man might make
it very uncomfortable for him.
Had he been left to follow his own inclinations, the outer door would
not have been opened, but he knew Aunt Nancy depended upon him for
protection, and he must make a reputation for courage or be disgraced in
her eyes.
The sky was overcast with clouds, and Jack could not distinguish objects
ten paces away as he stepped on to the broad stone in front of the door.
He heard the key turn in the lock behind him, and this was sufficient to
tell him he need not expect any assistance from the little woman inside.
Grasping the carving knife firmly, he moved forward slowly in the
direction of the shed, and saw a shadowy form dart around the corner of
the building.
Then another, or the same one, returned, approached Jack, and stooped
over as if in the act of placing something on the ground.
An instant later the shadow had disappeared, and Jack saw before him a
thin line of sparks, apparently coming from the solid earth, but not
sufficiently large to cast any light.
Quite naturally Jack's first thought was that the miscreants were trying
to set the buildings on fire, and he ran forward to extinguish what
seemed ready to burst into a flame, when there was a muffled report, the
ground appeared to be a mass of coals, while at the same time a soft,
sticky substance was thrown in a shower upon him.
Jack leaped back in surprise and alarm, and as he did so struck his foot
against some obstruction with sufficient power to throw him headlong.
The explosion, the sudden glare of light, and the shower of he knew not
what, all served to bewilder the boy to such an extent that for the
moment it seemed as if the same force which caused the report had
knocked him down.
The first idea which came into his mind was that he had been shot, for
he remembered having heard that the victim does not feel pain for some
time after a bullet enters his body, and the sticky substance on his
face he thought must be blood.
"That Bill Dean meant what he said, an' has commenced drivin' me out of
town," he muttered to himself, making not the slightest effort to rise,
because he believed it impossible to do so.
The silence was almost oppressive after the loud report.
Jack could hear nothing to denote that there was any one in the
vicinity, and was feeling of his limbs to ascertain the amount of injury
done, when a shrill, tremulous voice from the doorway cried,--
"Jack! Jack dear! Are you hurt much?"
"I'm afraid I'm shot. It seems as if I was bleedin' dreadful!"
"Wait till I can light the lantern, my poor boy"; and the door was
closed and locked again.
By this time Jack had fully persuaded himself he was seriously wounded,
and wondered how long it would be before the pain came.
Two minutes later Aunt Nancy, partially dressed and with an odd little
lantern in her hand, emerged very cautiously from the house.
The fear Jack might be fatally injured was greater than that of the
supposed burglars. Her desire to aid others conquered her timidity, and
the only thought was to bring relief as speedily as possible.
"Mercy on us! What a dreadful thing!" Aunt Nancy exclaimed as she
arrived at the place where Jack was lying at full length on the ground.
"Tell me where you are hurt, my poor child."
"I don't know; but it seems as if somethin' tough must have happened,
for I'm bleedin' terribly."
The little woman knelt by his side, and held the lantern up until its
rays illumined the boy's face.
"I can't see any blood, Jack dear; but you seem to be literally covered
with something yellow."
The boy passed his hand over his face, scraping off the supposed
sanguinary fluid, and examined it carefully by aid of the light.
Then he leaped to his feet very quickly, looking both ashamed and angry.
"It's some kind of a trick Bill Dean's gang have been playing!" he
cried, and at that instant from behind the barn came a shout of
derision, followed by hearty laughter.
"Oh, I wish I was strong enough to flog those wicked wretches!" Aunt
Nancy said, her eyes filling with tears of vexation.
Jack made no reply.
He had taken the lantern from her hand, and was searching carefully in
the immediate vicinity.
It was not long before he and Aunt Nancy decided that the yellow
substance was the seeds and pulp of a pumpkin, and Jack said, as he
picked up several pieces of red paper,--
"Now I know what it means. Those fellers have dug the inside out of a
pumpkin, and put into it a big firecracker. They waited until I came
near the shed before lighting it, an', of course, when the thing
exploded it sent the stuff flyin'."
"Thank goodness it was no worse!" the little woman added, and Jack burst
into a hearty laugh.
Despite the suffering caused by fear, the idea that he had been scared
almost into dying by an exploded pumpkin was comical in the extreme, and
his mirth was not checked until Aunt Nancy asked quite sharply,--
"What on earth are you laughing at?"
"To think how frightened we got about nothing."
"I'm sure it was a good deal. Here we've been forced out of our beds at
this hour of the night, believing burglars were around, and then scared
nearly to death because it appeared as if you were wounded, all on
account of those terrible boys who wanted to have some sport!"
"It can't be helped now, an' the sooner you get into the house the less
will be the chances of your taking cold," Jack replied, checking his
mirth with difficulty as he saw how angry Aunt Nancy really was.
Although it was a practical joke which had caused a great deal of mental
anxiety for a short time, he could not look upon it otherwise than as
funny, except when he realized that this was the first step taken to
drive him out of the town.
The little woman insisted on examining the interior of the shed to learn
if the boys had done any further mischief, and they found fragments of
pumpkin and paper, showing that the "infernal machine" had been
constructed there.
Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, and the two who had been so
unceremoniously awakened returned to the house after the pulp was
scraped with a chip from Jack's face, hair, and clothing.
It was a long time before the boy could induce slumber to visit his
eyelids again that night, but he finally succeeded with such good effect
that he did not awaken until the noise Aunt Nancy made while building
the fire aroused him.
Dressing hurriedly, he went downstairs in time to do a portion of the
work, and when the milk was brought into the house after old crumple
horn had been driven to pasture, Aunt Nancy asked,--
"Do you think you could take care of Louis a little while this
forenoon?"
"Of course I can. Are you going visitin'?"
"Yes; I intend to see if something can't be done to prevent those
wretched boys from carrying on in this manner."
"But, Aunt Nancy--"
"Now don't say a word, Jack dear. Things were very much like this last
summer when I hired a boy from Portland, and no one can tell what might
have happened if he hadn't run away. I know it is wrong to get angry,
but I can't help it. Seems to me I am growing more wicked every day;
yesterday I just the same as told a lie, and last night I did not
control my angry passions."
"But, Aunt Nancy--"
"Don't try to argue with me, or I shall get worse. I am going to see Mr.
Dean at once, and you must keep house till I come back."
Louis's guardian realized that words would be worse than useless at such
a time, and he wisely refrained from speaking, while Aunt Nancy, as if
trying hard to keep her temper within bounds, did the morning work in
ominous silence.
When the last duty had been performed, she directed Jack to take the
baby out under the old oak, and then disappeared for half an hour or
more, at the end of which time she reappeared dressed with scrupulous
neatness, but in the quaintest of fashions.
"I sha'n't be away more than an hour; and if any of those boys show
themselves, be sure to go into the house with Louis at once."
Saying this, she walked swiftly down the lane, and Jack muttered to
himself as she turned the corner into the main road,--
"I'm mighty sorry she's bent on anything of the kind, for I'm certain
there'll be trouble for me come out of it."
Fortunately nothing occurred to cause alarm during the little woman's
absence.
Jack amused the baby, split more kindlings and piled them up in the
shed, being thus occupied when Aunt Nancy returned, looking mildly
triumphant.
"There!" she said in a tone of satisfaction as she seated herself
beneath the old oak and fanned her heated face with a tiny
pocket-handkerchief, "I did control my temper, and I don't think the
Dean boy will trouble either of us again."
"Did you tell his father?"
"I gave him a full account of all which had been done, both this summer
and last. Mr. Dean has promised me nothing of the kind shall ever happen
again, and we are free from that annoyance."
Jack thought, but did not venture to put it into words, that Bill Dean
would not give up the struggle so easily, and felt convinced there was
yet more serious trouble in store for him before the summer came to an
end.
"Do you know, Jack dear, I would give almost anything in the world if I
hadn't told a lie to Mr. Pratt. We should have stood our ground, and
defied him to take you and the baby away, rather than commit a sin."
"But I can't see that you were so very wicked, Aunt Nancy. He would have
carried us off in spite of anything you could say, an' I'm sure you
didn't tell a lie."
"It is on my conscience just the same, Jack dear, and I shall never feel
easy in mind," the little woman replied with a long-drawn sigh.
Jack was really distressed because Aunt Nancy should regret so deeply
what was done in his behalf; but he could think of nothing consoling to
say, since she insisted on believing a downright falsehood had been
told.
"I am also to be condemned for having given way to my temper; but those
boys do try it so severely it is very difficult to remember that he who
'rules his spirit is better than he who taketh a city.'"
Jack looked up in bewilderment.
He did not understand the application of the quotation, and the remark
about taking a city mystified him.
Aunt Nancy was so intent on her own sad thoughts that she paid no
attention to his perplexity, and after a long silence entered the house,
returning a few moments later in her home costume, which the boy thought
more becoming than the antiquated finery she had been arrayed in for the
call on Bill Dean's father.
The little woman did not give Jack the details of her visit to Mr. Dean;
but he felt more confident than ever that it was an ill-advised move, so
far as his own peace was concerned, and but a little time was to elapse
before this was to be proven.
"I believe I will send a line to Brother Abner now," Aunt Nancy suddenly
said. "It is time he learned what has happened; and since we have no
pressing work on hand, you can mind the baby. It isn't as easy for me to
write letters as it used to be. I need a long while in which to compose
my thoughts."
Then the little woman set about the task, and it could be seen it was a
hard one by the manner in which she began.
Watching through the open window, Jack saw her bring pens, paper, and
ink from her chamber to the kitchen, and then nibble at the end of her
penholder as if to derive inspiration from that source.
Had it been some weighty document of state she could not have been more
particular, and fully two hours were spent before the labor was
completed.
"Took me a long while, didn't it?" she asked on coming into the yard
once more. "I believe I've told Abner the whole story, and we'll soon
know if the baby's parents are yet alive."
"Shall I carry it to the post-office?"
"Mercy! no. It is in Treat's store, and I couldn't think of letting you
take that long walk again to-day."
"It won't hurt me a bit."
"You must stay here quietly with me, and to-morrow perhaps you shall
go. There is plenty of time, and who knows if Abner is home now; he's a
master hand at gadding about, which accounts for his being so poor. I've
always told him that 'a rolling stone gathers no moss,' but he laughs it
off by saying he doesn't want to be moss-grown."
CHAPTER X.
SICKNESS.
Now that the important letter had been written, Aunt Nancy was in no
hurry to mail it.
She acted very much as if believing the children would be lost to her
immediately after Abner learned the news, and it was simply a case of
"deferring the evil day."
During the afternoon Jack further endeared himself to the little woman's
heart by patching up the door of the shed in such a manner that it could
not be opened readily, and fastening it with an old padlock he found in
the barn.
"That is just what I have been wanting for a long time," Aunt Nancy
exclaimed in surprise when he called her to see the result of his
labors. "How strange I can't do that as well as you!"
"That's because you're a woman," Jack replied, not a little delighted
with the praise bestowed upon him.
"It may be; but I'm so very much older, it seems as if I should be able
to do such things properly, and yet I can't even drive a nail."
"There'll be no need of your doin' it while I'm 'round."
"And I hope you and Louis will stay a long time; but I suppose it isn't
right to say so, for although there isn't any chance his mother can be
alive after the ship exploded, he has probably relatives who want to see
him."
During the remainder of the day, Jack assisted the little woman with the
housework, and at sunset the two sat in the favorite place under the old
oak, until Louis became unusually fretful.
After trying in vain to soothe him, Aunt Nancy insisted they should
retire, saying as she went toward the house,--
"I am afraid he doesn't feel very well. Are you sure he didn't play in
the sun while I was away?"
"I kept him in the shade as much as I could. Do you think he can be
sick?"
"Not enough for us to worry about, Jack dear. Children are apt to fuss
when everything don't go just right. After I undress him, we'll read the
Book, and then you shall go to bed."
The fact that Louis was not in his usual good spirits and temper
worried Jack considerably, despite the little woman's cheery words, and
when he went to his tiny room it was impossible for him to sleep
immediately.
He had lain awake fully two hours, at times speculating as to how he and
the baby would finally get to New York, and again wondering if it could
be possible that both Captain and Mrs. Littlefield were dead, when the
stairway door was opened, as Aunt Nancy whispered cautiously,--
"Jack! Jack dear! Are you awake?"
The boy was on his feet in an instant.
"What's the matter? Is Louis worse?"
"He seems to be quite sick. Will you dress and come down?"
Jack answered this summons very quickly as he tried to keep back the dry
sob which came into his throat, for it seemed as if the greatest
misfortune which could befall him would be to lose the baby at the time
when he was in such a good home.
He found Aunt Nancy in the kitchen with Louis in her arms.
A fire had been built in the stove, and the little woman was seated in
front of it rocking the baby as she stirred the boiling contents of a
tin kettle.
"Do you know what catnip is when you see it growing?" she asked as Jack
entered the room.
"I don't; but if you'll tell me where to go, I'll hunt for it."
"Light the lantern, so there won't be any mistake, and run out to the
lane. You'll find some growing along the fence. Get as much as will fill
this kettle, and come back as soon as you can."
"Is he very bad?" Jack asked in a trembling voice as he gazed at the
baby's flushed cheeks.
"I never have had much experience with children, but I guess a little
catnip tea will bring him around all right by morning."
"Hadn't we better have a doctor?"
"There is no need yet, and, besides, there isn't one within six miles."
"It don't make any difference how far it is, I'm willin' to walk any
distance for him."
"We will first see what the morning brings forth."
Jack delayed no longer.
The lantern was lighted, and he started at once in search of an herb he
did not even know by sight.
Ten minutes later he returned with an armful of green leaves, and Aunt
Nancy bestowed but one hasty glance upon them when she cried,--
"O Jack, Jack, you've spent your time gathering burdocks! If you can
hold the baby, I'll go after it myself."
"I'd rather try ag'in than have you go out where the grass is wet with
dew."
"It won't hurt me. Take Louis"; and the little woman put the baby in
Jack's arms as she hurried away, lantern in hand.
It seemed to Jack as if she had but left the house before she returned
with the desired herb, and the boy said in surprise,--
"Is that what you call catnip? I saw plenty of it, but didn't think the
leaves were big enough to do any good."
"In this world it isn't the big things which are capable of working the
most benefit, Jack."
"If I hadn't known that before, I should after seeing you, Aunt Nancy.
You're small, but there couldn't be anybody gooder."
Although the little woman said nothing, it could readily be seen that
the compliment pleased her.
She bustled around much like a busy sparrow, putting the herbs in the
kettle, making sundry mysterious decoctions, and otherwise preparing
such things as she thought might be of benefit to the baby.
Jack held Louis meanwhile, and before Aunt Nancy was ready to take him
again he asked in a low tone,--
"Do you think there is any chance he would die?"
"I don't believe he is in any danger now, Jack dear; but all of us
should think of death as something which will come sooner or later."
The boy was silent for a moment, and then he asked abruptly,--
"You pray for everything you want, why don't you do it now so he'll be
sure to live?"
"It wouldn't be right to ask God simply for the child's life."
"Why not?"
"Because He doeth all things well, and we do not know what His purpose
may be."
"But there can't be any good come of takin' Louis away from me, when
he's all I've got."
"That is something you don't know, Jack dear. What God does is right,
and we must bow to His will."
Aunt Nancy spoke in such a solemn tone, or, as Jack afterward expressed
it, "like as if she was in meetin'," that the boy could say no more, but
watched intently every move the little woman made until she was ready to
take the baby in her arms once more.
This night was a long one to both, for neither thought of going to
sleep.
Once Aunt Nancy insisted Jack should lie down; but he pleaded so hard to
be allowed to remain awake, that she said no more, and the two sat with
Louis until daybreak.
During this long time neither spoke until the baby had fallen asleep,
and Jack was on the point of going out to milk the cow, when the little
woman said in a tone very like that of fear,--
"Wouldn't it be a dreadful thing if I should be punished for telling a
lie to Mr. Pratt, by losing Louis just now when we are living so
comfortably?"
"But you didn't tell a lie," Jack replied just a trifle impatiently.
"Both you and I know I did, however much we may try to persuade
ourselves that it isn't so, and I am certain some punishment will
follow."
Jack shook his head incredulously.
He began to understand that it would be useless to attempt to convince
Aunt Nancy she had not committed a grievous sin, and was disposed to
lose faith in a religion which would condemn so good a woman for having
saved himself and the baby from much trouble.
To avoid paining her by saying what was in his mind, he went out to
milk, and on returning found the baby sleeping naturally.
"He seems much relieved," Aunt Nancy said as she put him to bed. "He
will probably sleep a long while, and you had better get some rest."
Jack insisted that he did not need any, and continued doing such chores
as he could find around the house until breakfast was ready, after which
he proposed going to the post-office.
"Now the letter is written it had better be mailed, an' perhaps there
are some things you want from the store."
"I do need a few notions; but it seems too bad to have you walk so far
this hot morning."
"It'll do me good. I can be back by noon, and the weather won't be very
warm while I'm goin' over."
Aunt Nancy allowed herself to be persuaded, because there really were
some groceries she wanted, and after making out a list with infinite
care, cautioning him not to pay more than five cents a pound for the
coarse sugar and eighty cents for the tea, she gave him a lunch to be
eaten during the return journey.
"I don't want you to stay any longer than is necessary; but at the same
time you mustn't hurry too fast," she said, as he walked rapidly down
the lane; and Jack replied,--
"I'll be back by noon, unless something terrible happens."
Although the hunchback could not move as fast as more favored boys, he
"kept at it," to use his favorite expression, and by this means was able
to get over the ground with reasonable rapidity.
He was travelling steadily on, thinking of the baby and Aunt Nancy's
apparently needless sorrow at having acted a lie during Mr. Pratt's
call, when he was aroused to a sense of what was passing around him by
hearing the disagreeably familiar voice of Bill Dean, as he shouted,--
"Hold on there a minute, I want to see you."
Bill was coming across the fields at full speed, and, knowing he could
not escape if the bully should pursue him, Jack halted.
"So you're tryin' to hide behind Aunt Nancy's apron strings, eh?" Master
Dean cried as he reached the road.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, yes, you do. Didn't you send her over to tell my father that I was
goin' to drive you out of town, an' didn't she let on about the lickin'
we give you?"
"That was her business. I tried to stop her, for I can 'tend to my own
battles."
"Perhaps you can; we'll see about that later. Say, what of that man who
was over here huntin' for you?"
Jack's cheeks grew pale.
He understood to whom Bill referred, and it seemed positive the whole
story would be known, despite the sacrifice made by Aunt Nancy.
"Haven't got anything to say, eh? Well, I'm goin' to see him, an' tell
where you are, then we'll see how you like tattlers."
Jack was frightened beyond the power of speech.
He had no idea but that his enemy knew exactly where to find Mr. Pratt,
and firmly believed the time was near at hand when he and Louis would be
forcibly taken away from Aunt Nancy's kindly care.
"That don't seem to strike you very well!" Bill cried with a laugh of
triumph. "We'll have this thing fixed up in short order, an' then I
reckon old Nancy will be ready to hire boys who know their business."
"What makes you jump down on me?" Jack asked piteously.
"You know mighty well. We told you what to do, an' you thought we
didn't mean business. Now you'll soon find out."
Jack hadn't the heart to hold any further conversation with his
tormentor.
His only thought was to hurry on that he might be alone where the matter
could be calmly discussed in his own mind, and walked swiftly away,
followed by Bill's jeering words.
Now indeed he had a cup running over with sorrow. If his enemies knew of
Mr. Pratt, it would not be long before that gentleman learned of his
whereabouts, and it surely seemed as if the time had finally come when
he must start out on the long journey, leaving behind the dearest friend
he had ever met since the day when his mother crossed the dark river.
"There's no help for it," he said resolutely, "an' I've got to look at
this thing right. Bill will tell the farmer right away, an' the sooner
we leave the farther we'll be off when they come to find us."
Thus the matter was settled in his mind that the flight should be
resumed at the earliest moment it might be safe to take Louis out of
doors.
CHAPTER XI.
GARDENING.
It can readily be supposed Jack was not inclined to linger on the road
after this interview with Bill Dean.
That the latter would inform Farmer Pratt of his whereabouts he had no
doubt, and this was a method of driving him "out of town" for which he
was not prepared.
Walking at full speed, running over the descending ground, and trying to
keep on at a good pace when he ascended hills, the journey to Treat's
store was accomplished in a remarkably short time.
He found many customers before him, however, and was obliged to wait
until it should be his turn, although he felt quite certain every moment
was precious.
It was the proprietor of the establishment, who also acted as
postmaster, that waited upon him, and while weighing out the "notions"
Aunt Nancy had sent for, the gentleman said, as if answering his own
question,--
"So you've been hired by Aunt Nancy."
"I'm stayin' there a little while, sir."
"You are, eh? Where do you hail from?"
Jack hesitated an instant, and then replied with a forced laugh,--
"I s'pose I oughter say I belong to the farm, 'cause I haven't any other
home."
"An orphan, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where did your folks useter live?"
Jack was not aware that Mr. Treat had the name of being the most
inveterate gossip in the neighborhood; but felt positive there was no
good reason why he should satisfy his curiosity on this point, more
particularly since, in view of Bill Dean's threats, he wished to keep as
a secret everything concerning himself, therefore said with an
assumption of carelessness,--
"Almost anywhere. You see I was brought up to be a sailor."
"Sho! Is that so? Well now I wouldn't think you'd make much of a fist
shinnin' 'round on the riggin'."
"Even if I am crooked I might be as spry as other fellers."
"That's a fact; but you don't look it"; and then the worthy Mr. Treat
turned his attention to the list Aunt Nancy had written for Jack's
guidance.
When the goods had been made ready the proprietor of the store would
have questioned the messenger further, but the latter hurried away
without replying to what he did not consider it was necessary strangers
should know.
Jack arrived at the farm unusually early, and Aunt Nancy exclaimed as he
came up the lane looking heated and breathless,--
"Well, I declare! It does beat all how you can get over the ground! Why,
I've known it to take Daniel Chick's horse a good bit longer to go to
the post-office and back."
"I was in a hurry to talk with you, an' so come as quick as I could, for
I'm afraid Louis an' I must go away, even after all that's been done."
The little woman looked up quickly in mingled alarm and surprise.
"Why, what has happened, Jack dear?"
For reply the boy repeated that which Bill Dean had said, and added in
conclusion,--
"You see Mr. Pratt will be over here the minute he hears the news, an'
then everything is settled the wrong way."
"Are you certain Bill Dean knows where he lives?"
"Of course he must, else he wouldn't have said what he did."
"I'm sorry to have to doubt his word; but I couldn't put the least
dependence in a thing he says, and there are more than me in this town
of the same opinion. Besides, he is too indolent to walk so far."
"Still there's a chance he might send some word."
"You are right, Jack; but at the same time I wouldn't borrow trouble. In
case that man should come, you can find some way of keeping out of his
clutches until I see the 'Squire."
"What good would that do?"
"I don't know; but it does seem as if we might prevent him from carrying
you and the baby away when I'm not only willing but anxious to have you
both stay with me. I don't believe there is any law to compel children
who have a good home to go to a poorhouse, and if there is the least bit
more bother I'm going to have the matter settled once and for all in the
'Squire's court."
Aunt Nancy spoke in such a decided tone, and seemed so thoroughly
convinced there was a legal remedy for the trouble, that Jack felt
relieved at once.
"I could get out of his way, no matter how close he got to me; but
there's the baby. It might be I was where I couldn't find Louis quick
enough when the farmer came, an' then he'd soon drag him away."
"The baby will be with me, and I promise you there'll be no dragging
when I'm around," the little woman said with considerable dignity. "Keep
up your courage, and I'm sure we shall come out all right, except for
that miserable action of mine yesterday. If I had told the truth then
and defied him, things would seem a great deal smoother now."
"Then I'll hold on a while longer."
"Certainly, and in the future stay close around the house, so those
terrible boys can't make mischief. Did you ever do any gardening, Jack?"
"Do you mean plantin' seeds an' makin' 'em grow?"
"I mean cultivating the ground. No one can force the seeds to grow but
He who rules over all. I would dearly love to have a few string beans
and some cabbages, but it's so expensive hiring the land ploughed that I
haven't been able to afford it."
"I could dig up a good deal with a shovel."
"If you'll try it I will get the seeds, and perhaps we shall have the
pleasure of harvesting our own crops."
Jack was so relieved in mind that he did not feel any fatigue because of
the long walk, and insisted on beginning work in the garden at once.
Despite all Aunt Nancy could say against it, he labored industriously
with the shovel during the next two hours, and at the end of that time
as much ground had been prepared as the little woman thought necessary.
"It won't do to try too much at first," she said musingly, as, with
Louis in her arms, she watched the deformed boy make ready the small
plot between the woodshed and barn. "I'll see about the seeds to-morrow,
and it does seem as if we might put in more than cabbages and beans now
that we've got so much room. I didn't suppose you would care to dig up
very much."
"It isn't such hard work but that I'd be willin' to make one twice this
size; as it is, I reckon you can plant pretty nearly all you want."
Then Aunt Nancy, looking very grave as if the task was one of the
greatest importance, measured the plot into rows, putting in little
bits of wood to mark where each kind of seed should be planted, and when
it was finished she looked thoroughly happy.
"We shall have a famous garden, Jack dear, and it won't be necessary for
me to spend so much money for vegetables when the summer boarders come.
They always wonder why I don't raise my own green stuff."
The garden and the plans concerning it gave both so much pleasure that,
for the time being at least, Farmer Pratt was almost forgotten.
The chores occupied Jack's time during the remainder of the day, and
when he retired it was to fall asleep almost immediately because of
fatigue.
Early next morning Aunt Nancy visited one of the neighbors to procure
seeds, and when another night came every row was planted.
During the three succeeding days Jack remained near the house, never
going farther away than the main road, where he spent his spare time
watching for Farmer Pratt.
It surely seemed as if Bill Dean was ignorant of the gentleman's
address, or, as Aunt Nancy had suggested, was too indolent to make the
journey to Scarborough, for nothing was seen or heard of Tom's father,
and Jack began to feel a certain sense of security.
Louis was as contented as a child well could be, and each day claimed
more of the little woman's affections until she actually began to look
forward with dismay to the coming of the summer boarders, because then
she could not devote to him so much of her time.
Never once was the nightly search for burglars omitted; and when Jack
asked why such a labor was necessary when it was positive no one could
enter the house during the day without her knowledge, she replied with
an ominous shake of the head,--
"We can't say, Jack dear, what might happen. I have done this same thing
for the last fifteen years, and don't intend to be careless now in my
old age."
"But you never found anybody, did you?"
"No, and I hope I never shall; but it would be impossible to sleep if I
neglected what seems like a solemn duty."
On the fourth day after the garden was planted both Jack and Aunt Nancy
visited it twice to see if the seeds had sprouted, and several times did
the sight of a weed cause them the greatest joy for a few moments, since
it seemed certain something in the vegetable line had shown itself.
Like Farmer Pratt, Bill Dean remained out of sight, and the little woman
was confident she had frightened him away.
"We can count on being left alone this summer, Jack dear, for he won't
show his head around here. In all the years I have lived on the farm,
when I went to his father was the first time I ever made a complaint to
a neighbor, and I hope it will be the last, for I do think people should
avoid troubling others with such things. We are told that we must
forgive our brother seventy times seven; but there was no use in doing
that by William, since it made no difference to him whether he was
forgiven or not."
Jack was not so confident that those who threatened to drive him away
had relinquished their purpose; but he said nothing regarding his fears,
since no good could come of alarming the little woman. The day on which
the first cabbage showed two tiny leaves above the surface was a
red-letter day for the amateur gardeners.
Aunt Nancy spent at least two hours admiring it, and the seat under the
big oak was abandoned at sunset in order that she might search for
further proofs of their success.
"There is so much pleasure in having a garden that I shall never again
be without one, that is," she added with a sigh, "if I have you with me.
I can't bear to think that the time may come when we must part."
"May come? Why, it must come, Aunt Nancy. Just as soon as the weather
gets cool, we are bound to start."
"I have been thinking perhaps Louis hasn't any relatives living, and in
that case what would prevent you and he from staying here until I go
down into the valley of the shadow of death?"
"Nothing would suit me better," Jack replied emphatically. "This is the
first home I have ever known, and it will be hard to leave it."
"If you do go, Jack dear, it will be a lonely old woman you leave
behind. I had gotten accustomed to living alone; but now it is
different, and the house would seem deserted without you and the baby.
Yet I am afraid something of the kind must happen to punish me for
telling Mr. Pratt a lie. It is through a crime that I was enabled to
enjoy your company, and we know what are the wages of sin."
Jack was not disposed to allow the conversation to continue in this
channel.
He could not bring himself to believe the little woman had done anything
wrong in letting Farmer Pratt think he and Louis were not there, and it
made him impatient to hear her blame herself so severely.
"You see, Aunt Nancy, we would have to leave whether you done as you did
or not, for how can we tell whether Capt. Littlefield or his wife are
alive unless we go to find out?"
"Oh, Abner will attend to all that! He lived in York State so long that
he knows nearly every one in it by this time, and when we hear from him
the whole story must be known, for interesting himself in other people's
affairs is what exactly suits Abner."
Jack could not be satisfied with this reply.
He believed implicitly everything Aunt Nancy told him, and she was so
positive that there appeared to be no chance for doubt.
The little woman was called from the contemplation of the garden by that
which, for a moment, caused Jack the greatest alarm.
The rattle of wheels was heard from the road, and an instant later Aunt
Nancy said in surprise,--
"Mercy on us! who can that be driving up the lane?"
"It is the farmer comin' for us!" Jack cried excitedly as he caught
Louis from Aunt Nancy's arms, and would have run off at full speed if
she had not restrained him.
"Wait a moment, my child. I don't see any man in the wagon."
Jack looked quickly in the direction of the newcomers and then said,--
"There are two women, but one of them may be Mrs. Pratt."
Again he would have sought refuge in flight but for Aunt Nancy's
detaining hand.
"It is only Mrs. Hayes and Mrs. Souders. I suppose they have come to
make a call, and what _will_ they think at seeing the house in such
confusion?"
Jack, now that his fears were allayed, could not repress a smile at the
idea of Aunt Nancy's house ever being in anything save a cleanly and
orderly condition; but the little woman appeared really distressed
because she had not had an opportunity to inspect it thoroughly before
receiving company.
"Take care of Louis, and stay under the oak-tree until I come out
again," she said, hurrying away to receive the newcomers.
Jack loitered near the barn where he would not be seen until the
visitors had alighted, tied securely the aged horse, whose only
ambition appeared to be to remain motionless, and entered the house.
Then, instead of doing as Aunt Nancy had suggested, he took Louis into
the woodshed, amusing him there for nearly an hour, when the two ladies
departed.
"Where are you, Jack?" the little woman called softly when the horse had
drawn the wagon and its occupants on to the highway.
"What is the matter?" Jack cried, as on emerging from his place of
retreat he saw a look of deepest anxiety on Aunt Nancy's face. "Did they
come here to take us away?"
"It's not quite as bad as that," the little woman replied with a
long-drawn sigh, "but very nearly. What _do_ you suppose they wanted?"
Jack didn't even attempt to hazard a guess, and Aunt Nancy continued in
a mournful tone,--
"They want to hold the monthly sewing circle here day after to-morrow!"
"Well?" Jack asked, surprised that such a request should have caused so
much distress.
"Well? Why, Jack, how can you treat it so lightly? Just think of it!
Only one day to clean house, go to the store, and do all the cooking!"
"I don't see that there'll be very much to do in the way of cleaning
house. It shines like a new three-cent piece already, and how are you
goin' to make it look any better?"
"O Jack! boys don't understand about such things. You can't see in the
corners where the dirt always lodges, and the company will be sure to
find everything that is slighted."
"Well, I can go to the store for you at least."
"I wouldn't allow you to take the chances of seeing William Dean even if
you could do the errands, which is impossible. I must get Mr. Chick to
carry me over in his team, and while I am away you and Louis are to stay
in the house with the doors locked."
"I don't think there is any need of that. Those fellers wouldn't dare to
come here."
"I can't believe they would; but at the same time it will do no harm to
be careful. Now what _shall_ we have for supper?"
"Do you mean to-night?"
"Of course not. It doesn't make any difference what we eat for a day or
two; but we must think very seriously of what is to be cooked for the
circle."
"Have some of your nice biscuits and a piece of cake. If folks can get
anything better than that, they deserve to go hungry."
"O Jack! you don't understand such things. I should be mortified almost
to death if I didn't do as well as Mrs. Souders did when the circle met
at her house last month."
Then Aunt Nancy, looking as if a heavy burden of care had suddenly
fallen upon her, went in to the kitchen, taking Louis with her, that
Jack might be free to milk the cow.
CHAPTER XII.
LOUIS'S ADVENTURE.
On this evening, immediately after supper had been eaten and the dishes
washed, Aunt Nancy announced that it would be necessary for her to call
upon Mr. Daniel Chick.
"If I wait until morning his team may not be at home, and, besides, I
want him to be ready to make an early start. We must be back by noon at
the latest."
"Why not let me go and tell him what you want?" Jack asked.
"Because you don't know where he lives, and then again it is necessary
to pass Mr. Dean's in order to reach his house. William might be at
home, and who knows what would happen?"
Then Aunt Nancy made a hurried toilet, clothing herself in one of those
quaint costumes which Jack did not think at all becoming, and said, as
she entered the kitchen again,--
"You must promise not to step your foot out of doors while I am gone.
Keep everything well locked, and if any one should happen to call don't
show yourself without first learning who they are."
Jack agreed, and while the little woman was absent he rocked Louis to
sleep, swept the floor until one would have said a broom ought to be
ashamed for going over such a cleanly surface with any idea of
collecting dirt, and was in the "fore-room" with a lighted candle
admiring the crockery rooster when Aunt Nancy returned.
"It's me, Jack dear!" she cried as she knocked softly on the door, and
when it was opened, entered with the air of one who has been successful.
"I got there just in time. He was going over to Henry Mitchell's to tell
him he'd haul gravel to-morrow; but of course he had rather go to
Treat's, for the work isn't so hard on either himself or his horse. Now
we must get to bed early, for I told him I wanted to start by sunrise at
the very latest."
"But, Aunt Nancy, you don't mean that I am to stay in the house with the
doors locked all the forenoon, do you? There are lots of things I could
do; but it would be pretty warm if there wasn't any chance for air."
"I suppose you might have the doors open, provided you kept a sharp
watch on the road, and closed them again in case that Dean boy or his
associates should come," the little woman replied thoughtfully.
"What shall I do?"
"You could clean the knives and forks, and wash all the best dishes
through two waters. Be careful when you wipe them, Jack dear, for it
would be terrible if any should be broken."
After these arrangements had been made, Aunt Nancy remained silent a
short time to free her mind from worldly thoughts, and then came the
evening devotions, when the little woman prayed earnestly for the "weary
and heavy laden," which Jack thought was a reference to herself and the
expected company.
It was yet dark next morning when a noise from the kitchen aroused the
hunchback, and hurrying down he found Aunt Nancy busily engaged
preparing breakfast.
"Why, you must have stayed awake all night!" he exclaimed in surprise.
"Indeed I wasn't so foolish as to do anything of the kind; but when I
have work on hand I like to be about it, and goodness knows there's
plenty for me to do between now and to-morrow night."
"Did you wake Louis?"
"No; let him sleep as long as he chooses. You can dress and give him
some bread and milk?"
"That part of it will be all right," Jack replied confidently, and then
he prepared to astonish old crumple-horn by appearing before her while
it was yet so dark that she could hardly see the lunch of clover to
which she was accustomed during milking time.
Breakfast had been cooked, eaten, and the dishes washed before Mr.
Daniel Chick and his venerable horse came up the lane.
Aunt Nancy was not only ready for the journey, but had begun to grow
impatient because of the delay, when he reined up in front of the broad
stone step as he said in a cheery tone, calculated to soothe any angry
feelings,--
"Well, I must say you're a master hand at gettin' up, Aunt Nancy. 'Pears
like as if you was allers on foot like a sparrer."
"I try to do what I have on hand in good season," was the rather sharp
reply. "There would be less poor folks in this world if people didn't
dally round in such a shiftless manner."
Mr. Chick knew full well that this remark was aimed especially at him;
but like a wise man he made no reply lest worse should follow, and
turned the wheels of the wagon that the little woman might have no
trouble in clambering on board.
Aunt Nancy stopped only long enough to give some parting advice to Jack.
"Be sure to keep a sharp watch on the road if you have the doors open,"
she whispered, "and don't go out, even into the yard, unless it is
absolutely necessary, for nobody knows what may happen. When you wash
the best dishes be careful, Jack dear, for I should feel very badly in
case any were broken."
"I'll attend to it in great shape, Aunt Nancy."
"Don't give Louis too much milk at a time, the weather is so hot that it
might curdle on his stomach; and if I don't succeed in getting home
until afternoon, there is some cold meat and cake on the hanging shelf
in the cellar. Don't go without a lunch; it is very unhealthy to work
while you are hungry."
"Who's dallying now, Aunt Nancy?" Mr. Chick cried as he tried to prevent
his horse from nibbling at the honeysuckle-bush.
"If you had come as you agreed I should have had plenty of time to
attend to matters," was the sharp reply; and then with many injunctions
for him to keep a firm hold on the reins, the little woman succeeded in
gaining the rather shaky seat.
"Take good care of Louis!" she cried as the horse ambled slowly down the
lane; and Jack re-entered the house feeling decidedly lonely at the
prospect of being without Aunt Nancy for several hours.
In order to occupy his mind he set about the work laid out, and was so
industrious that before the baby made known the fact of being awake, the
knives and forks had been cleaned.
Fully an hour was spent dressing and feeding Louis, after which he was
allowed to play on the kitchen floor while his crooked guardian washed
the "best dishes."
This was a task which required considerable time, and at eleven o'clock
it was hardly more than half finished.
Then again Louis wanted milk, and when it had been given him he insisted
upon being allowed to go out on the doorstep.
At first Jack was disposed to keep him in the house; but when he became
fretful, gave him his own way, as he said half to himself,--
"I don't s'pose there can be any harm in lettin' you stay here; but if
anything _should_ happen, Aunt Nancy would think I had been careless."
After that he kept a strict watch over the baby, going to the door every
few moments, and on each occasion finding Louis playing contentedly
with a string of buttons the little woman had prepared for him.
The fact that he showed no disposition to leave the broad stone caused
Jack to have less care than usual, and this, coupled with the idea of
cleaning the most elaborate dishes, rendered him oblivious to the flight
of time.
He was brought to a realization of what was passing around by hearing
the rumble of a carriage in the lane, and almost before he could reach
the door, Aunt Nancy was in the house, while Mr. Chick had driven away
at the full speed of his very slow horse.
"Did you get along all right, Jack dear?" the little woman asked, as she
deposited an armful of bundles on the table.
"Yes, indeed. You see there has been plenty of work, and it doesn't seem
any time since you left."
"Where is the baby?"
"On the doorstep. He fussed to go out, an' I thought the fresh air
wouldn't do him any harm."
"Which doorstep?"
"Why here, of course"; and Jack stepped forward only to give vent to a
cry of alarm an instant later. "He isn't here at all! Where do you
suppose he could have gone?"
Aunt Nancy was at the door before he ceased speaking, and gazed up and
down the yard in bewilderment, but without seeing any signs of the
missing baby.
For an instant the two stood gazing at each other in perplexity, and
then Aunt Nancy asked sharply,--
"How long since you saw him?"
"It didn't seem many minutes before you came; but I s'pose it must have
been, else he'd be 'round here now."
"Run up to the barn and see if he is there!"
As she spoke the little woman went down the lane, returning just as Jack
came back.
"He isn't there," the latter said.
"Nor on the road. Of course he must be somewhere near, for children
can't disappear entirely in such a mysterious fashion. Go up the lane
and I'll look back of the barn."
"But then we shall be leaving the barn alone You stay here an' I'll do
the searchin'."
"It wouldn't make any difference if we left the house wide open for a
month, I couldn't stand still while that dear little baby is wandering
around nobody knows where."
Jack understood that it would be useless to remonstrate, and started off
at full speed.
Up to the entire length of the lane he ran without finding that for
which he sought, and then back to the house where he was met by Aunt
Nancy on whose wrinkled face was written fear and anguish.
She did not wait for him to tell her that the search had been in vain,
but cried,--
"Go up through the field from the shed. There is a place where he might
have gotten through the fence, and it would lead directly to the duck
pond if he kept on in a straight line!"
There was a tone in her voice which told of the fear she had regarding
the possible ending of his adventures; and Jack, with a mental prayer
that he would find the little fellow before it was too late, ran across
the enclosure, Aunt Nancy going in the same direction, but at a slight
angle.
The little woman's anxiety gave fleetness to her feet, and she travelled
even faster than Jack could.
Both called loudly from time to time, but without receiving any answer,
and Jack's heart grew heavy as he thought of what might have happened
while he was in the house all unconscious of impending trouble.
As the two neared the pond the figure of a boy could be distinguished
among the foliage of alders running at full speed toward the main road,
and Jack shouted to Aunt Nancy,--
"There goes one of Bill Dean's gang. They know where Louis is."
This caused the little woman to redouble her cries, and a few seconds
later two more boys could be dimly seen as they hurried away, keeping
well within the shelter of the bushes to avoid recognition.
There was no longer any question in Jack's mind but that he would soon
find the baby, nor was he mistaken.
On arriving in view of the pond both saw a rudely constructed raft of
fence rails at least ten yards from the shore, and on it, crowing and
laughing as if he was having the jolliest possible time sat Louis.
"How can we reach him?" Aunt Nancy cried, as she stood wringing her
hands, while the big tears ran down her cheeks. "He will surely be
drowned, Jack! What is to be done?"
The hunchback had no thought of his own safety or discomfort as compared
with that of rescuing the baby.
Without hesitation he ran into the pond, continuing on at risk of being
mired, until the water was above his waist, and the baby held out his
hands to be taken.
[Illustration: Jack ran into the pond, until the water was above his
waist, and the baby held out his hands to be taken.--Page 147.]
"Sit still Louis, sit still an' Jack will come to you!"
It was impossible to run very fast through the water; and to Aunt Nancy,
who stood on the bank in helpless grief, it seemed as if the deformed
lad hardly moved, so slow was his progress.
More than once did it appear as if the baby would attempt to leave the
raft in order to meet his crooked guardian; but by dint of coaxing, Jack
succeeded in persuading him to remain seated until he gained his side.
Then he lifted the child in his arms, staggering ashore to where the
little woman stood waiting to receive him, and the rescue was
accomplished.
Aunt Nancy alternately laughed and cried as she pressed Louis closely to
her bosom, and Jack stood silently by, wondering whether he was to be
scolded for having so grossly neglected his charge.
It was several moments before she paid any attention to the older boy,
and then it was to exclaim,--
"Mercy on us, Jack! I had entirely forgotten you! Run home as soon as
possible, or you will catch your death a cold!"
"A wettin' won't hurt me on a warm day like this. I'm used to such
things."
"But you must change your clothes at once, and there's no other way but
to put on one of my dresses again."
Jack gave no heed to this suggestion, or command, whichever it might be
called. He was trying to understand how the baby could have come so far
without assistance, when Aunt Nancy said suddenly,--
"It doesn't take one loner to realize how the dear little fellow came
here. Those wicked boys must have found him near the shed, and brought
him to this place."
Several poles lying near by told how the raft was forced toward the
centre of the pond, and the fact that three fellows had been seen
running through the bushes was sufficient proof, at least to Aunt Nancy
and Jack, that Bill Dean and his friends had done the mischief.
"I should forget everything I ought to remember if I had that Dean boy
here this minute!" the little woman said angrily as she surveyed the
evidences of the cruel work. "It is a burning shame that such as he
should be allowed among decent people!"
"We don't know for certain that it was Bill Dean," Jack suggested.
"Yes, we do, for there is no other boy in this town who does such
things. I shall see his father again, and when I do it will be very hard
work to rule my spirit."
"It only makes them worse to complain."
"Then I will have him arrested!" And now Aunt Nancy spoke in such an
angry tone that Jack did not venture to reply; but he knew from past
experience that she would soon be sorry for having given way to her
temper.
Again the little woman spoke of Jack's condition as if she had not
noticed it before, and insisted on his coming home at once, although she
could not have supposed he wished to go anywhere else.
Louis apparently had no idea he had been exposed to danger, but laughed
and pulled at the tiny ringlets either side Aunt Nancy's face until her
anger vanished, and she said in a tone of penitence,--
"Really, Jack dear, I get frightened sometimes when I realize how wicked
I am growing. I can't seem to control my temper in anything which
concerns the baby, and goodness knows how it is all going to end. I
began by telling a lie, and now say terrible things on the slightest
provocation, though goodness knows this would have stirred up almost
any one. You see I took the first step, which is the hardest, and now
fall before the least temptation."
"You oughtent talk that way, Aunt Nancy. If everybody was as good as you
are, this would be an awful nice place to live in."
The little woman shook her head as if reproaching him for his words of
praise, but did not continue the subject, because by this time they had
arrived at the house, and it was necessary she should get the garments
Jack had worn once before.
Again the hunchback received a ducking under the pump, and then went out
to the barn to make his toilet.
"Come back as soon as you can, for I want to show you what I bought, and
between us we must decide what we shall have for supper to-morrow."
When Jack returned to the house, Aunt Nancy had her purchases arranged
on the table that he might see them to the best advantage, and then came
the discussion of what was a very important matter in the little woman's
mind.
"I bought citron so as to make that kind of cake if you think it would
be nicer than sponge, though I have always been very fortunate in making
sponge cake, and that is a good deal more than most people can say."
"Why not have both kinds?"
"I declare I never thought of that. It is the very thing, and I'll begin
at once while you finish the dishes. This time we'll see if between both
of us we can't keep Louis away from those wicked boys. I got a nice ham,
for that is always good cold, and I engaged two chickens from Daniel
Chick. Had we better have them roasted or boiled?"
"I thought this was to be only a supper."
"That's what it is; but it would never do to have but one kind of cold
meat. Why, if you'll believe me, Mrs. Souders had chicken, ham, and
tongue, to say nothing of soused pig's feet."
"Your supper'll be better'n hers if you make plenty of hot biscuit."
"I shall surely do that, and have loaf bread besides. I wonder if you
couldn't wait on the table?"
"Of course I can. That was what I did on board the 'Atlanta.'"
"Then we shall get along famously. Now help me clear off one end of this
table, and I'll begin work."
The little woman at once set about the task of preparing food for the
members of the sewing circle, and nothing was done without first asking
Jack's advice.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SEWING CIRCLE.
So deeply engrossed was Aunt Nancy in the work of making ready for the
supper, that the indignities offered Louis by Bill Dean and his partners
passed almost unheeded for the time being.
It is true that now and then she would speak of what had been done,
announcing her intention of complaining again to Bill's father; but the
words would hardly be spoken before something in the culinary line
demanded her attention, and the subject would be dropped until a more
convenient season.
Jack labored most industriously, beating eggs, sifting flour, washing
pans, and keeping the fire roaring, thus doing his full share in the
important preparations.
Louis was forced to remain in the kitchen, despite his great desire to
get out of doors; and both Jack and the little woman kept strict watch
over him, but happily ignorant of the fact that hidden within the
friendly shelter of the alder-bushes were Bill Dean and his chums
watching another opportunity to get hold of the baby as before.
"The sewin' circle is goin' over to old Nancy's termorrer," Bill said in
a whisper, "an' we won't be smart if we don't get a chance to square off
with Hunchie."
"What do you count on doin'?" Sam Phinney asked.
"That's jest what we've got to fix up. The old woman will have her hands
full of company, an' it seems as if we might rig somethin' that'll pay.
Hunchie won't show himself outside the place, for he knows we're layin'
for him, an' our only show is to sneak in while the supper is goin' on."
"We can easy get in the shed an' wait for something to turn up," Jip
Lewis suggested; and the others thought this a very good idea.
"I'll cook up somethin' between now an' then," Bill said confidently.
"There ain't much chance they'll let that youngster out ag'in, so come,
go over on the hill an' see what the fellers there are doin'."
This had the effect of causing the party to adjourn without anything
having been accomplished save an agreement between the three that,
during the meeting of the sewing circle something should be done toward
settling matters with the boy who insisted upon remaining in town after
they had warned him to leave.
During the remainder of the day Aunt Nancy and Jack worked without
ceasing in the kitchen, and when night came the arrangements for the
company were so nearly completed that the little woman said with a sigh
of relief when she and her crooked-assistant were resting under the old
oak,--
"I declare, Jack dear, it is surprising how much we have done since
noon! I never could have gotten through without you, and don't
understand what I did before you came."
"I wish I could do more. It doesn't seem as if I worked half hard enough
to pay for what you've done to help Louis an' me."
"Bless you, child, I'd be paid a dozen times over if I had nothing more
than your company; and as for work, why, you've done twice as much as
Daniel Chick's daughter would in the same time, and I should have paid
her fifty cents, at least, if you hadn't been here."
"It doesn't seem very much anyhow; but if you're satisfied, why that
settles it, of course. I wonder if Bill Dean's crowd will try to get
hold of Louis again?"
"Not after I've seen his father, and that's just what I intend to do
when the circle meetin' is over. We had better get old crumple-horn in
the yard now so we can go to bed early, for I count on being at work by
sunrise to-morrow."
The chores were quickly done, the house searched once more for possible
intruders, the evening devotions concluded, and Jack went to his tiny
room happy in the thought that he had been of considerable assistance to
Aunt Nancy.
The finishing touches were completed by noon on the following day, and
the little woman was arrayed in all her antiquated finery to receive the
expected guests.
Jack had only the suit of clothes he had worn at the time of leaving the
"Atlanta," consequently very little could be done on his part toward
"dressing up"; but his face shone from repeated applications of soap and
water, his hair was combed until every portion of it looked as if it had
been fastened in place, and his shoes had a very high polish.
Louis's white frock had been washed and ironed, therefore he was, as
Aunt Nancy expressed it, "in apple-pie order, and as pretty a baby as
ever came into Maine."
"I suppose we shall have to put some of the horses in the stable, Jack
dear, for a good many of the people will ride, and the question is
whether you could unharness them?" Aunt Nancy said as she sat in the
"fore-room" awaiting the coming of the guests.
"I never did such a thing; but it can't be hard if a feller watches how
the harness comes off."
"You are smart enough to do almost anything. I'm certain there won't be
trouble," Aunt Nancy said in a tone of conviction, and then the rumble
of wheels on the lane told that the first of the "company" was coming.
The newcomer was Mrs. Souders, who drove a horse Jack felt confident he
could unharness; and as she alighted he stood by the head of the
venerable animal as he had seen regular grooms do in the city.
From that time until nearly three o'clock the hunchback was kept very
busy attending to the stable work.
Not less than ten horses were driven into the yard, and he was expected
to put them in a barn where were but two stalls, including the one it
would be necessary to reserve for old crumple-horn.
It was some time before he could solve the problem, but it was finally
done by hitching several to the fence outside, and standing the
remainder on the thrashing-floor.
The matter of harness and carriages troubled him considerably; but he
believed the owners of the same would be able to recognize their
property, therefore no attempt was made to keep them in regular order.
When the visitors ceased to arrive, and Aunt Nancy told him she did not
think any more were coming, he went to the pump for a thorough wash, and
while thus engaged heard a certain portion of the conversation which
came from the "fore-room" where the members of the circle were supposed
to be working very hard to relieve the poor and distressed by supplying
them with garments, each fashioned according to the fancy of its maker.
Not for a moment would Jack have thought of deliberately playing the
part of eavesdropper; but hearing reference made to Louis and himself,
it was only natural he should linger longer than was absolutely
necessary.
Mrs. Souders was speaking when he first came near the house, and he
heard her say quite sharply,--
"Why, Nancy Curtis, are you thinkin' of adoptin' a couple of children at
your time of life, an' one of 'em a worthless cripple that'll always be
a bill of expense? It seems as if you'd lived long enough in the world
to be more sensible."
"I'd like to know, Sarah Souders, why you think Jack is 'worthless'?"
the little woman asked in a tone of indignation.
"Because he can't be anything else. A hunchback isn't any better than a
reg'lar invalid, an' besides I've always heard it said they are terribly
conceited."
"Then this one is an exception. I never had a girl on the farm that
helped me as much as he does, and as for the baby--"
"That's it exactly," Mrs. Souders interrupted. "It seems that the
cripple isn't enough, but you are determined to make your cross heavier
by taking care of a baby, when it would be better to think of restin'
your old bones."
"If it is a pleasure to me, it would seem as if nothing should be said
against it," Aunt Nancy replied mildly. "I only wish it might be
possible for me to keep the little fellow as long as I live."
Then Jack heard that which told him Aunt Nancy was kissing the baby, and
he said to himself,--
"If these people think Aunt Nancy has no business to keep me here, I
s'pose they are right, an' I oughter go away."
"Of course you've the privilege of doing as you please, Nancy Curtis,"
Mrs. Souders continued, "but I must maintain that it is wrong for you to
be obliged to support two helpless children when it is hard work to make
both ends meet. I am only sayin' this for your own good, Nancy, an' both
Mrs. Hayes an' myself decided it was the duty of some one to talk with
you about it."
The little woman made no reply to this, and Jack was forced to leave the
pump, since his toilet had been completed.
"They've made her believe it," he said to himself as the tears would
persist in coming into his eyes, "an' it's my place to tell her I'll go.
Then she won't have any more trouble with Bill Dean's crowd."
He firmly believed it was necessary he and Louis should leave the farm,
and the knowledge that Aunt Nancy depended upon him during this day, at
least, was a positive pleasure.
It had been agreed he should wait upon the table.
Such dishes as could not well remain on the overladen board were to be
left in the small summer kitchen, and the little woman had arranged a
system of signals by which he could understand what she wanted.
Although it was yet too soon for supper, he went to his post of duty in
order to be ready at the earliest moment Aunt Nancy should require his
services, and there stayed, thinking mournfully of what he had heard.
In the mean while the stable was unguarded, for Jack had no idea danger
was to be apprehended from that quarter, and at about the same time he
entered the kitchen, Bill Dean said to his companions who had followed
him into the shed,--
"I did have a plan for some fun, fellers; but now there's a bigger show
than we ever struck. I don't reckon Hunchie knows very much about
harnessin' horses, an' even if he does we'll set him wild."
"How?" Sam asked in a whisper.
"It ain't likely anybody will go out to the barn till after supper, is
it?"
"Of course not."
"Then all we've got to do is to sneak around back of the stable. I know
how to get in from there, an' we'll mix them harnesses up in sich shape
that even Mike Crane himself couldn't put 'em together in less'n one
day."
"You're a brick, Bill, at fixin' things. Let's hurry, for it'll take
quite awhile."
With decidedly more care than was necessary, the conspirators crept out
of the shed, and, going around by the rear of the buildings, entered the
barn where Jack had left the harness.
There was not one in the party who would not have grumbled loud and long
had he been obliged to work as rapidly and hard as was necessary in
order to effect their purpose; but since it was mischief instead of
useful labor, neither so much as dreamed of complaining.
The harness belonging to the teams driven by Mrs. Souders and Mrs. Hayes
received the greater portion of their attention.
On them nearly every strap was shortened or lengthened, and other parts
interchanged, until one not thoroughly familiar with both could hardly
have recognized the original set.
Each in turn was overhauled, and when the mischief-makers left the barn
there was no question but that Jack would have great difficulty in
untangling the snarl, even if he should ever be able to do so.
"I reckon that will make all hands mad, an' Hunchie's the one who is
bound to get the blame," Bill said with a chuckle of satisfaction as
they stood for an instant at the rear of the barn. "Now where'll we
stay to watch the fun?"
"Out by the cow-yard. The grass is so tall nobody'll ever see us."
This appeared to be a good idea, and the three adopted it at once,
although all believed it must be several hours before Jack would be
called upon to harness the horses.
In the kitchen the deformed boy, with a heart so heavy it seemed as if
he could never smile again, waited patiently until a bustle from the
"fore-room" told that the guests were making preparations to discuss
Aunt Nancy's supper.
"They are getting ready to come," the little woman said excitedly, as
she entered the kitchen hurriedly. "Help me fill these plates with
biscuit, and then cover the rest over and leave them in the oven till
they are needed. I was afraid I should have bad luck with my bread; but
it seems to be all right."
"Them biscuit couldn't be better if the Queen of England had made 'em,"
Jack replied emphatically.
"I'm sure I don't know what kind of a breadmaker she may be; but I
wouldn't like to have it said that even a queen could do better than I,
taking it the whole year through, an' allowing for the trouble that
yeast will sometimes cause."
Aunt Nancy was ready to go into the main kitchen, which on this occasion
had been converted into a dining-room, and Jack followed close behind
with his hands full of plates.
It so chanced that the guests had not waited to be summoned, but came
from the "fore-room" under the pretence of assisting the little woman,
and Jack, who was walking quite rapidly, intent only on carrying the
dishes without accident, ran directly into Mrs. Souders.
That lady had never been celebrated for curbing her temper, and to-day
she appeared to be in a very ill-humor, probably because of something
which may have been said by her friends in the "fore-room."
Therefore, instead of treating the matter as an accident, and
acknowledging she had no business to be standing in the way of those who
were working, she wheeled suddenly and gave the cripple a resounding
blow on the ear, which sent him headlong, scattering plates and biscuit
in every direction.
"You little beggar!" she screamed, as her face grew crimson with rage.
"I didn't come here to have any of your low tricks played on me. If
Nancy Curtis hasn't got spirit enough to give you a lesson, I'll do it
myself."
She stepped quickly toward poor Jack, who stood silent and motionless
surveying the wreck of Aunt Nancy's best crockery, never for a moment
thinking the guest had any idea of inflicting further punishment, and
seized him by the coat collar.
Jack involuntarily threw up his arm to ward off the blow; but the heavy
hand descended twice in rapid succession, and then it was grasped from
behind as the little woman's voice, trembling with suppressed rage, was
heard,--
"Sarah Souders, aren't you ashamed to strike a cripple?"
"Indeed I'm not when it is one like this, whose place is at the poor
farm rather than in decent people's houses"; and the lady would have
repeated the blow but for the fact that Aunt Nancy clung to her with
nervous desperation.
"Don't you _dare_ strike that child again, Sarah Souders!" she cried. "I
am trying hard to rule my spirit, but the struggle may be too much for
my strength, and then I shall say that which would make me sorry
afterward."
"You should be sorry now when you reject the advice of your best
friends," Mrs. Souders replied; but she released her hold of Jack's
collar, and he began gathering up the fragments of crockery and bread.
"If you mean that I ought to throw these children, who have made my life
happier than it has been for many years, out on to a world of such
hard-hearted people as you, then it is time you tried to understand the
meaning of the word 'charity,'" the little woman said with a slight
tremor of the voice as she stepped back a few paces from her angry
guest. "The fault was yours, so far as his running into you was
concerned. He was doing his work, and you were in his way."
"I didn't suppose your foolishness had gone so far that you would uphold
the crooked little beggar when he deliberately insults one who has been
your best friend."
"He had no intention of insulting you, and I do not want him called a
beggar, for he isn't. Even though he was, I have yet to learn that
poverty is a crime."
"I see plainly this is no place for me. The most you can do now is to
turn me out of doors."
"I do not wish to do anything of the kind, but feel called upon to
advise that you think the matter over before speaking again."
"That is sufficient, Nancy Curtis, quite sufficient. Jane Hayes, will
you go with me, or do you prefer to remain?"
"I shall stay here," Mrs. Hayes replied; and with a fling of her skirts,
which was probably intended to express both indignation and injury
received, Mrs. Souders sailed out of the room.
CHAPTER XIV.
AFTER THE STORM.
Jack who had gathered up the fragments and swept the crumbs from the
floor, now looked about him in alarm.
The sense of having been wrongly treated was overpowered by the thought
that he was the cause, however innocent, of plunging Aunt Nancy into new
troubles.
It seemed just then as if he was pursued by some unkind fate which
brought to him and those who befriended him all manner of misfortune.
During fully a minute after Mrs. Souders drifted so majestically from
the room, not a word was spoken.
Aunt Nancy stood leaning against the table, a vivid red spot glowing on
either cheek, and holding her hand over her heart as if to repress its
beatings.
The guests gathered around her, each trying at the same time to express
her opinion of what had occurred,--a proceeding which resulted only in
a perfect Babel of confusion.
The little woman soon recovered her composure sufficiently to remember
her duties as hostess, and said to Jack in a low tone,--
"Do you think you can harness Mrs. Souders's horse? We mustn't forget
the courtesy we owe a guest, no matter what has happened."
"I can do it if she will show me which wagon an' harness is hers. You
see there were so many teams comin' all at once I couldn't keep run of
'em."
"Go out and do the best you can. Very likely she will be at the stable
by the time you get there."
Jack hurried away feeling rather uncertain as to what the result would
be when he was alone with the angry woman, but determined to remain
silent whatever she might say.
On reaching the barn he had but little difficulty in deciding upon the
carriage he believed belonged to Mrs. Souders, and was backing it into
the yard when that lady arrived.
"Are you so stupid that you can't tell one wagon from another?" she
asked sharply.
"Isn't this yours, ma'am?"
"No, it isn't, and you know as well as I do."
"I never saw it but once, an' that was when there were a good many here.
If you'll pick it out, an' show me the harness, I'll soon have the horse
hitched up."
"I suppose Nancy Curtis told you to get rid of me as soon as possible;
what you did in the dining-room wasn't enough, eh?"
"Indeed she didn't; an', if you please, ma'am, I couldn't tell where you
was goin' to step when I had my arms full of dishes."
"You needn't talk to me. If Nancy Curtis is fool enough to put you above
your place, it's no reason why you should think others haven't good
sense. That is my carriage, and the sooner it is ready the better I'll
be pleased."
Jack wheeled out the vehicle she designated, and then asked,--
"Now will you tell me which is your harness an' horse?"
"You're a bigger fool than I took you to be," was the reply, as the lady
rushed like a small-sized tornado into the barn, and, after some
difficulty, succeeded in finding the animal, which was hitched with the
others on the thrashing-floor. "Couldn't even find a stall for him! I
don't know what's come over Nancy Curtis since you brats arrived at this
place!"
Then she examined the pile of harness, expressing her opinion very
forcibly because Jack had laid them on the floor instead of hanging each
set on pegs; but to find her own was more than she could do.
"Take any one of them," she finally said in an angry tone, wiping the
perspiration from her flushed face.
Jack obeyed without a word, but, thanks to the efforts of Bill Dean and
his partners, neither he nor Mrs. Souders could gear the horse.
One set of harness was much too large, and another so small a goat could
hardly have worn it, while all were strapped together in the oddest
fashion.
This Mrs. Souders believed was owing to Jack's carelessness or ignorance
while unharnessing the horses, and the more she struggled to fit one
without regard to ownership the greater became her anger, until it was
almost beyond bounds.
"My husband shall hear of this," she said wrathfully. "Put that horse
right back, and he will come over to undo your wicked tricks. Don't
speak to me, you little pauper," she cried as the cripple was about to
reply; and dealing him a blow on the ear which sent him reeling against
the animal, the lady walked rapidly out of the barn.
Jack rubbed the injured member an instant, looked about ruefully,
wondering what could have happened to the harness, led the horse back to
his place, and went out of the barn just in time to see Mrs. Souders
sailing around the corner of the lane into the main road.
He walked slowly to the house, arriving there as the guests had seated
themselves at the table, and Aunt Nancy, who looked as if she had been
crying, asked,--
"Why didn't Mrs. Souders go with her team?"
Jack told the story of the bewitched harness, adding in conclusion,--
"I took every piece off as carefully as I knew how, and laid them on the
floor, because there wasn't any pegs or nails to hang them on. Now it
seems like as if nothing was right, an' in the whole lot we couldn't
find a single thing which would fit."
The guests looked at each other in surprise and alarm, probably thinking
if Mrs. Souders didn't succeed in getting her team with the entire
collection to choose from, their chances of leaving Aunt Nancy's save by
walking were exceedingly slim.
A flood of questions were poured forth on the hapless Jack, who could
only repeat his former statement.
The matter was now becoming so serious that Aunt Nancy's inviting meal
no longer had sufficient charms to command their attention, and the
entire party insisted on visiting the barn at once to ascertain for
themselves the true condition of affairs.
With the baby in her arms, Aunt Nancy led the way.
Bill Dean and his friends, seeing the procession coming, were not at a
loss to divine the meaning of this sudden exodus from the house.
"This is gettin' too hot for us," Bill said in a whisper. "With all them
old women around we'll be found for certain, an' the quicker we skin out
of here the safer we'll be."
His partners were of the same opinion, only a trifle more frightened,
and their terror caused them to do a very foolish thing.
Instead of crawling under shelter of the grass until they were at a safe
distance, Sam and Jip leaped to their feet, running at full speed toward
the road.
As a matter of course Bill was bound to follow the example, thinking how
pleased he would be to have his hands on Jip for a single moment in
order to punish him for his cowardice, and thus the conspirators stood
revealed.
"I think we can understand now what has happened to the harness," Mrs.
Hayes said as she pointed towards the fugitives, "and I for one say it's
time that Dean boy was made to believe it is dangerous to play such
tricks."
The red spots came on Aunt Nancy's cheeks again as she gazed after the
retreating figures, and from the nervous working of her fingers Jack
understood she was using every effort to "rule her spirit."
As she stood silent and motionless, heeding not the fact that Louis was
pulling her ringlets out of shape, some of the other ladies continued on
to the barn, and a single glance at the mismated harness convinced them
it was useless to attempt straightening matters.
"It is foolish to stand here while the biscuit are getting cold," Mrs.
Hayes finally said. "Let us go and get supper, after which there will be
plenty of time to think over what should be done."
The majority of the party shared this opinion, and Aunt Nancy was
literally led back to her own home, while the guests divided their
attention between the bountiful supper and a discussion as to how Bill
Dean and his associates could best be suppressed.
None of the party had had more than three cups of tea when Mr. Souders
arrived looking very warm because of his long walk, and decidedly angry
in consequence of the report made by his wife.
He first demanded an interview with Jack, who was sitting in the kitchen
fully occupied with his mournful thoughts; but when the ladies began to
explain matters relative to the mischief done, he could not but believe
the hunchback was innocent of the charges brought against him by Mrs.
Souders.
"I'll take Bill Dean in hand myself," he said with an ominous gesture.
"There is plenty of time for that; but I reckon fixing things in the
barn will last longer. Can you lend me the cripple for a while, Aunt
Nancy?"
The little woman called Jack, explained that he was to assist the
gentleman, and as the two went toward the barn she said feelingly,--
"It makes very little difference what people may say, although I would
rather have the good will of a dog than his ill will; but if I can
prevent it that boy shall not leave this farm unless relatives come
forward to claim him."
Several united with Aunt Nancy in praising Jack, and since the others
remained silent there was no opportunity for a disagreeable argument.
It did not require many seconds for Mr. Souders to see that the harness
had been tampered with, and he said in a cheery tone, which was a
delightful contrast to the one used a short time previous by his wife,
as he pulled off his coat,--
"I reckon you an' I have a big contract ahead of us, my boy. It would
puzzle a lawyer to fix all these as they should be, and the most we can
hope for is to put the sets together so the old women may go home. We'll
begin with mine, an' see what can be made of the job."
It was a long and tedious task, and before it had been half completed
Jack was so well pleased with the gentleman that he said
confidentially,--
"Mr. Souders, I don't want you to think I tried to insult your wife. It
was an accident which I couldn't prevent, an' you see for yourself I
wasn't to blame for this muss."
"Don't worry about it, my boy. Mother is a leetle hot-headed with a
powerful dislike to youngsters 'cause she hain't got any of her own; but
I'll venter to say she's sorry as a cat this very minute for what's been
said an' done. If you knowed her little ways you wouldn't mind anything
about it; but I'm put out to think she laid her hands on a poor cripple
like you."
"It wasn't that which made me feel so bad as to have her think I would
act mean."
"She don't believe a word of what she said by this time, an' for that
I'll go bail. There's no use talkin' 'bout it now; I allow you'll see
her ag'in mighty soon. Have you been havin' a great deal of trouble with
Bill Dean?"
Jack was not disposed to tell very much lest it should be thought he was
complaining; but Mr. Souders finally succeeded in drawing from him a
full account of the threats made.
"You sha'n't be troubled any more, my boy, that I'll answer for. Bill is
pretty wild, but I reckon we can tame him down a bit before another day
goes by."
"I wouldn't like any of the fellows to say I'd been carryin' tales,
sir."
"Neither have you. Aunt Nancy's life is bein' worried pretty nigh out of
her, an' that's enough to give me a right to interfere."
Jack did not think it proper to tell anything more regarding his
experiences with the village boys, and, as a matter of fact, would have
preferred saying nothing whatever to Mr. Souders until he had talked
with Aunt Nancy.
Before the gentleman left the barn he so far sorted out the harness that
it was possible to gear up his own team, and Jack thought best to get
each one ready while he had the opportunity to call upon such a valuable
assistant.
When the two returned to the house the supper was ended, and one of the
ladies held Louis in her arms while Aunt Nancy and several of the guests
washed the dishes.
Then Jack milked old crumple-horn, and when the last of the visitors
departed all of the chores had been done, therefore nothing prevented he
and Aunt Nancy from discussing the events of the day.
"I can't say I'm sorry William Dean cut up as he did," the little woman
said, "for it has given Mr. Souders a chance to see what he really would
do, and there is reason to believe the boy will be obliged to mend his
ways."
Jack had very little interest in Bill Dean at that moment.
He was thinking only of the conversation he heard from the "fore-room,"
and had determined the matter should be settled finally before he
retired.
"It seems as if most of the folks think I oughtn't to stay here makin'
you feed me," he began.
"Bless my soul, what has put that idea into your head, my child?"
"I heard what Mrs. Souders said in the front-room before supper."
Aunt Nancy looked around quickly as a shade of displeasure passed over
her face.
"I'm sorry you did hear it, Jack dear; but you must not be so foolish as
to let it worry you. I am old enough to attend to my own affairs, and,
even if I wasn't, Sarah Souders is not the one to whom I should go for
advice."
"But, Aunt Nancy, my being here makes trouble for you with your
neighbors, and I have been thinking it would be better for Louis an' I
to go away at once."
"Your being here has very little to do with the trouble I may have. It
is my own wicked self. I began by telling a lie to that man from
Scarborough, and one sin surely leads to others. You are of great
assistance to me, and I should be more sorry than I can say if you went
away."
Jack was about to make some reply, but before the words could be spoken,
Aunt Nancy checked him by laying her hand on his shoulder as she said,--
"Don't argue the matter, Jack dear. We are all tired enough to go to
bed, and we'll make ready by searching the house again. After what has
happened since noon it wouldn't surprise me the least little mite, if we
found half a dozen burglars in hiding."
CHAPTER XV.
BROTHER ABNER.
When Jack retired on this night he was far from feeling comfortable in
mind.
Aunt Nancy had literally obliged him to cease speaking of the matter,
and during the evening devotions prayed so fervently that she might be
forgiven for acting a lie, it really distressed him.
She had done it solely for him, and he felt personally responsible for
her mental trouble.
It caused the little woman great anxiety as he could well understand
from the fact that she referred to the subject very frequently, and
never ceased to sue for pardon.
As has been said, Jack did not think the little woman did any great
wrong; but since she believed it, the case was as serious to her as if a
deadly crime had been committed.
He remained awake a long while trying to decide what should be done, and
more than once was he tempted to run the risk of calling upon Farmer
Pratt to explain all the circumstances, in order to relieve Aunt Nancy's
mind.
To do this would be, as he firmly thought, neither more nor less than
voluntarily condemning himself to the poor farm; but Louis would be safe
from the ignominy, and he would be doing the little woman a very great
favor.
He had decided upon nothing when sleep visited his eyelids, and on the
following morning there was so much to be done around the house he could
not find any opportunity to study the subject.
Aunt Nancy believed it necessary to clean nearly every portion of the
house, and as a matter of course he assisted.
Louis was really neglected on this day. Having been allowed to play on
the floor to his heart's content, neither his crooked guardian nor Aunt
Nancy paid very much attention to him.
Not until late in the afternoon was the labor brought to a close, and
then the tired ones sought rest under the big oak.
Jack was about to broach the subject which occupied the greater portion
of his thoughts, when the rumble of wheels at the end of the lane caused
him to look up in alarm.
"Who is that?" he asked excitedly, fearing lest it might be a messenger
from Farmer Pratt.
"Only Deacon Downs. He sometimes stops on his way home from Treat's
store to see if anything is needed. I buy a good man
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